Executioner

“No…!” whimpered the frail looking figure of a man to the stunning woman standing in the doorway before him.

Stan couldn’t believe it. He’d just been dumped by Debra! His one and only goddess, his shining star, his little flower!

Stan was a reasonably young man, only now in his late twenties and in good physical shape. He had dark eyes and cropped hair atop his pale head. Only barely taller than his beloved Debra, Stan had looked quite skinny when standing next to his full figured love.

His mouth hung open as her front door slammed shut and he turned slowly walking away across her front lawn.

Stan held out his hands and caressed the air as if she was still standing in front of him. His arms moved about slowly and his eyes glazed over with a vacant look in them as his hands traced the so familiar curves of her hips in the emptiness before him. Slowly Stan’s feet carried him a few more steps, but he could no longer see what was ahead of him. Instead memories filled his sight as Stan saw all his happiest moments flash before his eyes in an instant.

Stan remembered holding Debra’s hand as they walked down her road and holding that same hand as they looked out across the Grand Canyon on their vacation. He saw Debra in a thousand different poses, in a hundred different places, wearing everything he’d ever seen her in. From her smartest dress to her sexiest underwear, in her warmest winter clothes to her skimpiest summer time bikini, no matter what they were doing or where they were, Debra had always looked to Stan, phenomenal. Her long blonde hair seemed to possess a life of its own when Debra would whip it around. Her pale blue eyes had looked to Stan like the most perfect place that he could become lost in for what seemed like hours, their beauty so calm and absorbing. Debra’s face easily made people think that she was a model and with her voluptuous body it had always amazed Stan that she was not. He could imagine no man in the world not instantly falling in love with his Debra and as these memories flooded Stan’s mind he could feel his heart breaking, her last words to him echoing in his ears.

Stan had come over after work as he always did to see Debra and spend another night in together, just so that they could be with each other. But when the door had opened, Debra had a different look about her and had stopped Stan from entering by instantly talking to him – no ‘Hi Honey’ or anything, just the bad news:

“Look Stanley,” she had begun, her sweet perfume arousing him as it always did “I just don’t feel the way I did about you anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I still love you, but more as a friend or cousin now. I just need to be with someone who’s more fun to be with, someone who understands me and what I need.”

Stan had stood frozen to the spot outside her front door listening to all this, unable to move or say anything in reply, and then it came, that one line that twist’s the knife.

“But, we can still be friends, right Stanley?”

The pain was like a hammer the size of a car being dropped on him. The shock like what he imagined the blast wave a nuclear bomb to be like. And now, the final words she spoke to him, dismissing him and everything they had been, so lightly, so easily as if it had never mattered to her at all.

Not wanting to be just friends and in denial of what was happening Stan had whimpered his answer to her, but Debra’s bright smiling face had just given him an exaggerated look of sympathy and then the door was closed as if symbolically closing a chapter of his life.

Stan couldn’t believe it. Only yesterday, he’d been telling Tom how great Debra was and all of this seemed like a bad dream to Stan, a horrid nightmare that he would wake up from at any minute.

Then from behind him, Stan’s ears heard the sound of Debra’s door opening again and he turned longing to see her running towards him and explaining that all this was just a joke. Hope sprang into his heart and all would be forgiven if only she would say this had been nothing more than a bad joke. But what Stan saw was something entirely different.

Just getting out of his car, now parked outside Debra’s house, was Carl. Turning to look at Debra’s door, Stan saw her running out of her house with a huge smile on her beautiful face and heading straight for Carl.

No sooner was Carl out of his flashy sports car than Debra had jumped onto him, knocking him back against the door. The two held each other in a lovers embrace and Stan watched from a short distance away as the embrace became more passionate. Carl’s hands began to wander and he could see that Debra was kissing him with her sensual little mouth open. After having a good feel of her firm body, Carl scooped Debra up with his strong arms and easily carried her back towards her house. The two of them were laughing and joking all the way and Stan couldn’t remember seeing Debra that happy in a long time.

Carl put Debra down just before the door to her house and as she turned to run into her home, Debra grabbed the bottom of her pink sweater and began pulling it off as she ran inside, quickly followed by Carl. The door closed and a tidal wave of overwhelming emotions drowned Stan as he stood witness to all this.

Stan had just been dumped and in under a minute Carl, with his muscles and his good looks and his sports car had shown up and followed an undressing Debra into her house, after first groping her and ramming his tongue down her throat.

Stan fainted.

Stan awoke to the soothing sound of Debra’s voice telling him that everything was alright. Before opening his eyes, Stan enjoyed the comfort of her soft fingers brushing over his forehead. Everything felt good and Stan felt happy and relaxed. He could stay here like this forever, knowing that the love of his life was with him.

But then as Stan opened his eyes, a feeling of loss swallowed him. Opening his eyes and bringing them into focus, Stan looked around. He was alone on Debra’s front lawn, the soft grass beneath him and the Debra that had been with him, nothing more than a cruel trick of his mind. The evening had come and chased the sun away with a chill now settling in the air. Climbing to his feet Stan looked back to Debra’s front door, at the window to her front room and he wondered if Carl was still there with her, if they’d even noticed him on their way into the house. Turning away, Stan saw Carl’s car still parked where it had been and he knew the answer to at least one of his questions. Putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans, Stan let out a sigh, turned and walked away from the scene of his misery.

Stan walked home feeling blue. With each step, another memory of Debra came to him, with a sharp stab of pain in his chest. His relationship had crumbled before his eyes and in the same moment, another had been swiftly erected upon its ruin. The tombstone that said “Here Lies The Remains of Debra and Stan’s Love” had been used as the doormat for the ‘Hotel De Carl’. Carl…

The very thought of just his name alone filled Stan with envious emotion, as he imagined Carl’s arms wrapped around Debra’s slim waist.

“No” said Stan aloud to himself with a shake of his head. Stan refused to think of the filth that was Carl and with a great effort, he pushed these thoughts far down into the back of his mind.

Stan gave another sigh as his mind lingered on the love he’d lost. Yesterday, he’d been talking with Tom, had been telling him that Tom’s ‘perfect’ vision couldn’t have possibly been as beautiful as Debra. Tom had seemed distracted and only now did Stan understand how such a distraction can be so all consuming.

Entering his small house, Stan turned on the light and through force of habit looked down into the eyes of Debra. The small picture he kept by the front door to welcome him home, smiled up at him and for the first time, the smile seemed fake to Stan. Remembering the look of sheer joy on her face when Carl had arrived and comparing it to the smile in the picture now in his hand, Stan felt the horrid truth hammered home. The questions rose into his mind like a shadow of gloom and darkness with the thoughts themselves ricocheting around inside his head like a spiked balls of pain; Had she ever been happy with him? Had she ever loved him?

The questions sent a jolt of confidence-shattering fear through him, but then Stan realised that if this was the case, Debra had lied to him, over and over and over.

A sneer of disgust curled his lips.

The rest of the evening passed quickly into the night. With his friend Jack Daniels warming his stomach and easing his spirit, Stan soon felt tired and so went to bed.

Lying beneath his quilt and slowly drifting away into the darkness through the effect of the excessive drinking, Stan slipped off into unconsciousness.

Almost gliding into a state of relaxation brought on by his drinking, Stan slid into the subconscious world of illusion and his dreams consumed him.

Stan was lying with Debra in his arms, they were in bed together and he wore a satisfied smile. Debra was soft and warm, her smooth skin feeling so good against his own. Suddenly there was a loud bang and the closed door to her bedroom shuddered in the frame. The was another bang and Stan realised that someone was trying to get into the room, hitting the door that was keeping them out.

Stan held onto Debra all the more tightly, squeezing her to him as the door gave one final shudder before bursting open.

Without warning Stan’s perspective changed and he burst into the room. In the bed before him lay Debra in the arms of Carl. They were both naked but for a shining coat of sweat upon them both. Stan could feel the rage flowing through him, the sight of the two of them there together. But then the anger faded from him as he realised that neither of them noticed that he was there. They lay together with their eyes shut, as if he wasn’t there at all. Stan looked down at Debra’s smile, the satisfied smile that she wore on her full lips. Her body glistening with the heat of passion that she had obviously just experienced, a glow that Stan could not remember ever creating in her. Debra’s painted fingernails gently scratched down the smooth muscle definition of Carl’s bare chest and her smile grew as she made a playful growling noise.

Stan’s anger all but vanished replaced by a feeling created by the fact that Debra appeared far happier now than she had ever been. Stan felt jealous. Jealous of Carl, that he now had Debra in his arms, that Debra was now his lover, that she was obviously happy and satisfied after her love making to him. The television had not been turned on, there had been no other distractions, nor had she got up to take a shower straight away as it had been with him.

Stan didn’t really wake up, but as he rolled over in his bed, his dream ended and another began…

Stan couldn’t see where he was, a darkness engulfed him but he could hear moans of pleasure and as he turned to look behind him, he saw a nightmare. Debra was naked, lying on her back on top of a mattress and on top of her was an equally naked Carl. Their bodies rubbed together as Carl forcefully pushed himself into Debra again and again. Her moans of passionate content growing steadily louder.

Stan closed his eyes in his dream and turned his head away, but here in his world of illusion it did him no good. Stan was not in control of this dream.

He saw Debra on her hands and knees with a look of excited pain on her face, her moans getting louder still and Carl behind her thrusting his hips to her with such force that Stan shivered.

Stan turned to look in another direction and now he saw Debra’s bare back facing him as she rode on top of Carl, her moans now screams of lust. The sex the two of them were having was nothing like the simple love making that had taken place between Debra and himself. It seemed that Debra had nibbled at the starter of her sexual appetite with Stan, but with Carl she was enjoying a full three course meal.

When Stan had laid down with his beloved, things would be over within half an hour at the most as by this time, Stan would be spent.

Looking in his dream at his Debra and her new lover, Stan thought they had been screwing each other for days solidly.

Stan almost woke up, could feel the frown on his face, but had slipped again beneath the surface of his consciousness before he could snap himself out of these horrid dreams.

Finally Stan was alone, walking along a canal bank and looking down into the still green water. There were trees hanging over the canal scattering their leaves into the water and the dirt path he was following was covered in gravel which crunched beneath his feet. Although the sun was shining bright Stan was in the shade, stopping now and sitting on the grass beside the path to look into the murky water.

In his shadowy reflection Stan could see beside him the image of Debra, but when he looked around he was alone.

In his dream Stan looked across to the other side of the canal and saw a couple walking together hand in hand. They were both smiling and talking softly, walking at a relaxed and easy pace. Once again Stan was looking at his beloved and her new man. Stan could see how much she loved him now as they began to age together. Debra’s beauty still captivated Stan even as he saw her aging and losing her figure, becoming grey and frail. Carl too had changed and was now an old man. But still they walked on, smiling, hand in hand and both in love with one another.

Stan looked back into the water. He had always imagined himself to be the one to grow old with Debra, side by side with her. Now Carl stood where he had always imagined himself to be. Stan knew it should be him walking with Debra, not Carl, it should never have been Carl. Instantly, Stan pushed himself forwards into the canal with the intension of swimming to the other side and throwing Carl away. It was he, Stan, who should be at Debra’s side and that was where he was going to be!

The water slowed Stan down, it was like tar and offered no give as Stan splashed about trying to move forwards.

Debra and Carl walked further away and Stan began to feel himself moving in slow motion, never able to catch them. And then Stan was under the thick oil like water, struggling to reach the surface, fighting to take a breath, desperate for air beneath the syrupy sludge and then suddenly he was awake.

Stan looked at his clock and saw the little display flashing 8:00am at him. Rolling back over onto his back, Stan stared blankly at the ceiling. Suddenly he became aware of it, the feeling in the pit of his stomach that stretched up his spine and into the front of his mind. A cold, emptiness making him feel like there was a black hole inside him, sucking away at him and trying to take his soul. Debra was gone and nothing else mattered. Carl had taken her, but at the same time Stan’s mind whispered to him that she had gone willingly enough to him. A thunderstorm of pain began to form inside Stan as all he wanted was to be with Debra, to be in her home and to hold her in his arms as he’d done a thousand times before. Stan didn’t want to be alone. He wasn’t afraid of being alone like Debra was, but what was his life without her? She was his life! Without her ‘alone’ took on a whole new meaning to him.

Stan sat in his bed a while longer, trying to find a reason to move until finally his body seemed to move of its own accord and he got up and started his day.

Coming back from the bathroom, Stan opened his underwear draw and as he rummaged through the un-kept draw, his mind rummaged through all the thoughts of Debra that had been like a cyclone ravaging his mind through the night. Surely there must be some way for him to clear Carl off of the scene and make Debra want him more than she wanted that pig, Carl.

Why was he here now? Why had he stolen Debra away? Stan couldn’t stand the thought that Carl was at this moment, probably still in bed with Debra, maybe even in Debra.

Stan’s hand brushed against something cold and metal.

Debra had got it for him, saying that the part of town that Stan lived in was dangerous and that he should have this in his home to protect himself if someone broke in. She’d said it was a Walther P99. It was a modern pistol and held a total of sixteen rounds. The gun was only supposed to have ten bullets, but the guy Debra had gotten the gun from had been a police officer and had managed to get ammo clips with more bullets in them. Stan had put the thing where he could easily get at it, but had never fired a shot in his life.

‘I could fire a shot now’ he thought to himself.

A plan began to form in Stan’s mind as he lifted the weapon from its hiding place. If Carl were to die, Debra would welcome Stan back with open arms, her fear of being alone would pretty much guarantee that. So all Stan would have to do is kill Carl and Debra would be his once more. Things would go back to the way that they had always been. No more Carl, no more, cocky, muscle-bound, loud, sports car driving, asshole.

The more Stan thought about it the more logical his plan seemed to be. If he just showed up and executed Carl, then no one would know it was him. He could get rid of the gun just after he’d got rid of Carl, then be back with Debra in his arms in no time. If there was no proof or evidence against him – and Stan would make sure that there wasn’t – then he could get clean away with this. At once, it was decided. After breakfast Stan would go over to Debra’s, he’d time it so that she was in her daily bathroom ritual and then when Carl answered the door – BANG. And if by some stroke of bad luck Debra answered the door, well, he’d just cross that bridge when he came to it.

Stan ate his breakfast and for some reason his bowl of cereal seemed to taste better today than it ever had, as if it was the last time he was ever going to get to eat this cereal in his life or the first time he’d ever had it before. When the meal was done, Stan put his bowl in the sink ready to wash up later and then he was gone.

There was a cold wind blowing and an overcast to the day. The sky was a darker shade of white, just one huge cloud as far as the eye could see.

Walking down his road, Stan wondered if the shape of the gun showed, tucked into his belt, behind the back of his jacket, like he’d seen the action stars do in their box office smash movies. He walked at a brisk pace, thinking all the while of what he meant to do. Now that he was walking and on his way, Stan wondered if he could really hold the gun to Carl’s face and fire. Suddenly, Carl was walking towards him, hunched over and moving at a slow pace. The arrogance of the man! He’d just looked Stan straight in the eye and not even a flicker of recognition was there before Carl had looked quickly away. Stan waited until he was just a few steps away from the scum and then without hesitation Stan pulled the gun from his belt and aimed at Carl’s forehead. The shot rang out and the empty cartridge fell to the ground with a light tinkling sound.

Carl’s crumpled body fell backwards and the remains of his shattered skull hit the paving with a wet thud.

Stan looked up from the corpse and instantly became confused. The man ahead, was that Carl? Stan looked back to the corpse at his feet, but the ruined face gave nothing away. It didn’t matter - Stan was now certain that Carl was ahead of him, walking to Debra’s. Quickly Stan tucked the gun into the front of his jacket, holding it beneath the zipped up garment and marched on after Carl. Within a minute Stan had caught up to this second Carl and was only few paces behind him. Carl was walking oblivious to the fact his life was about to end and completely engrossed in the phone call he was having. The cell phone was one of the smallest that Stan had ever seen and he kept his eye on it as his second shot rang out and the thing fell and shattered on the floor. Carl lurched forwards with the force of the bullet as it flew out from his forehead.

Stan didn’t stop but walked on without looking back at Carl’s body. He reached the end of his road and crossed over onto the main street with the intention of doing a lap around his block and getting back home via a circular trip.

As if from nowhere, a small and frail figure appeared walking towards him, dressed in a black rock music T-shirt with a picture of a large grey heart on it with a crack down it’s centre, worn black jeans and covered by a long black leather coat. It was a sad looking man, but this was not Carl and so Stan ignored him and carried on.

Stan’s heart skipped a beat, it couldn’t be possible, but here it was; approaching in front of him was an entire crowd of Carl’s all mindlessly chattering to one another and two of them even wearing make-up and skirts! Stan quickly calculated how many shot he would need for all of them. He finished working out his attack only a few steps before entering the group, then nine shots were fired and seconds later nine dead Carls lay across the street. Stunned from the sudden appearance of the flock of Carl’s, Stan hurried down the momentarily deserted main street, away from the scene at a brisk jog. Stan couldn’t believe his luck in that so far, not a single witness had been around to see him shoot a single Carl! It seemed that during this quite Sunday morning only he and Carl were out. He ran for almost a quarter of an hour without seeing a soul, until he was almost at the road Debra lived on. The sound of a motorbike engine snapped Stan back into alertness and he stopped jogging and looked around him for the source of the noise. Fast approaching behind him was a lone biker. The bike slowed down and the indicator came on to show that the rider was preparing to turn into Debra’s road. As the guy passed by, Stan got a good look through the visor of the rider’s crash helmet and his suspicions were confirmed –Carl had a bike too! Without another moment passing, Stan had once more filled his hand and a bullet was in hot pursuit of the departing Carl. Within a heartbeat, Stan realised that his shot would go wide and so compensating for the bikes speed, he fired again. The bike spun out of control and slammed into a parked car and the lifeless body of Carl slumped over the handlebars.

Stan ran on past the mess painted across the front of the parked car that used to be Carl and continued running the short distance further to Debra’s house. Cutting across her neighbours neatly cut front lawn Stan made a direct line to Debra’s front door, but as his finger rose, ready to ring the bell an angry voice shouted at him. Leaning back on the spot Stan looked over and saw that Debra’s dick of a neighbour had come out and was shouting at Stan.

“Hey shithead! How many times have I gotta tell you to keep your bitch ass off of my lawn! This isn’t a shortcut to the ass you got in there!” the neighbour pointed from the lawn he was standing on to Debra’s house as he spoke. Stan had never really noticed how much this guy looked like Carl… Stan focused his eyes, looking more closely and suddenly jumped as he realised that the neighbour was Carl! Stan’s mind was quick to provide an explanation - Carl must have bought the house next to Debra’s so that he could be closer to her! In one smooth motion, Stan spun to face neighbour Carl, his gun was out and another bullet was released into the world. The bullet flew through the air and hit its target, bursting it like a water balloon and spraying blood over neighbour Carl’s precious front lawn. His body fell with almost no sound onto the soft grass and changed it from a deep green to a stained, crimson colour.

‘Only two shots left’ thought Stan to himself, ‘but one is all I’ll need’.

The ding dong of Debra’s door bell was so familiar to Stan, a sound he’d heard hundreds of times in the past when he’d come to visit Debra. ‘Why hadn’t she ever given me a key?’ he wondered absently as he waited. Checking his watch Stan knew that she’d still be in the bathroom at this time. Looking good was something she did naturally but it still took her time each day, sometimes causing her to spend over an hour grooming herself.

A blurred silhouette appeared through the tiny window embedded in the front door, one far to big to be Debra and then the door was open.

Carl looked down into the wide eyed stare of the man standing in front of him and knew that something was not quite right.

Stan brought the gun around from behind his back for the final shot and then aiming at Carl’s huge chest, he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

From within the bathroom, Debra heard the single shot echo out and she jumped.

“Carl?” she called walking out of the bathroom and looking around. Debra could feel a draft and knew that the front door must still be open from whoever had rung the bell. Hurrying into the hallway she gasped and raising her hands to cover her mouth she froze.

“Oh Stanley – what have you done?!” she said in a loud whisper.

Stan stood shaking as if in a trance. As Debra spoke he opened his eyes and became aware of his actions. He looked down and then back up from the Carl’s body, into Debra’s big blue eyes. He lowered the gun to his side and started to gain control of his shaking. Still looking into Debra’s eyes, Stan felt a calmness washing over him.

“Nothing!” said an angry voice from the ground. Suddenly Carl began to move and his huge bulk rose up to fill the entire doorway.

“This little idiot tried to shoot me, but he took so long lifting up that cannon of his, I had time to drop to the floor, out of the way. Now, it’s pay back time.”

Stan tried to raise the gun once more and use his last shot, but Carl’s huge arm swung and knocked the weapon far away, out onto Debra’s lawn. As Stan looked back after the airborne gun he saw that the neighbours lawn was clear, no longer blood stained by the dead neighbour-Carl and that in fact the neighbour’s body was gone.

Stan whipped his head back around in perfect time to connect with a punch to his jaw from Carl. Carl’s fist felt like an anvil and Stan literally flew backwards, landing several feet away on Debra’s lawn. Trying to roll to his feet, Stan looked again at the empty garden beside him, but this time although there was no dead body, there was a very faint discolouring to the grass that might have been blood. Stan tried to shake the blurred haziness out of his vision as Carl’s large hand clamped down onto the back of Stan’s neck and dragged him to his feet. Carl launched another punch, this time into Stan’s gut and held him upright and in place too so that he couldn’t fall backwards again. To Stan, it felt like someone had just swung a log into his stomach and in the instant Carl’s knuckles made contact, Stan’s mind shot back to the first Carl he’d seen today; the hunched over Carl moving very slowly. In his mind, Stan saw this Carl transform into the old man that Stan had actually seen. Stan had walked past him like he didn’t exist on his way to Debra’s house and even now that little old man was probably only a few more meters along on his slow journey. A different memory flashed in the eye of Stan’s mind and he saw the ruined face of the old man’s corpse at his feet. His mind clouded as both images of the old man walking past him and of his dead corpse lying so still clashed in his memory.

Stan’s breath left him as he tried to double over. But Carl’s grip held him in place and then came another log-like arm and more agonising pain in Stan’s stomach.

Stan saw the second Carl again, the Carl that had been engrossed in a phone call on his cell phone. The pain now shooting through his stomach was sobering and Stan saw that the man on the phone hadn’t even noticed as Stan had passed by him, overtaking him without a second glance. Stan wondered if the man’s tiny little phone would actually have broken if it had been dropped. Then his memory showed him the tiny pieces of the broken phone spread across the paving mixed with equally tiny skull fragments in a puddle of blood.

Stan was dropped like a sack of crap into a crumpled heap at Carl’s feet.

Carl’s foot rose back and then his leg fired it forward and a heavy kick landed in Stan’s already bruised stomach, rolling him away with the force of the blow.

Stan almost passed out as he saw the crowd of Carl’s that he’d slaughtered. In his memory Stan walked into the centre of the group before spinning around and shooting each of them with such speed that none of them had time to realise what was going on. Each of them was fatally shot and dead before they hit the floor. Stan had walked away, leaving a body count behind him that would make an action-movie director proud. Then the memory in his mind reset and Stan saw the crowd coming towards him once more. They were nothing more than a group of people around his own age, both men and women, heading off to somewhere together and the only thing Stan had done to them was scowl at them for not letting him through as easily as he would’ve liked.

Stan’s mind was now even cloudier than the sky and his memories were a jumble of chaos. Had he killed them? Had he shot anyone today?! There was only one way to be sure – Stan had to check the gun and see how many bullets were in it.

No more blows from Carl came and Stanley rose to his hands, crawling towards the gun.

Carl turned away from him and called to Debra “What did you ever see in this piece of shit?!”

But Debra did not answer. She’d seen something that had frozen her to the spot and taken her mind for a walk. Carl looked around but the bushes of her garden prevented him seeing whatever it was she saw. Her thoughts ended and the distraction was forgotten as Debra looked back at Carl and Stan. Carl had time to see her eyes widen and then the sound of the gun left a ringing in his ears for the second time that morning. Carl tried to take a breath but couldn’t. He dropped to his knees and the fell forwards, his lifeless eyes locked onto Debra.

Debra tried to scream but no sound left her lips and at once Stan knew he had to go to her, but it was no good, Stan didn’t have the strength to stand and could only roll into a sitting position, still holding his gut with one hand, the smoking gun in the other. Stan tried to see if his final Carl victim – neighbour Carl – had been nothing more than an imagining but from his lowered vantage point he could not see. He looked back to Debra and saw that she was hyperventilating, having a panic attack. Her big blue eyes were wide with fear as Stan forced himself to his feet. The pain in his stomach and ribs was almost unbearable, but Debra needed him and the was all the motivation he needed. Stan began stumbling towards her and her eyes once more focused, locking onto him. For each agonising step he took toward her, she took a frightened step away.

“Honey!” he called, but she did not hear him. Her voice had finally caught and with each panting breath a scream escaped her, making her sound like a human car alarm. Finally the fear of Stan and his gun was too much and she turned and ran into her house, through her hallway and into her bedroom with Stan in hot pursuit, his pain subdued by his will to be with her.

Debra stood in her bedroom, terrified as Stan looked at her with a warm smile and in his most soothing voice he said “I love you and now we can finally be together.”

Hearing these words triggered something in Debra, something that she didn’t know was there. A ball of fire lit up in her stomach and after only a split second, that fireball exploded into a rage that flooded her and she screamed at Stan. “You fucking lunatic! You’re insane!”

Stan shook his head, confused.

“You just shot Carl! You killed him right in front of me and now you think that means we can be together?!”

A light of hope shone from Stan’s eyes but was quickly extinguished by the cold, heartless laughter erupting from Debra. Throwing her head back, she laughed and laughed until Stanley got angry and shouted at her “Stop laughing!”

“Why?!” she demanded. “You’re a fucking joke! If you think that I ever loved you, that I ever wanted you for you, you’re soooooo wrong! I had to have someone, I won’t be alone and you were the only guy to actually ask me out! I never wanted you, it was a choice between you and alone!”

Stan staggered under the blow each of these words inflicted upon him. The beating from Carl was nothing compared to the pain that Debra was now causing him and Stan thought he was going to upchuck there and then. He doubled over and leant on his own knees, breathing deeply and then like a sheen of blood across his eyes, he saw red.

“Bitch!” he screamed and as he straightened up he raised the gun, levelling it at Debra’s head.

“Oh, what you gonna do Stanley? You gonna shoot me now too?!”

In truth Stan didn’t know what he was going to do as he strode towards Debra and pushed the barrel of his gun against her forehead. Stan’s mind raced with the memories of his journey to this place and the people he remembered killing – the same people he saw in his past untouched by his jealously and still alive the last time he saw them. He’d been so focused on Debra he’d forgotten to look over into her neighbours garden to see if her neighbour’s body was there or not. If he had shot them all, then the gun in his hand was now empty, but if it had all been in his mind and the real Carl was the only one, then including the miss, the gun still had fourteen shots left in it.

Stan hesitated and in that moment Debra said “You’re such a loser. You’ve finally got a real weapon in your hand and you still can’t do me properly.”

The cold angry distain in her voice stung like a whip across his heart and Stan lost control. He screamed and all his jealously, all his anger rolled up together in his broken heart and shot down his arm and into his finger, squeezing it and the trigger of the gun.