This is a fragment of the Prologue from my novel-in-progress: Adagio for Canon.
There he stood, amidst blood stained walls, his face covered in sweat. Even though I had called his name several times, he would not face me. The silence was ominous. A constant dripping echoed through the silence. I tried my best not to imagine where that sound was coming from.
“Honey?” I whispered, afraid to stir any laying danger.
“What’s wrong?” He still would not respond. “Where is Amelia?”
“Gone…” His voice was shaky.
“What do you mean gone?”
“It’s done. We’ve won–”
“You don’t mean that…”
“–I judged the devil, found her guilty, and disposed of her.”
He turned around, face covered in blood, holding a knife in his right hand. There was a smirk on his face. His victim lay on the floor, barely recognizable, her clothes soaked with blood. I covered my mouth in horror and disgust, on the verge of throwing up.
“Why are you smiling? Aren’t you ashamed of what you’ve done?” I said.
“Ashamed!?” He threw the knife through the window, shattering the brittle glass. A breeze surged through. “My father can finally have peace, along with the innocents she’s butchered along her path of carnage!”
“You’ve done the same!”
“Me? I’ve just moved the pieces so that the queen could be left defenseless.”
“There you go! Justifying everything you’ve done!”
His grin soon turned into a maniacal laughter. Had he finally lost it? He’s reached the end of his vendetta, now what’s next? Would he dispose of everything that has burdened him?
I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. The thought of being on his black list scared me. He wouldn’t do something like that, would he? We love each other; after all, I’m expecting a baby.
That powerful ‘evil’ laughter soon turned into a desperate cry; his eyes overflowed with tears. He collapsed to his knees; his fists pounded on the floor, it was an overwhelming sight. A man who had faced his life with the idea of vengeance crumbled under the weight of the wrongs he had committed. He crawled towards me, reaching my mud-covered boots, soon his blood stained hands held my dress; pleading for forgiveness. What he failed to realize was that I had already forgiven him, ever since we embarked on this journey.
Had my heart grown cold, frozen by the blizzard of suffering and loneliness? Why couldn’t I feel sorry for him? Don’t I love him? There had been a split-second impulse to hold him in my arms, to kiss his forehead and to calm his aching heart. No there was something else, another emotion, a feeling of bitterness. He deserved this and more.
No sooner had I reached for his face, than a felt a discomfort within me. It all soon became ominously clear. It was time, but why of all places did it have to be here? It’s only been seven months… The painful contractions had started, my dress became wet. Is this it? Dripping down my legs, a warm, clear liquid mixed with the blood on the tiled floor. My body was paralyzed with fear.
“Honey…” I dropped on top of him, “The baby…”
“What’s wrong!? Sophia!”
“The baby…” My voice had disappeared, all of a sudden.
“Sophia! What’s wrong? Are you injured?” He frantically searched for an injury, blood or anything that could indicate a wound.
“The baby!” a powerful scream finally escaped me.