Freddy had been careful, planning every task in minute detail. His happiness only dampened by the knowledge he would never be able to share this accomplishment with anyone. No, he would not be able to boast about it at all. He contented himself, saying to himself, “Without a doubt I am a man of perfection.”
Her failure to achieve his demand of exquisiteness had been the reason he’d been obliged to become her undertaker. She should have cared more about her looks, she was on his arm after all. How embarrassing it had been for him as Selina fallen back into wearing the clothing of a farm girl. Comfort was not an option, but she had persisted. She failed to transform into a lady, but she would not humiliate him again.
Recalling the night before he could not suppress a chuckle. It had been easy to convince her to go with him for a midnight ride on the motorboat. He’d throttled her with the docking rope until she fell limp. The ease of killing her surprised him, he’d been prepared for her to fight, to scratch, to scream. She’d done none of those things. It was almost as though she wanted to meet death.
He disposed her under the waters, watching with fascination as the rope glittered like a snake behind her sinking body. When both she and the rope had disappeared from view he sat up straight and threw his head back, a sigh of contentment escaping from his lips. He turned to look back at the island but it had disappeared from sight. He had drifted too far for too long.
It was in the moment of comprehension of the fatality of the approaching storm Freddie saw me, my robes flapping in the gathering morning clouds. He saw her sitting in my hand, her beautiful spirit glistening. I blew her, like children blow a kiss, to the heavens that awaited her as I gathered him into the blackness of my robe.
I’ll tell Salina’s tale another time.
© Zora Zebic 2016