storiessylviane (storiessylviane) wrote,

Original story: Fog


By Marea67
: Jeremy/Angela/Cherry
Rating: G
Summary: I hate fog
Disclaimer: Sorry, but the characters are mine. I made them up. Any resemblance to real-life persons is strictly coincidental.


His hands are deep in his pocket. A scarf tightly wrapped around his mouth and neck. His green eyes stare at the ground before him, as he walks on. The steps are muffled by the fog and he seems to be the only one in the street. Not that he would have noticed if there was someone else.
His mind is far away… Well, not so far maybe, because it’s only two blocks away, but his mind is firmly there and not here. And there is the flat that belongs to Angela. Angela with her long blonde hair and her pretty blue eyes that used to look at the world with such amusement, as if the world was there for her entertainment only.
Used to. For those eyes will never see anything again. And it’s his fault. He did it. He took the knife and stabbed her. He pushed it inside her body with all his strength. All his anger. All his jealousy. And he had seen her face. Surprised. Gasping for breath. The non-understanding look in her eyes.
And yet he told her why. He told he had seen her with that other man. The blonde one. They had kissed. At the bus-stop. She had been wearing a red coat. He had seen them together. And when she heard his words, Angela had looked at him, opened her mouth to say something, but he had suddenly known that he couldn’t listen to her.
If he would listen to her lies, he would want to believe her. He would want to pretend that he saw it wrong. That she was still his. He would want to pretend it never happened. If she would only ask him to. But… it had happened. She had cheated on him. He told her that. And she shook her head. As if he was wrong. And he wasn’t.
She had called him a fool. Not in words. Never in words, but just by her attitude. The way she shook her head, lifted up her hands to try and sooth him. But he would not be soothed by her. He was not some idiot that could be taken for granted. He had loved her! He had trusted her. Unconditionally! Until that kiss….
He takes his hands out of his pockets. Though he washed off the blood, it feels as if it’s still there. Warm. Sticky. The memory of the faint smell of it still makes him nauseous. It was her blood. Angela’s. He puts his hands back in his pocket. His fingers slide around the knife. He cleaned it up and took it with him.
He doesn’t know if that was smart to do, but he was too afraid to leave it behind. Maybe he should throw it away? How long will it be until they find her body? Would he be a suspect? What will be his alibi? ‘No, sir, I was at home, alone. No, there was way too much fog... I hate fog.’
He hears a clicking sound. Women’s shoes, high heels, on the pavement. The steps come closer and move hesitantly in the fog. Then a shape, dressed in red, forms in the distance. As it comes closer it fills him with horror. That blond hair, slightly differently combed. That face, though wearing more make-up. Those pretty blue eyes…. Alive!
He stops and stares at the person walking up to him. She sees him.
“Jeremy! You’re Jeremy, right? Oh, please, tell me I’m not wrong.” Jeremy nods, unable to say a word as he stares as the woman before him, who chatters on: “I’m Cherry. I recognized you from the pictures Angela sent me..…”
Her voice is not as soft and musical as Angela’s, it’s higher pitched and has a slight accent. “You are so lucky for she’s so in love with you… She wrote me that there could never be another man for her. Only you. You have to help me, dear. I took a wrong turn somewhere…. Oh, I hate this English fog. It’s days like this that I wish I was back in Australia.”
Slowly an uncomfortable feeling starts to crawl up inside him. Angela has a sister. A younger sister. Cherry. Who lives in Australia. Who looks so much like Angela that ‘everyone thought we were twins’. Giggle. … Cherry is married to a blond man… And they are not in Australia now, they are here….
“My husband and I flew all the way here for mom’s 50th birthday next Saturday. It will be such a surprise. We thought we couldn’t do it, financially I mean, but then my mother-in-law was willing to loan us some money. My husband and I are staying in a hotel down town. This is going to be such a surprise.
I can’t wait to see Angela’s face when she suddenly sees me on her door-step. I told her we couldn’t come, but I haven’t told her that the situation has changed. I’m so excited.” She giggles and thinks she’s incredibly funny, unaware of how she’s stirring up the chaos in Jeremy’s head.
Now he sees why Angela had been so surprised. He had seen Cherry with her husband kissing at the bus-stop. Angela had tried to tell him that it wasn’t her… And he hadn’t listened. She had tried to calm him down, but he had felt too betrayed to calm down. He had hurt the woman he loved. The woman who loved him.
And Cherry talks on and on in her high pitched voice that scratches in Jeremy’s ears. Her talk is meaningless. Pointless. And Jeremy only knows one thing. It is all her fault. She made him do it. Cherry and her silly secret had made him kill the woman he loved. His Angela.
His fingers curl around the haft of the knife. He slowly takes it out of his pocket. When he finally stabs, he sees the same shocked look as on Angela’s face. Cherry’s mouth opens with the same question of ‘why?’, but this time he doesn’t bother to answer. She’d be too stupid to understand anyway.
He merely stabs again and again, until Cherry’s body sags to the ground, without a sound. He watches the body at his feet and he vaguely realizes he has a problem. He cleans the knife with the inside of his coat, but his hands are once again sticky with blood. He has to get home soon.
Yes. Go home. Take a long warm shower and wash himself clean. And wash his coat, naturally. He has to start thinking of a plan. He puts his hands back in his pockets and starts to walk away from the body. Only the first few footprints can be seen partially, due to the blood on his shoes, but then his traces disappear into the fog.
And he repeats in his head the same lines over and over again, because if you do it enough, the lines become real. And then he will know it wasn’t him who did this.
“No, sir, I was at home. Yes, alone. No, there was way too much fog... I hate fog.”
“No, sir, I was at home. Yes, alone. No, there was way too much fog... I hate fog.”


Tags: 2015, short-story

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