Through the picture window

by James Steele

I do something?”

  “NO! No, no. God no Veronica you’re fine dear. I want to employ you. That’s all.”

  Her confusion grew even more. “I don’t understand. I thought I was already?”

  “Well technically yes. It’s something else I need you for.”

  There was a pause in the air as Milo took another deep, exhausting breath.

  “I have lived a good life, married to a woman that was my one true soul mate you see? Now though, since she’s been gone I’ve got no one. We never had kids and you are really the only thing in my life. After my accident I realized that I was cheated out of the solitude and pain free promotion I deserved. Those damn bastard paramedics just had to revive me. For what though? So I could sit here and rot on some one else’s watch? Bah!”

  Milo paused again as he gasped for air. Veronica readjusted herself in her seat and rubbed her thighs nervously.

  Milo continued. “I win at everything, always have, and always will. During that accident, I was taken by surprise. I couldn’t win because I was caught off guard. If I would have turned my head just thirty more degrees inward? POP!! Winner!!”

  Veronica gasped in fear. “Mr. Sampson please why are talking about this?”

  “I want to make you an offer. It’s simple-I will give you everything in my bank account if you go shopping and pick up a couple of things for me. If my calculations are correct that should equal about $356,000.21.”

  Veronica’s eyes widened.

  “You’re interested, good,” Milo smiled weakly. “Now here’s a piece of paper and a pen.” Milo leaned towards her as he spoke. “Write these things down will you?”

  “Yes Mr. Sampson,” she obeyed with pen in hand, quickly jotting down the number he had given her at the top. “I’m ready.”

  “I need one roll of black duct tape, the really sticky kind; fifteen feet of nylon rope and a sack. The kind you put potatoes and what not in.”

  “What is this for Mr. Sampson?”

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  “Well yes, I guess so,” she stuttered.

  “I’m going to hang myself.”

  Veronica suddenly dropped the paper and pen on the couch. “I’m sorry Mr. Sampson but this is ridiculous. I couldn’t do something like this.”

  Milo put out his hand in despair. “I’m not asking you to. You won’t have any part of it. These are simple items you could get anywhere.”

  “I’m sorry but no.”

  “Please! I know it’s my time to die. Damn it, I was supposed to be killed but I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand that it was my time. I do now. Do you see? I need to catch up. I’m old and unwell. What do people need me around for anyway?”

  “Mr. Sampson,” Veronica began.

  “Wait, your sons. What about your boys? Think of what all of that money could do for them; colleges, clothes, even a new house. Your contribution would be strictly anonymous.”

  “Not in my mind Mr. Sampson. That is where you’re wrong. I could never do something so immoral, so selfish as to be associated with an unthinkable act.”

  “An association would be to assist me up on to the stool, watch me place the noose around my brittle throat and then shove me off, leaving nothing but air between my feet and the ground. That, is immoral, that is by association. I am an old, decrepit man wanting to be with his wife again and it is your current selfishness that is not allowing me to do that.”

  Veronica stood from the couch and paced in tight circles, stroking her arms as she thought. The list was back in her hand, clenched in her fist like a valuable recipe. Milo could sense that he was getting through to her.

  “This won’t make you indecent.”

  Veronica looked at him with sorrowful eyes and nervous stress marks around her mouth.

  “Give me some time,” she finally whispered. She was choked up and on the verge of tears.

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know, 5-6 hours. I have to pick my boys up from school and take them to their Papa’s.”

  “Thank you Veronica.”

  “You deserve what you want Mr. Sampson. I am not tainted by vanity; however you drive a convincing argument.”

  Veronica helped Milo to his feet and he followed her to the door as she grabbed her purse. He noticed that her hands were shaking. Milo reached out and touched them, calmly and silently reassuring her that she was doing the right thing.

  “I will make sure the money is deposited into your account. Just think of it as a really large paycheck,” Milo added jokingly. It made her smile. “Now go, I’ll talk with you soon.”

  Veronica left his small apartment and Milo shuffled back towards the picture window, pondering while looking out towards the water. He could see the road below, noticeably vacant for the season and lacking of anything exciting.

  Milo wanted to give them a show.

  Already four blocks away, Veronica intermittently reached for the list in her purse, feeling the paper between her finger tips and imagining it as one hundred dollar bills instead. She could do so much with that money-jewels, car, make up and even some clothes for her sister’s sons, her nephews.

  She smirked at how ridiculous Milo Sampson had sounded, practically begging her to kill him. If he only knew who he was dealing with; that dumb old man. She would have helped him kill himself for $10, 000 rather than over 300. She had already begun looking for a new job somewhere else, maybe retail or advertising. Veronica had the looks so why not use them? His smell and his demanding needs had worn on her in less than a month, pushing her to seek employment elsewhere but after the accident she felt obligated to stick around a bit longer.

  It was finally going to pay off.

  Milo picked up a photo of his wife on their wedding day and stared with content. It was a black and white picture taken just before she was to walk down the aisle. Her dress was egg shell with lace that bordered her upper neck line and shoulders. Pearls complimented the fabric against her smooth, pale skin. She smiled while looking in the reflection of a vanity mirror.

  He missed that smile. He missed everything about her.

  Milo took a deep sigh and placed the handle of his cane on the edge of the kitchenette counter, holding the picture in his other hand. Suddenly his hands began to quiver with his breathing.

  It couldn’t have happened any faster. A passing car suddenly honked outside as Milo turned towards the window. His feet were too slow to follow and with his wife’s picture in his hands he stumbled downwards. He couldn’t catch his balance with out the cane perched on the counter behind him. He was falling fast. The side of his head smashed against the kitchen table, cutting his scalp and knocking him unconscious. In a pile of human body and broken glass from the picture frame, Milo came to rest on the linoleum floor in between the table and counter. His body was contorted at an angle inappropriate for someone of his age. Milo’s legs were positioned over ninety degrees from his body and his left arm was pinned under his chest. Blood slowly dripped onto the floor at his fore head, running down the bridge of his nose and settling under his cheek.

  Five hours and twenty two minutes would pass before his body would be discovered.

  Suddenly, amidst the dark room and columns of reflective yellow National Geographic covers luminescent from the headlights on the highway below, a knock echoed from the door.

  It was followed by another and then finally, movement from the doorknob.

  “Mr. Sampson?” Veronica called out as the door creaked open. Silence stung the air with a cold and hollow emptiness. She squinted into the dark as she pushed the door open a bit more. The only sounds resonating through the upstairs flat were those of the outside world, where an uneasy step into an acquaintance’s apartment wouldn’t find you stumbling over his stiffened, dead body.

  Veronica gasped in horror.

  The list and paper bag of supplies fell at
his feet, spilling out onto the blood stained linoleum.

  Five hours and forty four minutes after Milo’s supposed accident, 3 patrolmen and a detective stood around his apartment, casually looking about for reasons to justify an apparent cause of death. Veronica sat on the couch swaying nervously with tear soaked tissues clutched in her fist. Her face was red and swollen from crying profusely. The detective, a lanky, older man with white blonde hair parted into a comb over stood over Milo’s body with peculiar suspicion in his eyes. He had a chocolate colored suit on with a clashing bright red tie to disarray his wardrobe. A pad of paper breeched his suit coat pocket. His name was Carol Aster.

  “How long have you known Mr. Sampson?” He asked curiously. Detective Aster didn’t move from his place above the body.

  Veronica searched the air for answers. “A little over a year I think,” she professed through a choked voice.

  A patrolman walked up to Detective Aster and began taking photographs of items he pointed at. The flash bulb exploded each time a photo was taken, startling Veronica a little more each time. She was tense, exhausted and confused as to why they wouldn’t let her leave. She had called 911, given directions to his house and let the police in when they requested. What did they need? It was a simple case-old man trips and dies.

  Unfortunately, simplicity at times can seem a little too...austere.

  The patrolman suddenly caught eye of a note tucked behind the shattered picture of Milo’s wife.

  “Detective, do you see that?”

  Aster took