Death Wish
Page 1
Death Wish:
A Novella
By
Cathy McGough
Copyright©
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any other information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. Published by Stratford Living Publishing Inc., 356 Ontario St., Suite 134, Stratford, Ontario, Canada N5A 7X6.
© 2015 Cathy McGough
All rights reserved.
Cathy McGough has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The characters in it are all fiction. Resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Some liberties have been taken with a few building locations and descriptions. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover Design by Humblenations.com
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Death Wish:
A Novella
By
Cathy McGough
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
About The Author
Chapter One
For the past few months, he found it very difficult to think about anything else.
It wasn’t that he felt sorry for himself, or was pathetic, or had no joie de vivre. It was just that he had thrown himself into it in such a way that it had become an obsession.
He lived in the perfect time. Today, he could find almost anything he wanted online. He was amazed at what he found there. Videos and photos. Every single thing he needed to know about it. Even things that frightened the living daylights out of him! And he could do it at work or at home. He had ways of changing the screen nonchalantly, so as not to attract attention to himself. He had become pretty much a pro at it lately, and he prided himself on the cat and mouse game that only he knew was being played.
He spent every waking hour—or as much as he possibly could—researching. Collecting more pieces of the puzzle. His goal was to put every single piece into place, and then and only then would he be ready. It would be easy then, and with all of the facts on the table, he would eliminate the possibility of failure.
“Failure is not an option,” he said to himself, wondering who had said it first. Curious, he Googled it. He found a book with the same name attributed to Gene Kranz, Flight Director of NASA’s Mission Control.
That was the problem with researching on the Internet—distractions. But he had to really learn how to focus on just one thing, because he could easily get off track, and then time would keep flying on by, and pretty soon, he’d be way too old to do— it.
And then there were the interruptions. Life had its interruptions, both good and bad. Like having to do things that you wanted to do, and having to do things that you didn’t want to do. Both ate up your time. You had to face it—you could go through life doing things you loved or things you hated, but either way, time was getting away from you, and there was nothing you could do to control it.
All one could do was close the door and hope and wish the world away. Sometimes, that wasn’t a very good feeling for those people in your life who you loved, like your wife. Or your dog.
Sometimes he felt like he ought to just confess everything to his wife. To throw himself at her feet. But then he’d consider how he would feel if his secret wasn’t just his secret. How he would have to answer questions, and how his decisions would be biased then. Not just his own choices.
No, he decided. Secrecy was the only way to do this. Besides, she would worry. And she might involve other people, like his parents or her parents or their friends, and then the cat would be out of the bag. He wondered where that phrase originated. He searched it, and chuckled at the debate online.
Read a bio of the author, and a few of the comments.
Suddenly, his wife walked in. He switched the screen to Facebook.
“A few more minutes,” he said.
She closed the door behind her.
Whenever she stuck her head inside the door, and after she left, he always felt like a child getting caught doing something really bad. Being raised Catholic; it was bred into him to feel guilty about absolutely everything, though it wasn’t like he was wanking or anything. He was merely sitting at the computer, doing work. True, it wasn’t paid work, but it was still work. It had a purpose. He searched the word “work.” Saw it had been defined as a form of torture, and laughed at that.
He felt so damned guilty and self-involved. It was like his wife was screaming at him all of the time saying, “Don’t I matter?”
He covered his ears and cringed at the thought.
It wasn’t like he was looking at porn or anything like that, either. Some of his mates had their guilty online pleasures, but that wasn’t his thing. When they bragged about their conquests, it made him want to disappear. One of his married friends had signed up to several of those online dating sites. They’d send him photos on their phones, and he hadn’t even met them in person. And then there were the online porn addicts. They talked about it, even bragged about it.
It made him feel sick. It made him feel ashamed to be a man.
Then again, many of the wives were out buying frilly pink handcuffs after reading that sexy book on the top seller list. His wife tried to read it, too, but being an English teacher, she couldn’t get past the bad writing. Her friends kept telling her that the payoff was big enough to ignore the writing style, but his wife still was unable to jump on the bandwagon.
Once again, he was letting his mind stray. He searched the title of the sexy book and read a few chapters online. Deciding it was drivel, he told himself to get back to the task at hand. He hated himself when he couldn’t focus, and yet, he was so easily distracted.
Just then, his dog, Buddy barked, and he looked at his watch. Buddy had been outside for nearly thirty minutes.
Feeling guilty, he jumped up and moved across the room without changing the screen. Buddy barked again, and he reached back and closed his laptop. Better safe than sorry, he thought to himself as he left the room and walked down the corridor.
“Too little, too late,” Jayne said in a laughing tone in his direction, as Buddy came bouncing toward him.
“Sorry,” he said, “I only just heard him.”
“No worries,” she said, “I was closer.” Then she returned to reading and marking her students’ papers.
He and Buddy made their way back along the hallway and into his office. “Sorry, Bud,” he said as the dog sat down on the floor and began to lick his face. “Did you miss me, Buddy?” he asked over and over again as Buddy barked out a yes.
“I better get back to work, Bud,” he said resignedly.
Chapter Two