Excerpt
Conrad paced the floor frantically, retracing the past six months in his mind. Recoiled in his own feelings of fear and desperation, he wrestled to break free from the web he’d spun to capture his prey, but had now captured him instead. Remnants of unspoken apologies and now unspoken goodbyes left him choking away the tears. He knew that too much time had passed for any reconciliation, but he still wanted to take control, to hold on to just one relic to remember his old life by.

He was in hiding, not physically but metaphorically, not bound deliberately, but removed from what his life had become. Admitting that he was never truly there, never a real participant, instead, he was merely a stand in, a body double, someone playing the role of Conrad but never fully committing.

After walking around the office vigorously at first and now in a slow precise pace, sweat beaded on his shoulders and neck. The collar of his pastel polo button-down was damp as if the sun was rising inside of him. Tired, he sat on the edge of his desk with both knees cradled like a child. He hung his head in the palm of one hand, confused. He hadn’t felt so weak, so alone, since the day Millie died. The cold, still intensive care hospital room, the stinging smell of bleached floor tile, and the nurse’s hairspray came to him. How could he forget her last breath and her fight to live? That day sought an ending and this day, a second death.

The pain of leaving his wife and son hovered overhead preparing to wash over him like rushing waves over the ocean’s shore. He was not ready, although he’d invited this moment into his life, sent the most elaborate invitation, and even anticipated its arrival. Now, the moment was here and he had to decide.

He took the pistol from his desk drawer.

Guilt rang his ears like a room filled with screaming children. “Hush!” he screamed neurotically, grabbing the side of his head and nearly sending the gun crashing to the floor. When the metal hit the wood cabinet, it startled him. His eyes widened and his shoulders rose in fear. He watched the barrel spin, like a drunken game of Russian roulette.

He needed to think.

The control he normally wore like an Armani suit got too tight, too uncomfortable. So, he shredded each layer, piece by piece. He was now naked, standing before God, wondering if heaven would take him in, and wondering what everyone thought of him at that very moment. Did Gen remember the day he proposed, and the day they brought Marvin home? Did Marvin remember how he cheered him on at his baseball games? Or, are they still lost in the pain, smothered by his failure to live up to their expectations?

He needed to come to this moment convinced that his decision was the right one. He prided himself on being a man of action, but now, he’s not so sure. There was no absolute certainty about his position although he was convinced that something had to be done for the sake of Gennifer, Marvin and Nora, those he’d hurt because of his heartlessness.

Peering helplessly at the gun, he stood and slowly moved closer, and then closer. With every step, he convinced himself that it was the right thing to do. Just as he reached for the handle, he heard a knock on the door.