A murder. It was perfect. The perfect time, the perfect place. Only one thing didn’t fit this flawless plan - the victim.
A chilly December morning. The body had been found, floating face-down in the icy depths of the river. The corpse had been so frozen that it was almost impossible to discern its facial features. And when it had been recognised, emotions were divided.
The mayor’s daughter. A horrible woman. Twice times divorced, and three of her previous husbands had died horrible deaths right after legal trouble. And she was a flat-earther. You either loved her or you loathed her. Half the town fell into the latter category.
The murder was exquisite. Not a drop of blood in the snow, no tell tale footprints and the autopsy itself was a mystery. But a fortune was missing from the body.
The Golden Brooch. The town’s pride and joy, the only reassurance that they had any importance in this world. And now it was gone. 50,000 coins worth of glittering gold, as well as a meagre topaz encased in the centre.
For once, this town made national headlines. The Shadow Killer, they called him. Yes, he had murdered before. But those lives were insignificant. Now, half the nation was searching for this monstrosity of a man.
It was three years later that I found it. Hidden between my bedsheets: a brooch so shiny it burned the tips of my eyelashes.
I found her later, leaning against a tree. She watched the sunset, and the pink flames blossomed around her silhouette. I was tempted to smirk. On her breast pocket rested a golden brooch encasing a topaz. “A fake?” I asked. “Both real. Forged the day we were born, two continents apart.” The silence seemed to stretch like a spandex suit. “Why?” I asked finally, when no other words seemed to suffice. “Why do you think?” “The same reason as everybody else.” We walked away.
After all, she was a flat-earther.
My steps quickened as I hurried home, nervously adjusting my tie. I couldn’t wait to tell Lisa. This was the big break both of us needed. Tom could grow up in sunny Australia instead of miserable, dark alleyways. I crept into our apartment, a bouquet of roses behind my back. Silence. Tom wasn’t home yet, but where was Lisa? The phone rang. My heart dropped like a stone. “The hospital?” When I got there it looked like it may be too late. Lisa lay in front of me, her hair fanned out on the pillow, as grey as her mother’s. Her eyes were glazed over, glassy and unseeing. For a moment, she looked like a corpse already, but then she croaked a weak “Hey there.” How could a cough progress to something like this? It had happened too quickly. And on this day... I had thought nothing could ruin my morning. Well, I had been wrong. Lisa’s mother and father entered the ward. Sandwiched between them was Tom, as small and slight as ever. His unhealthy complexion could improve so much when in Australia. But how could we even think of going now? Lisa knew. She saw my expression: guilty and pitiful and miserable. Without saying anything, she placed her hand over where mine was resting on the bedside table. A silent reassurance. I knew what was going to happen. She whispered, “Go for it.” I shook my head adamantly, not bothering to wipe away the tears forming in my eyes. Lisa’s expression became stern; then she let out a contented sigh and closed her eyes. This was happening too fast. I gulped, as my eyes blurred and everything seemed to be muted. As I stood up, a hand clutched mine and Lisa let out a rasping laugh that sounded more like a bad cough. “Go for it, you idiot.” I didn’t get a chance to argue - she was snoring away. I entered the ward an hour later, grabbing a coffee after feeling too ill to eat. Lisa was still snoring, her mouth parted and her nose turned up. As soon as I leaned over her, she opened her eyes and said, “ Goddamit, Simon, if you don’t take this opportunity, I’m gonna take you with me six feet under.” Then she died. We took the old hag’s ashes to Australia; maybe a bit of sun would make her feel a little more alive.
