Hey guys. I should be studying. And I will, I promise. But today is my friend’s birthday and I decided to give her an unusual birthday gift. She absolutely adores the musical Chicago (we both do) and spent most of the first year of University singing the song: He Had It Coming. She also loves to read. So, for her, I decided to write a story from one of the married murderess’ perspective. I chose Mona. I hope you guys enjoy it, especially you Nneks. Happy Birthday xx! Also, this was quite interesting to write as I’ve never written anyone with this sort of personality. It was very fun.
“I loved Alvin Lipschitz more than I can possibly say. He was a real artistic guy… sensitive, a painter. But he was troubled; he was always trying to find himself. He’d go out every night looking for himself and on the way he found Ruth, Gladys, Rosemary and Irving. I guess you can say we broke up because of artistic differences. He saw himself as alive and I saw him dead.”
HE HAD IT COMING
The interrogation room reeked of cigarette, stale coffee and desperation. Mona supposed that like the stench of cigarettes and coffee, the desperation lingered from the last unfortunate soul who sat where she did.
The officer, Sergeant Darville, stared at her wordlessly. His mouth formed a grim, straight line and he clutched a pale, yellow folder between the pudgy sausages that doubled as his fingers. Two seconds, three seconds, four seconds passed before he flipped the folder open and shoved it across the coffee stained table.
Mona glanced down at the photo, looked at it for a few seconds then brought her gaze back up to Sergeant Darville. She held his eyes for a split second before her lips, covered in the bright red lipstick she glossed on before she was arrested, curved into a smile.
“I take it you expected this disturb me,” she said.
Her voice was low and breathy with amusement skirting around the edges. Darville’s back stiffened, “Did it?”
Mona’s smile widened, “I suppose the blood is going to be hard to get out the carpeting.”
Darville opened his mouth, closed it again before he tried his luck at speaking. Mona rolled her eyes. It wasn’t often she managed to shock someone speechless. Hu-rrah. She observed the man sitting before her in his too-starched, too-white shirt and gobbly eyes. She automatically thought of blowfishes. Except, she thought the comparison was unfair to the blowfishes. She chuckled under her breath. Darville straightened himself in the small, wooden chair. Mona barely managed to suppress a further eye roll. She bit her lip and ran her finger down her neck to her collarbone. She watched Darville’s gaze follow her finger and continued down to her breasts straining against her corseted top. It was an awful lot of cleavage to show for a police interrogation, but what could she say? Mona believed in being well dressed for every occasion. She watched Darville as he tried to hide his interest in her heaving chest. Men, Mona thought, all the same. If her husband… her late husband, Alvin were less typical she wouldn’t be here tonight. And Alvin? Alvin wouldn’t be in the City Morgue. Well, at least the parts of him they were able to find.
“This is serious,” Darville spat.
Mona cocked her head to the side and grinned, “So are my tits if the attention you’ve given them are anything to go by.”
She watched the Sergeant blush beet red.
“Can I have a smoke?” she continued before he could speak.
Darville patted his pocket, pulled out a box of Marlboro and offered a cigarette to Mona. She ran her hand through her curly, black hair before leaning across the table, licking her lips and puckering up.
Darville placed the cigarette between her lips and lit it. Mona basked in his obvious discomfort as she took a long drag. She blew the smoke towards Darville and grinned, “Alvin always said if I was good with one thing – that was my mouth.”
Darville did his best impression of a blowfish again. Mona didn’t try to hide her smirk. She obviously wasn’t what the dear Sergeant expected. He was ready for a hysterical, weeping woman. Mona had never been anything but calculated and clinical. It came in handy when she cut Alvin’s dick off while she looked into his eyes.
“What happened to your husband?” Darville asked.
She sighed, “Sergeant Darville, he had it coming.”
“Are you saying you murdered him?”
She grinned. “It was a murder. But,” she paused and took another drag from the cigarette, “it was not a crime.”
“You stabbed him thirteen times.”
“Fifteen,” she corrected. “He had it coming.”
“He was your husband.”
Mona played with the wedding band on her finger. She’d removed it before she killed him. She couldn’t bear for it to be stained by blood. It was probably the only thing from their marriage that escaped unscathed.
“I loved Al more than I could possibly say,” she said. “But he was always trying to find himself. He never did. Fancy that. He found many other people though; Ruth, Gladys, Rosemary and Irving… I walked in on him with Irving.”
She paused, “It seems like Irving was also good with his mouth.”
“You see Sergeant Darville our marriage ended because of irreconcilable differences. He saw himself as alive and well, I saw him dead.”
Mona dropped the lit cigarette on the wooden table and turned her hand, palms facing upwards towards him, “Is this where you arrest me?”
“Do you realize you’ve confessed to murder?”
Mona threw her head back and laughed, “Yes. And if you are nice to me I might just tell you where I put his dick.”
Mona rolled her eyes. There Sergeant Darville went being a blowfish again.
“Never forget this,” her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “He had it coming. He only had himself to blame. If you had been there, if you had seen him… I bet you, you would have done the same.”
Then, Mona stared at Sergeant Darville with the bemused expression still fixed on her face as he handcuffed her.
© Rilzy Adams, 2013