For this, I’m gonna kill her, Christine thought. She briskly strode up the stairs to the second floor, gun in hand. I’m gonna blow her freakin’ brains out!
By the time Christine reached the closed door to Vivian’s room, she stood there for a few moments. She placed her free hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly, wincing at the slightest sound. She heard her own erratic breathing. She held her breath until the door opened barely a notch. This made her think of a scene in Edgar Allen Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart, where the creepy guy spent many long minutes slowly turning the doorknob and ever-so-slowly opening the bedroom door, millimeter by millimeter, as opposed to inch by inch.
Now, she held the door knob tightly, immobile. As she pushed it open, she quietly exhaled the air she held in her lungs. With stealth, Christine went around a small table covered with a cream-colored tablecloth. A clear crystal vase filled with water and a long-stemmed red rose inhabited the top of the table.
Don’t get too near it, Christine thought. Be sure to refrain from knocking it over. Careful now.
She took step after painstaking step with grueling precision. Even the occasional wisp-wisp of the hem of her robe, which lightly brushed against the hardwood floor, seemed loud to her.
Christine told herself to pay particular attention to every detail within the dark confines of this overstuffed room. She made a mental note to be sure not to step on the comforter or sheet on the floor by the bed.
Vivian cleared her throat.
Christine froze as her heart palpitated. Beads of sweat broke out on her eyebrows and at the ridges of her upper lip. Damn you for scaring me like that! she thought.
Christine walked two steps and felt a tug at the sleeve of her robe. She gasped reflexively and turned. It was too dark to see what tugged the sleeve. She reached out with her free hand and her fingertips trailed across the surface of a wooden dresser bureau of medium height. Her sleeve had gotten caught on the corner of the bureau. She shook the sleeve loose.
Christine approached the bed and glared down at her sleeping sister. She slowly raised her arm, gun in hand, until the barrel barely brushed some strands of Vivian’s hair at the temple.
Well, what are you waiting for, damn it? Christine thought. Do it! Blast the stoopid miscreant to Hell!
Christine placed her index finger on the trigger and scarcely applied pressure.
C’mon! What are you waiting for? Just do it!
Vivian cleared her throat once again and turned in her sleep.
Christine jerked her arm back. She clutched the gun with both hands tightly against her pounding chest. She placed the gun near Vivian’s temple once again, though not as close as before. She held it there for a moment.
“Bang,” Christine whispered.
It’s the other one I really want to get, she decided. Vivian will just have to wait until another day.