ROMANTIC SUSPENSE : DEATH WHISPERED SOFTLY

by Oliver Anderson

  In these moments of strife and torment, Steve wondered if god was the solution. But how can I believe that to be true, if there was a god and if that god ever loved me he wouldn’t have taken away my parents and left me at the mercy of cruel and uncaring foster parents, he thought bitterly.

  Ever since his parent’s death, Steve had lost all hope and faith and never returned to a church. His callous foster parents were atheists and didn’t care about god. “It’s all a fantasy you foolish boy!” they would ridicule him, whenever he dared to ask them anything about God. And that’s exactly how Steve had started viewing God—nothing but a fantasy.

  But in these moments of anguish and despair, Steve was reminded of what his father had counseled, he wondered if god could somehow get him out of this mess. If he really existed and if he really cared, he would somehow prevent this from happening. This is what his parents had assured him of so unfailingly. But it would be utterly unwise to rely on something that was unknown, untried, and unseen. The only prudent thing, he felt, he could do now was to do exactly as he promised Ricardo—carry out the plan to perfection, collect his money and then beat it! Yes this was the solution to all of this. “Execute the plan so well that the cops would have no chance of pinning the murder on me. I won’t give them a dog’s chance of doing that” he promised himself. In less than a week from now this hellish thing will be over and I will be thousands of miles away from here with a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in my pocket, he reassured himself. I would lie low until it all blows over; and start a new life by establishing my restaurant in California—with Ricardo’s money. Steve suddenly discovered with a shock he had no desire to start a restaurant anymore, not under these circumstances!

  “How ironic! I came here to murder someone to establish my restaurant and accomplish my dream, and here I am committed to murdering an innocent girl and there is no desire left to use that blood money for my dream! Steve thought wistfully. “What do I do now? If only this killing could be evaded; but how?” He had no clue how!

  Then Steve did something he hadn’t done since after his parents’ death. He went down on his knees and prayed.

  CHAPTER Xll

  The next few days went by rather quickly for Steve. In these few days he had reconciled himself to the fact that there was no way out—he had to do the job. He was no longer tormented by the fact that he was going to kill an innocent person to accomplish his dreams. “If there at all is a creator, then it is him who must take the onus and responsibility of this crime. Had he been kind to me this wouldn’t be happening, he reassured himself. Having shifted the responsibility and the blame on god, Steve was prepared to do his job on Tuesday night.

  He would get up each day and after showering, he would, in the comfort and privacy of his hotel room, practice his entry into the café and rehearse the words he had to utter. After initial fumbles and hard practice Steve found that from the fourth day onwards the words he had to speak came smoothly. He was also growing in confidence, and so was his stubble.

  On the eventful day, Steve got up late on purpose, at around 11 am. He knew it was going to be a long day and he had to rest as much as he could. He spent thirty minutes in the shower, where he almost shaved his stubble off – unknowingly! Steve had the peculiar habit of shaving under a warm shower.

  He was so habituated to this routine that his hand unconsciously drifted to the shaver lying near the bath tub, and it was only at the last instant that he remembered and violently threw the shaver across the room. “What the heck are you doing, you idiot!” he hissed at himself. “This stubble is your security, your mask, which will hide your identity from the cops!” he shouted violently.

  Then he gingerly ran his hand over his jaw and was enormously relieved to discover that his cover, his week old stubble, was still intact. He turned around and faced the mirror. What he saw in the mirror put his fears to rest. His week old stubble had become coarse and shabby and it was covering almost his entire face. He could hardly recognize his own self.

  And with the hoodie covering his head and the thick glasses on, it would be hugely challenging—if not impossible— for someone to recognize him, even if that someone knew Steve intimately. With his disguise in place, Steve was reassured that it was virtually impossible to recognize him. This calmed Steve’s nerves considerably and he felt confident that he would be able to successfully implement Gustav Nilsson’s’ deadly plan.

  During the stay in his room, Steve had taken every pre-caution to ensure he did not attract any attention or suspicion. He never played the TV loud, lest anyone complain of the noise and cause attention to him and possibly blows his cover. Steve had been as quiet, discreet, and unknown as possible.

  The torment of waiting was now over and Steve was anxious to complete this task smoothly and successfully, and get the hell out of this nightmare he had gotten himself into.

  Steve had used Ricardo’s money to buy the things he needed to carry out the plan—a heavy black hoodie, a pair of thick horn rimmed glasses, a pair of tight fitting gloves, and a pair of shoes with concealed heels which gave him an inch and a half of extra height.

  His walk to the café had seemed like an eternity, every step was laden, and it was a little past midnight when Steve reached the café, wearing the hoodie. Steve had not come to the café before. He had purposely stayed away from the café on Ricardo’s advice.

  As Ricardo had informed him, the café had a huge glass window pane which overlooked the parking lot. Through the window one could easily see patrons and activities going on inside. Steve glanced inside the Café through the huge window pane. He saw a girl sitting at the piano. She seemed to be so deeply immersed in her piano and thoughts that her face looked as if she were in a trance. He also saw a waiter standing behind the serving counter and Steve was relieved to see the waiter was all alone. There appeared to be no one in the café except for these two.

  Steve had in the past seven weeks practiced hard what he had to do and he was now feeling pretty confident that he could pull this off. Although deep within Steve was queasy, even guilty, at the thought of murdering an innocent person, he kept reminding himself there was now no other option, but to carry out the plan with precision perfection.

  In the past week, when he would go over the plan in his head his conscience would scream loudly at him, he would manage to shake it off by jogging his memory that it was he who was wronged first having to live his tormented life. Had he not lost his parents in that terrible plane crash or had his foster parents not been so cruel and callous, it would have been a different story and his fate may have been different. If he was now standing in front of a café about to murder an innocent girl, it was his fate and god—if there was one—who was to blame, and certainly not him. “I cannot be held culpable for what’s about to happen” he would remind himself. “I am just giving back what life has given me” he would convince himself.

  Steve had gulped down two large shots of scotch just before leaving his hotel. The scotch was doing exactly what he expected it to do. And by the time he had arrived at the café, he was feeling slightly high, a little calmer and a bit reckless.

  Fifteen minutes or so before leaving his hotel, he had made the call that would set the plan in motion, he had called up Ricardo on his cell phone to confirm if he had taken his position in his car a block away so that they could make a clean and fast getaway—after the job had been done. It was exceedingly essential for Steve that he find Ricardo in the car a block away waiting, positioned and ready, after he had shot the Kingsbury girl and rapidly exited the café. It was vital that all the pieces were in place, because it would only be a matter of minutes before the café was swarming with cops. And Steve knew he had to make good his escape in those few vital minutes.

  And when Ricardo confirmed he was waiting in his car, parked a block away from the café, Steve heaved a sigh of relief. He was now ready to put the plan into action. Standing now right in front of the café, Steve glanced at his watch- it was 12:2
7 a.m. “Time to enter the café” he took out from his pocket, the thick horn- rimmed glasses that would camouflage his face, and his gloves to prevent leaving his finger prints behind. With his disguise in place he was ready. He knew that the man who was about to enter the café looked nothing like him! And this greatly comforted him. He put his hand in the pocket of his trousers and gripped the cold butt of his fully loaded gun.

  At precisely 12.30 a.m. Steve cautiously entered the café, wearing horn-rimmed glasses, with his hood up, his gloved hands in his pocket.

  His hooded figure was ominous and made the waiter behind the counter look sharply at him. But Ricardo was right; this waiter was far from a powerful man. Small in stature, he was of Asian descent; he was perhaps a student who worked at this café to earn some money on the side. Steve knew that his entry had totally fazed the waiter, and to pacify his fears, lest they grow to epic proportions, he gave the waiter his boyish and friendly smile. The smile had an immediate and magical effect on the waiter, calming his anxiety of this hooded figure that had suddenly materialized from nowhere. The relieved waiter beamed back at Steve. Still smiling Steve walked up to the counter and asked the waiter, in a tone that was deeper than his usual voice, for a cappuccino. As the waiter rang him up and began to prepare his cappuccino, Steve casually looked around to see what Grace Kingsbury was doing.

  The first sight of Grace Kingsbury was something that would be etched on Steve’s memory for a long, long time. He had heard from Ricardo that Grace Kingsbury was beautiful. But when he saw her barely fifteen feet away from where he was standing, he realized that that was the understatement of the year. Grace was not just beautiful, she was a stunner! And her strikingly good looks took Steve’s breath away. Grace Kingsbury was slim, with soft wavy brown hair that flowed over her shoulders. She had sharp features and high cheek bones. Her complexion was pink and flawless and she had large violet colored eyes that further enhanced her beauty. Grace Kingsbury was strikingly good-looking, and her beauty jarred Steve. He instinctively knew that Grace Kingsbury’s captivating looks had the potential of snapping his plans. “Careful Steve, calm-down and take control” he cautioned himself. But it took considerable effort for Steve to calm down and regain control, and when he finally did, he looked at Grace Kingsbury again. But this time he saw something more than just the beauty of Grace Kingsbury; he saw there was profound melancholy in her face. Steve could see this girl was going through copious amounts of pain and sadness, caused in all probability by the death of the one she loved the most—her father. But oddly enough the pain did not diminish her beauty, but rather it seemed to enhance it.

  For a minute or two Steve couldn’t stop himself from staring at Grace Kingsbury, the woman he was about to kill. Her looks, her eyes, her pathos mesmerized Steve. Her magnificent violet eyes were buried deep in the piano keys and she was immersed in the melody she continued to play softly. Ironically she personified both—beauty and tragedy.

  Her nonchalance, calmness, composure, and a complete disinterest in the person who had walked inside the café at this time of the night in a hoodie took Steve by surprise. With great difficulty he took his eyes off Grace Kingsbury, and gently turned around where he found the waiter standing right behind him, the cappuccino in his hand, staring curiously at Steve. “Excuse me sir, here is your coffee” the waiter said, still gazing inquiringly at Steve. The waiter’s words brought Steve suddenly back to the disturbing reality of the situation. And the reality was that he had come here to this café with a predetermined plan—to murder this sad and stunningly beautiful girl. Steve managed to wrench himself from his thoughts and taking the cup of coffee from his hands, which still bore the gloves he wore to ensure he left no fingerprints, he looked at the waiter, smiled and said “Thank you”.

  “You are welcome sir. Please do not hesitate to ask for any other thing you need” the waiter offered politely, his suspicions and fears completely doused, and then walked back to his place behind the table. Steve had a feeling the waiter knew what Steve was feeling about Grace Kingsbury at that moment. The gravity of the situation, that he had come to assassinate this beautiful woman soaked in grief and despair, suddenly hit Steve hard. The effect of the previous two drinks was waning and he realized that he badly needed another drink. He desperately needed to soothe his nerves and regretted not carrying his whisky flask. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to go through this—the shooting— without another drink. He had to calm his anxiety in order to pull this off, and he also knew the café did not serve alcohol. “What should I do now?” he thought frantically. And then he remembered that Ricardo had told him that Grace often drank brandy while she played piano.

  Steve looked feverishly around Grace to see if she had a bottle somewhere close by. And it wasn’t long before spotted an expensive looking cognac bottle on the table right next to where she was seated. There was also a pail of ice right next to the bottle. And before he could check himself Steve found himself walking across to Grace Kingsbury and saying “Good evening ma’am, how are you today?”

  Grace Kingsbury appeared startled by Steve’s greeting. It seemed to draw her out of the trance she was experiencing from her thoughts and the melody that floated from the piano, and she gave him a puzzled look. “I am sorry ma’am, I did not mean to disturb you, but I couldn’t resist telling you that you play the piano so well. I have never heard anyone play it as melodiously as you did” Steve said and he earnestly meant it.

  Steve’s words seemed to bring Grace Kingsbury to life and she smiled awkwardly at him. “Th …thank you very much” she said in a faltering voice. I am sorry I didn’t notice you come in. I was so absorbed in my piano. It never seems to do exactly what I want it to” and so saying Grace Kingsbury gave Steve a faint smile.

  “You are a modest person Ma’am. It’s easily the best I have ever heard anyone play” Steve said, a genuine look of admiration on his face.

  His plain awe for her embarrassed Grace Kingsbury and she blushed. Steve was hypnotized by the way her face glowed as a stream of moonlight beamed in through the window. Steve was so captivated by her beauty, charm and innocence that for a fleeting moment, he completely forgot about “the plan”. But the sound of breaking of glass from behind the counter thrust him rudely back to reality!

  With considerable effort Steve managed to compose himself. He desperately needed a drink. And before he could restrain himself Steve found himself saying “Ma’am if you don’t mind I have driven much today and am very tired and cold, I couldn’t help notice, may I have a drink please?”

  Grace Kingsbury was surprised by this unusual request, but she didn’t show it.

  “Sure please go ahead and help yourself. I love this brandy; it’s an old French cognac with excellent flavor and sure is great for all that ails you” she smiled at him, a wider smile this time. Steve didn’t need any further encouragement. He swiftly crossed the floor and poured out a generous amount of brandy into a glass, didn’t bother to add water, and drank it in one gulp. The brandy was silky smooth and went down with mellifluous ease without making him cough or sputter.

  He looked at her and said in a grateful tone of voice, “That’s the best one I have ever had ma’am. Thank you very much.”

  Grace Kingsbury was now looking inquisitively at Steve Neal. She was bewildered by this tall, young, and ruggedly handsome, yet strange man, whose clothing was daunting. There was something about him that was making Grace both wary and shy. He was obviously a very handsome man—despite the hoodie, his stubble and the awkward glasses he wore. A soft spoken, well-mannered man and yet he looked troubled, and needed a drink rather badly. Why? She wondered; a girl problem, a spouse problem or perhaps a financial problem? This man is obviously distressed and yet there seems to be something genuine about him, something sincere and kind, she decided. She wanted to know what was troubling him. For some odd reason she was consumed with the desire to help him.

  But not for a moment did it cross Grace Kingsbury’s mind that thi
s man could have come to the café with the express purpose of murdering her.

  Although Steve perplexed her, even frightened her a bit, she was nonetheless pleased to see that he really enjoyed her brandy. There was something magnetic about him which was drawing Grace closer to him.

  As she pondered what was concerning this sweet-mannered handsome man, Steve realized that Grace Kingsbury was staring at him—sharply and curiously. But before he could say anything she smiled and said “Well sir you can have more if you want, I hardly have a drink or two myself so there is plenty to go around”

  Steve was startled to discover that Grace Kingsbury’s smile had made him go weak in the knees. Damn it! What’s the matter with me, am I going soft?” he admonished himself mutely. Steve had been around beautiful women before and was able to be in control of his feelings, but with this woman it was somehow different. Grace Kingsbury’s innocence, her quiet demeanor, her sadness, and her stunning beauty were having a disturbing effect on him and he was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on the formidable task for which he was here.

  He was surprised how he felt; he had never felt like this before, and with an abrupt shock Steve realized that he was falling for Grace Kingsbury!

  “Damn it Steve! He reprimanded himself inwardly. You’ve not come here to fall in love with this girl, but to murder her! If you do not kill this girl, you will not only lose the golden opportunity of obtaining the power, prestige, and wealth that you desperately seek, but you would also have a madman and his killer crony gunning for you!”

  Even in these tender moments of infatuation, Steve could not forget the reason he was in this café this dark and cold night. He knew if he wanted to permanently break free from the world of crime and establish his own business he had to carry out this one last assignment.