How To Get Away With Murder

“I can not believe this!” Owen exclaimed, as he walked out of the psychiatric hospital. The cold December air brushed his face as he walked. The doctor yelled something at him from the window.
Owen whirled around and screamed “Your diagnosis is ridiculous, you fruit!” The doctor said something else but Owen ignored him.
He was fired up he needed to relax. He jumped in his dark green Jeep Cherokee and started it up. As the spark plugs shattered the silence, in assistance with his heavy breathing, he pulled a pack of Parliament Lights out of his pea coat pocket. He started grabbing himself and opening compartments to find a lighter. He found one next to the picture of him and his girlfriend of four years, Josie. He lit up his smoke and backed out of the lot. He hung a left out of the parking lot onto 45th St. He dragged on the cigarette so long it was almost as if he was smoking gracefully. He was cooled down by now but he couldn’t believe the words of the doctor.
“I’m sorry to tell you, you may be a schizophrenic.” The doctor said almost ten minutes ago. He said it so calm, unbelievable.
He drove past his apartments and picked up his cell phone and called Josie. The phone rang once then again then Josie’s sweet voice flooded his head.
“Hello?” she said, her voice was so pretty.
“Hey, Josie it’s me.” Owen said sort of slowly.
“Well, hey there blue eyes.” She called him that because he had the lightest blue eyes and platinum blonde hair.
“Hey, I’m going to meet Dan up at the bar.”
“Ok, just come home right after.” She said
“Ok, I love you” Owen said, sincerely.
“I love you too.” Click.
He hated lying to her but he couldn’t stand to see her face when he was upset. He wasn’t really going to meet Dan; he was going to Laurel Park to have a few drinks and think things over. He loved it there, so quiet and peaceful. He pulled up and turned off his car.
He had already had about three beers when he heard a rustling and voices behind the trees to his left. He shouldn’t have, but he went to investigate. There was a very hoosier-looking guy pulling a boy out of the house. He was handling the toddler very rough and yelling curses everywhere.
“I told you to pick up your toys!” The hoosier yelled as he threw the boy to the ground.
“I’m sorry Greg, I will, I swear I will.” The little boy was crying. Owen flashed-back to his own childhood.
“Too late,” Greg kicked him in the stomach pretty hard. The boy started struggling for breath. Greg started to take of his belt.
Before Owen could stop himself, he rushed down the hill and picked up a stick off the ground. He hopped the fence and busted Greg right in the arm. PLINK!
“What the –” Greg started to say. Owen didn’t stop there; he looked at Greg and stared at him with real hatred aflame in his eyes.
“Are you crazy?” Greg yelled. “I think you broke m–”
PLINK! Owen refused to stop, not that he could. The repeating blows made him start breathing heavy. Then all of a sudden he stopped. The flashback had ended. He stepped back and looked at the stick. He dropped it in terror. I wasn’t a stick, it was a tire iron. Greg’s lifeless body lay sprawled, crumpled, and broken on the dirty ground. The boy was passed out, probably from lack of oxygen.
Owen ran. He drove to an abandoned lot by the warehouses. After a few cigarettes and a few beers in the back of his Jeep he realized he liked what he did. He wished someone would have done that for him as a child. He actually laughed, he was proud of his work.
Then he heard the voices, the voices of innocent children singing and chiming an old rhyme. He had never heard it before but it sounded so familiar.
“Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust,
If sin you’ve committed,
Then perish you must.”
It was sort of cute in a way; he didn’t really pay attention to the words or their meanings. He decided to take revenge on the man who had hurt him all those years. Vengeance had eluded him to long. He had a gun in the trunk; he always kept one in case of an emergency. He bought it off some guy in high school; he had never fired a gun in his life.
He was still conscious enough to know that police would be looking for a cold-blooded killer, even though in his mind he was a saint. But he pressed on to his former keeper’s house. He walked ever so slowly up to the door. Knock, knock. “I’m comin’ I’m comin’,” said a scraggly voice from inside. The door opened to reveal a fat man in a wife-beater t-shirt, seemed appropriate for him. “What do you want? I don’t want any.” Owen gave him this crazy look and smiled. “Remember me, Johnny?”
Owen pushed him back into the small run down house, and shut the door behind them. “Owen? Is that you? Boy you sure have grown-up.” Johnny said as he sat on the floor.
“Shut up Johnny,” Owen said, cool and calm. “Do you know why I’m here?”
“Well I can’t imagine it’s for tea,” He talked like they were buddies.
“Oh, you’re real funny Johnny, a real crack-up. I thought you would have stopped beating me when my mom died.”
“Hah, you’re not still mad about that, are you?” He said.
“Not really I just need an apology.”
“Psh, yeah right boy”
Owen kicked Johnny’s body to the floor by stepping on his neck. He pulled out the gun and asked him again.
“Ok, ok I’m sorry” Johnny spat out, with his face pressed to the floor.
“I bet you are” Owen said and put the gun to his head.
“I should have killed you after I killed your mother.”
“Yeah, you should have.” Owen’s dry fingers slid across the tight trigger and exploded with power forcing it back. BAM!
Red everywhere.
Owen ran, he drove back to the warehouses and called Josie. It was 6 a.m. It was odd her number wasn’t in his recent calls. She wasn’t in his contacts either. He dialed her number. The operator picked up, “We’re sorry this number has been disconnected, please check the number and try again.”
Now he was panicking, he rummaged through the glove box and took out the picture they took together. He was alone in it. The doctors were right this whole time. The whine of sirens broke the silence. He sped back to his apartment and looked at all the walls filthy with pictures of him and him alone. Even the picture of him and Dan, was now of solely him. He was alone; Josie and Dan were his only true friends. The police came knocking at his door.
“Ashes to ashes,”
He was alone.
“Dust to dust,”
He swallowed the pills.
“If sin you’ve committed”
He got away with murder, as he died smiling.
“Then parish you must.”