Sweet, Sweet Guilt

A short story of murderous proportion.

She spent most days staring at the television ignoring life and dreaming of a better life. She was desperate for some form of her old self. To feel invigorated as she used to. She felt stuck in her marriage, stuck with her kids, just stagnating in a place where she lived for others instead of herself.

She was only twenty-six but felt as if she lived an entire lifetime.

Working as a stockbroker was groundbreaking for a woman. She crushed through that glass ceiling, but now the shards of glass were cutting her flesh. The emotions slowly killed her inside. She knew she would fade into oblivion someday.

She worked twelve hours a day and some nights. On this particular night, she sat staring out of her office window. There was a random storm with baseball size hail. She decided to stay in the building until it stopped. She thought to herself no point in adding a head injury to her list of problems.

Plus, her office was comfortable. A lazy boy recliner in the corner and fifty-five-inch television with HBO. It was a quiet place with no distractions and no children. She opened her desk drawer, the snack drawer, to find something to eat. She regretted skipping breakfast and lunch.

Luckily there was a candy heart left over from Valentine’s Day but from three years ago. She figured that candy like that must have a long shelf life. Although sitting in an open bag in the bottom of her desk drawer was probably not the best storage method for freshness.

Without regard for the bacteria she was ingested, she threw a handful in her mouth and grimaced. It was like attempting to chew a jawbreaker and taste like stale bread.

She spits them out and instantly reached for her glass of water. As she lifted the glass to her mouth, she stopped. The candy hearts moved. Her jaw dropped as she stared at the moving sweets.

No longer did they say “love” or “be mine” all of the heart moved in a circular motion with one word etched on top — guilty. Her heart pumped with fear and confusion as the letters on the candy morphed again.

Now it said, “You did it.” She was flabbergasted as once more the words change “It was always you.”

Panic set in and the room began to spin. In a distorted acid trip fashion, her hands looked like she was viewing them in a funhouse mirror. Her hands were the wrong color — dripping in a wet red substance.

Stumbling her way to the hallway she busted into the bathroom. The mirror moved like fluid, but she could see her clothes covered in blood. She let out a booming scream.

Like a regular leaving the local bar at closing time she drunkenly exited the bathroom only to see bloodied footprints throughout the corridor. Shaking and grasping the wall at every step she followed the shoe prints.

Each step she took, the bloodied prints lead into every office on the floor. She gazed in astonishment as she saw the corpses of her co-workers, slumped in chairs and laying on the carpet oozing death.

Finally, she lost consciousness. Hours later she awoke in the hospital with handcuffs on her limbs. She tried to struggle, but she could barely lift her wrist due to the shackles. An officer walked through the door looking down with disappointment.

“We thought it was you. We thought we finally stopped this madness! But no, you are just a victim like the rest.” He spoke solemnly as he unlocked the restraints.

“What is going on? Everyone is dead.” Her voice was shaking as tears rolled down her cheeks.

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming with an important update on the serial murders taking place this week. The hospital television was on — playing the news.

She stared intently at the screen looking hoping for answers.

The assailant known as the “Candy Heart Killer” has struck again. This time at an office building on the west side of the city. 13 of the employees were found dead.

As usual, one victim was left alive but drugged. Incriminating evidence was also found on the victim to raise suspicion that they were the assailant. The woman left alive has been cleared of any wrongdoing.

The killer followed the pattern of the previous murders by leaving a message on the desk of the survivor in candy hearts.

“I am guilty, come and get me.”