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Once Fredrick decided that Eileen was dead to him, he wasted no time in plotting her murder. Okay, it would have to be “execution style” that was clear; if the newspapers didn’t use the phrase “execution style” there was little point. Or was there? What did that matter? Fuck! He couldn’t think straight. It would be better she stayed out of the papers altogether, stayed out of the gossip, stayed out of even passing conversation, whispers. It would be better if she just disappeared, like his diary.
And that was the truth of it. Desperation. Did he really think that the lonely lakeside village would not notice Eileen Flagetimite’s disappearance? No more than he could fail to notice the disappearance of his diary from the safe.
There stood Fredrick, his lower lip curled to the side, his eyes droopy, his posture all but abandoned before an empty fireproof room safe with wide open doors six inches thick. He closed the curtains and turned on a lamp by the bed. He sat on the floor and stared into the empty safe, just gazing at the diary that wasn’t there.
*
Late that night, Eileen sat on the front steps of Town Hall smoking pot and thumbing through Fredrick’s diary. Turned out it was boring.
Date Written: April 15, 2002
Author: Ewan Snow
Average Vote: 3.4