Helena and I

I pulled up to the sidewalk and looked over at the house. It was dark, no lights shone in its windows, which was a surprise because Helena always kept every light in the house on until she went to bed. I watched the house for a moment longer then looked around the street; it was empty, which was the way it should be considering what the time was.1

I opened the door of my black Chevy Trail Blazer and slipped out, then after closing it as quietly as possible I melted into the surrounding shadows. I crept like a cat up to the house; the blade of the knife shone in the moonlight and my stomach tightened at the thought of the sliver cleanness of it drenched in blood but I ignored the tightness and reached into my pocket for the key to the front door.2

There was really no need to use a key because the door was already open. I stepped into the dark house and looked around. Everything was as it should be, I should know for I had lived with Helena in this house for several years and she wasn't’t the kind of person that moved her furniture every year. I walked slowly through the house, remembering all the good times we had together; I would never forget the time that Helena had just had new carpet laid in her living room and five minutes after the carpet layers had left she spilled wine all over it. I smiled at the memory of her scrubbing that white carpet and the wine just soaking in even more.3

When I got to the bedroom I paused for a moment, something didn't’t feel right. I walked in with my knife gripped tightly in my hand. There was a body laying face down on the floor next to the queen-sized bed. When I turned it over I looked into Helena’s cool blue eyes; looking back at it now I realize that it was probably better that I looked at her eyes first, for they were the only part of her face I recognized. It looked like she had been beaten with the claw of a hammer, chunks of her cheeks were gone and parts of her forehead were beaten in. I couldn't’t look at the site anymore; I ran to the bathroom and made it just in time.4

Leaning over the toilet and gagging through the stench of my vomit I felt warm tears slide down my cheeks. Even though I had come here to kill Helena, I realized that deep down in some hidden part of my heart I still loved her. I looked around for my knife and saw that I was still holding it in a death grip in my hand. Walking back into the bedroom I looked down into Helena’s eyes again and saw the young, beautiful person she used to be. I lay down beside her, tilting her head toward me so I could still see those big blue eyes of hers. Then as quickly as I could I slit both of my wrists with the shiny sliver blade of the knife. I lay there beside her, letting my blood mix with hers and letting the blueness of her eyes lead me to the end.5

This is the story of what happened that wonderful September night, I had planned to come here to kill Helena and then myself so that we may finally be together but it looks like her husband had different plans that collided with mine. He was an awful man, Helena’s husband John, he treated her terrible. She knew that I could treat her better and she also knew that we could never be together in this world so she let him kill her.6

I know that in the morning the police will find our bodies and maybe they’ll even find John’s too, that is, if he finds out why Helena and I did this but I doubt it cause John’s not exactly the fastest thoroughbred in the barn. If you find this letter I have written please take it seriously for it is the only thing that can tell you the truth of what really went on last night.7