The Perfect Plan

She has timed everything down to the last second. Her plan is underway, and she will soon be free of this life. This does nothing to soothe her racing heart. The heart monitor on her smartwatch beeps at her, notifying her of the 120 BPM. Under the current reading, in small letters, is the previous one.

70 BPM, 8m ago.

Great. Her heart rate has slowly been climbing as she nears 10 PM. A sick sort of countdown that her own body has created. In the center of the watch is the real-time beating image of a heart. She focuses her gaze on the live reading and takes long, slow breaths until the heart beats slower and slower, back down to 80 BPM. She guesses that’s probably the best she can get right now.

9:59 PM. It’s time. She shuts the car off and climbs out. The air is crisp in her lungs as she takes more long and deep breaths. Her head swivels from right to left, scanning slowly. This is a part of her plan, too. 2 minutes. She has 2 minutes to slowly be on the lookout for anyone or anything that might catch her.

No flutter of curtains, no blue glow from a doorbell camera, no dark figure standing alone in a backyard, rushing a pet to hurry up and go so they can get out of the cold. It’s quiet.

10:01 PM. If you walk like you’re sneaking around, people will assume you’re sneaking around. It is much less conspicuous to walk as though you belong. In the event she has missed something, didn’t notice someone peering out from between their blinds on this quiet suburban street, they will see a woman. A woman wearing dark clothes, maybe sweatpants? They won’t be sure. She was wearing a hoodie, or maybe it was a crewneck? they’ll say.

Across the street is a small house. Her old house. Where inside sleep two people. Two horrible and terrible people. Two people who betrayed her. Thought less of her. Humiliated her. Tonight she will stage the scene. Two people who joined an affair, took all of her money, took her home, and left her with nothing.

Tonight she will stage the scene.

Those two people will have a fight tonight. A fight that will be heard at 10:09 PM. A fight that will wake the neighbors. And when neighbors hear this fight, they will get their clocks. So when the police ask, And what time was this? they will say with certainty, 10:09 PM, Officer. People are more likely to remember a number or time when it isn’t perfect. 10:09 PM is an odd time to start a deadly fight.

No one will call. No one ever calls. That’s their business… they will think. Even when they hear a woman yelling about the money. How it’s her money, too. A shame about his wife. She didn’t deserve that, they will say to themselves. But when the police ask if they overheard something, that little detail will stick out, and they will tell them that’s all they heard.

The two people who are having this fight tonight do not know they are having it.

Her now-ex-husband purchased an expensive bottle of wine yesterday to celebrate getting all of her money in the divorce. Money that he earned, but she saved. It was hers. If she hadn’t saved it all for him, they would have gone broke. Her ex-husband always lived above his means. If he had his way, that big bank account she helped nurture for the last fifteen years would be in the form of a bigger house, a nicer car, a boat, and the rest in the pockets of the online gamblers he was so fond of.

She did not care about luxury. She cared about comfortability. Security. And that was all taken from her by a young and beautiful redhead who had the same proclivity for bigger houses, nicer cars, and boats. Along with plastic surgery and trips overseas.

Little did they know that when her ex-husband popped out the cork, the finely poured wax hid the hole she’d punctured. She pierced it through the waxed top and injected the expensive wine with a little mixture she snuck off a friend. She used a lighter to reheat the wax and cover the hole.

She knew they were drinking it tonight. Because she pays attention. She listens.

She knew they would have dinner at 8:30 PM. Because her ex-husband always said it was the perfect time for dinner. 5 was too early. 6 was too close to 5. 7 needed time to prepare the food so that the table was set and ready by 8. By 8:30 everyone should be ready to eat.

Her gift to the wine would take roughly an hour to take full effect. But she knew they wouldn’t notice. Because at 9 he would pull his move. He would come up behind her and kiss her at the dinner table. Remark on the taste of the wine on her lips. He is so predictable. They would move things to the bedroom by 9:03 and be finished and curled up by 9:21. They would think it was only the wine that got to them. The reason they were beginning to feel so tired. They would not think anything of it and let the pull of sleep take them. They would leave the mess in the dining room.

A perfect stage for the perfect scene.

She can be as loud as she would like. Which she plans to be. They won’t rise.

When staging a crime, most think you should flip tables and break everything. But crime has a path. The room should tell the story.

She sits in her ex-husband’s spot at the table. She checks her watch. 10:06 PM.

At this point, her ex-husband would have brought up the money. She imagines how that conversation would have gone. Heated eventually. So heated that at 10:06 PM he would have stood up angrily. She throws the chair back and stands. Lets the chair fall aside naturally. His mistress wouldn’t have done the same. She would have stood calmly. To make his outburst look unreasonable.

From the dining room, her ex-husband would have stormed into the living room. She turns as if the mistress is really there, following her. This is where the fight heats up. Louder now as they near screaming. Just enough to be heard, but not understood.

After a couple of minutes of simply raised voices, he would have turned around to yell. So she did exactly that. Yelled, deep, as she’d practiced.

His mistress wouldn’t have yelled back right away. She’d try and keep the peace for a bit longer.

From the living room, back toward the kitchen. Moving things in his way, he would be agitated. She’s trying to take his money. She’s trying to control his money. Designer clothes, bags, shoes. She’s booked herself spa trips to get work done. She’s spending his money before they have it.

Now she yells back because he called her immature. She yells like the mistress would. Loud. Shrill and hysterical. The neighbors would not be able to hear the words, only raised voices. She switches her voice back and forth, deep like his, shrill like hers. Back and forth.

It’s 10:10 now. So close.

He shoves her in the kitchen. She doesn’t fall, but now she is angry.

10:11 PM. The mistress would take the vase nearest her and throw it at him. He dodges, and the vase smashes against the wall.

I thought I heard the sound of them breaking things. I figured she must have thrown something at him… the neighbors will testify.

He points a finger at her. Tells her if she doesn’t knock it off, he will end her.

She has met the mistress. The woman may be a homewrecker, but she is not weak. A threat would send her over the edge.

At 10:13 PM, the mistress storms through the hall to their bedroom. She knows where he keeps the gun. The mistress knows the new password to the safe. He changed it when he took the home for himself. Only her ex-husband and the mistress know the new one.

That’s what they think, anyway.

It is strange to see the two people she’s been acting as lying sound asleep. A shocking reminder of reality. But she is in a time crunch.

10:14 PM. The small safe in the drawer of his nightstand is opened with its new password. The mistress wouldn’t hurt him. Not really. But she wants him to know she’s serious. The mistress would turn around. He would have followed her into the room. She would point the gun at him. He would yell at her.

What are you doing? Are you crazy?

They would fight. Bumping into things as he wrestled the weapon in her hands. He would hit her, his right hand coming down at an angle across her left cheek. He would shove her to the bed. He would point the gun at her chest right before she lunged for him again.

At 10:21, the gun would go off to be heard by the neighbors, followed by another a minute later. As it is 10:16 now, she has five minutes to arrange their sleeping forms.

She knows better than to try and hoist her ex-husband up. She pulls him from the bed and leans him gently onto the floor where she stands. She grabs the mistress by the ankles and pulls her to the edge of the bed where he would have pushed her down. She opens her gloved hand, bigger than her actual hand, and brings it down on the mistress’s cheek. The mistress attempts to stir, but she has to fight the sedative pumping heavily through her veins.

She stands, legs apart, just over his body and raises her arms slightly. The range and direction of the shot must match his height.

At 10:21 PM, she fires the gun, and problem number one is gone.

The sound sets off problem number two as he starts to moan on the floor. She adjusts her stance to kneel next to him and places the gun in his hand. He would be distraught over what he’s done. His eyes flutter open, and he looks right at her.

She doesn’t give him anything. Only enough time to recognize her. His eyes widen with shock before there’s a flash, and her final problem is gone.

Her car pulls away from the scene at 10:25 PM. Headlights off. Brake lights disconnected. Just until she’s far enough away.

The police will arrive soon, and she will be gone. Everything has gone to plan.

She reaches her right hand up to adjust the rearview mirror.

At 10:32 PM, she smiles at herself in the mirror.