The Secret Locket

London, 1887

A gunshot fired. Birds scattered. There was silence, deadly silence. Not a breath disturbed the heavy atmosphere.

It was raining, raining hard. He was drenched but he did not care. It must have been an hour or so, but he stood there aloof; nothing mattered to him any more. The icy rain stung him. The cold breeze slapped his virile face. He scrutinised the corpse lying on the floor.

Next to the dead's heart, dark splotches of blood formed on its once white shirt. Its head was lopsided, its flaxen hair was dishevelled covering its eyes and its wounded mouth was wide open. The rain water blanketed the cadaver, rivulets of red ran away from the body, forming murky puddles but even the heavy rain couldn't erase the evidence of his demise.

His white gloves were sprayed with blood drops- that had splattered onto him when the bullet went through the body. His brows were furrowed, he gritted his teeth. He would have to buy a new pair of gloves and these had been made specially. He shivered as the rain coated right through him.

Suddenly, a bright light flickered above the clouds. Moments later, the dark clouds roared with anger while spitting heavy rain. Perfect, he thought.

"An eye for an eye…" he slowly whispered as the bitter rain saturated and spiked him, "a tooth for a tooth…" he continued, "a kill for a kill," he spat icily. How ironic. Referring to the Bible as one committed the biggest sin of all.

He knew that after what he had done even God would not forgive him. On his weary face, a sinister smile was carved. What he did was insanely wrong- why, it was a crime. But he did not care. What should have been done long, long ago was at last, done.

"The deal is sealed." He quickly slid his stained gloves off and chucked them with restrained force on top of the forgotten body. He spat blood out, then quickly turned away on his heels.

He paused then tucked his revolver inside his inner pocket. "John," he beckoned his butler who worked for him, "Whatever took you so long?"

John opened his mouth to speak but cowered away once his master shot a suppressing look towards him. Then his master glanced for the last time towards the corpse, "Throw that thing away," he commanded, stressing the word thing.

"Where shall I-" John began.

"I do not give a damn," he snapped, then regretted. "Just-just as far away from me as possible."

While walking towards his carriage he murmured- "Throw him into the depths of hell, for all I care. If I am going then I shall drag him down with me."

[A/N(To be continued..)]