Prelude to Case No. 142978
She wore only a tattered white cotton gown, a dirty blindfold, and rope tied around her wrists, cutting into her skin. Her hands were pulled so far behind her back that her shoulders ached. The weather was cold, but that was not the reason she shivered.
She felt the metal cylinder of a shotgun barrel pressed up against the small of her back, pushing her forward on to the icy lake. She stepped forward slowly, then stopped.
A deep voice behind her made her jump.
"You have the right idea, keep going with that thought."
The words were spoken gently, though they did not provide comfort.
Once upon a time this was a voice that calmed her when anxiety got the best of her. Once upon a time this voice offered counsel when she felt lost. Once upon a time this voice belonged to a friend; now it belonged to her death.
"Go on," the man continued, more impatient this time.
She stepped forward once more, onto the icy lake. Her legs were shaky, as though she were trying the act of walking for the first time. The solid surface of the lake was so cold her feet felt like they were burning. The weight of the knowledge of what she was being forced to do hung heavy on her head like lead.
She continued on. How far had she walked? For how long?
There was no wind, no sound as she tread further on to the thinning ice. Fear penetrated her skin to the viscera underneath.
The ice fractured, letting frigid water onto the surface. She stumbled, shocked at the sudden bite of frost on her delicate skin.
The loud boom of a gunshot rang out behind her. She startled at the sound, falling down face first. Water laced with winter chill moved its way into her nostrils and dripped down her throat.
She managed to roll over and pull herself into sitting position, sneezing the moisture out of her nose.
Then the second shot came. Then more, countless more, in succession, until the ice beneath her gave way and sent her falling into the depths below.
The weight of the impact pulled the blindfold from her face, her eyes were forced open. She saw the cold water fish swimming around her, annoyed at having their habitat disturbed.
She knew that she should stay calm, preserve her breath until she reach the surface. Her body struggled anyway. The rope cut deeper into her, calling her attention to the fact that she was impotent to save herself. Her eyes would not close. Her body would not stop writhing. Her lungs struggled and ached for the oxygen that could not be separated from the water that filled them. Her legs thrashed and kicked in a futile attempt to bring her up and out of the water. All her strength was fading fast.
If one was to call up her ghost and ask the last thing she remembered, she would tell you it was the fish. Long, dark bodies, a school of uniform marine animals concentrated around her in a circle until the blue shining into the water became nothing more than tiny slits of illumination. And then--
Consciousness left her body, the struggle ceased, and Death came to collect his bounty.
The crowd on the snowy bank watched as the splashing ceased, the gunmen that had shot the ice to nothing then lowered their weapons and waited for the signal to make their exits.
The executioner, the former friend, stepped out on to the ice and investigated the water underneath, looking for the darkness of the lifeless body. When he saw what he was looking for, he turned heel, stepping back onto solid ground.
"It is done," he announced, "you can go now."
And go they all did, leaving the morning's spectacle to a past they forgot before the lake was even out of sight.
