Excitement fluttered through the air like a thousand invisible butterflies. The dull hum of conversation filled the streets, only to be interrupted by a child’s shout of laughter or the loud growl of a car’s engine. Suddenly, a loud roar ripped through the air and three police motorcycles came down the long, wide street. As if connected by marionette strings, the entire crowd turned towards the vehicles and applauded. Within moments, a long, sleek, black limousine glided in their wake. Seated in the back were President Kennedy and his wife. The streets erupted into shouts of joy and praise. The President returned the gesture, smiling and waving, as they made their way down the street. Then, it happened all so fast. The bang of a gun rose above the shouts, he jerked towards his wife and she screamed as the blood splattered across her face. That beautiful smile would never be seen again.
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My fingers were as white as the porcelain sink they clung too. I couldn’t bear to look up, to see my pathetic face reflected in that golden mirror. I needed to ease the heartache bubbling like acid in my chest but that would mean looking up. Maybe if I closed my eyes?

“This is absurd,” I thought and commanded myself to look up.

My blue eyes stood out against their red, puffy rims. The elaborate makeup that usually adorned my face was smeared and running down my cheeks. The golden curls framing my face were mangled and unraveling. I paused for a moment, staring at what I had become.

“But we can fix that,” I whispered, carefully opening the cabinet behind the mirror.

The shelves were lined with lipsticks of every color, expensive jewelry, glass jars filled with various colored liquids, and three little orange bottles. I selected the bottle all the way to the right and twisted the cap. That soft click was the sweetest sound the world had to offer. I smiled with content and excitement as the cylindrical yellow pills tumbled into my hand. I tipped my head back and swallowed them dry; desperate times called for desperate measures.

The effect was immediate. The pain in my heart melted away and left a heavenly feeling in its place. A smile spread across my face as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I was beautiful and radiant again. Giggling, I left the bathroom and floated across the floor to the bedroom. I crawled under the blankets and lay there, quite content. Drowsiness crept over me and I was swept into the sky, floating among the endless sea of fluffy white clouds for eternity.

“Miss Monroe,” a soft voice whispered through the darkness.

A hand gently shook my shoulder and brushed the hair from my face. I opened my eyes and the figure of Jeffrey, my chauffer, slowly came into focus.

“Good morning, Miss, did you sleep well?”

“Exceptionally well, Jeffrey,” I said sitting up.

The room began to spin and I reached out for something to steady myself. My hand found Jeffrey’s shoulder and I gripped it tightly.

“Are you all right?” his southern drawl was faint and far off.

As suddenly as the dizziness had started, it stopped. I blinked a few times and his worried face solidified once more.

“I’ll get you some water, Miss,”

I nodded and rubbed my temples. I took the glass and sipped from it. Jeffrey watched me silently from across the bed. He was good that way, always watching out for me but never asking too many questions.

“We’ve got a busy day today,” I said.

“You see, Miss, I’ve been doing some thinking about that. I don’t think it would be wise for you to be doing that. It’s not a natural thing, to go to your own funeral, I mean.”

“Jeffery, we’ve been through-“

“Yes, I know. But what if someone recognizes you or realizes,” he dropped his voice, “the body’s a fake?”

“Don’t you worry. My dear friend Mr. Parkinson said he would take care of it,” I said throwing back the covers.

“You really think they won’t notice it’s a wax figure?” he said slightly panicked.

“Listen to yourself,” I said laying a hand on his arm. “People say his figures look like flesh and blood all the time. Besides, the coroner pronounced me dead. Why should they think any differently?”

Jeffrey said no more on the matter but the lines on his face gave away his true feelings. Of course I felt the same way, but a long time ago I learned to believe the lies I force-fed myself.
Unfortunately, these things take time and that was the one thing we didn’t have. As I dressed, horrible thoughts forced themselves to the forefront of my mind. What if somebody recognized me? What if the embalmers didn’t keep quiet? Did he tell someone? My blood froze at the thought.

“You’re starting to sound like Jeffrey,” I whispered to the black chiffon scarf in my hands.

“Are you ready, Miss? You wouldn’t want to be late for your own funeral now,” Jeffery called.

I exited the closet, fidgeting my scarf and hat to hide my shaking hands. He opened the door and walked me to the car. I slid in the back seat, while he got into the front. Without a word, the car rumbled to life and the city began to slide away one block at a time.

At my request, the funeral was very small; only my family and very close friends. Something burned in the back of my throat making it difficult to swallow. Was it regret, sorrow, fear? I never did identify it, but as I watched the tears fall from their eyes whatever it was intensified a thousand fold. Their sobs echoed through the silent cemetery. That burning in my throat spread to my chest and tears fell thick and fast from my own eyes.

“Jeffrey,” I whispered. “I’m… I’m…I’m…”

He put his arm around my shoulder. I folded into him and cried into his shoulder.

“We should be going,” he whispered.

I allowed his muscular body to steer me away from the heart wrenching scene and towards the car.

I threw the only people that meant anything to me into the unforgiving fires of pain and suffering. And for what? My own selfish desi-

I stopped.

“Are you alright?”

“Jeffrey, he didn’t come,” I said in barely more than a whisper. “He didn’t even send a flower.”

That burning sensation melted away to numbness. My mind was racing, but I couldn’t hold on to a single thought. Before I realized it, Jeffery was helping me into the car and we were leaving the funeral behind. As I sat there, the tears began to fall again. My chest expanded with feeling; it was as if all my insides were falling into the grave alongside the casket.

The car slowly came to a stop. Before Jeffrey had even taken the keys out of the ignition, I was already halfway up the driveway. I pushed open the door and went straight to the bedroom. All I could think about was the golden mirror that concealed the cure to this pain. Wrenching it open, I grabbed the bottle from the shelf and hastily uncapped the bottle. I poured its contents into my shaking hand, but before I could swallow them a hand grasped my wrist.

“Leave me alone, Jeffrey,” I said pulling away.

“Miss, you might not want to be doing that just yet.”

“Oh, I really think I do.”

With one hand still on my wrist, he held out a crisp, white envelope. I stared at it, terrified at the endless possibilities.

“What is that?” my voice shook slightly as I took it from him.

He slid his hand into mine and left the bathroom, the pills securely in his pocket. Inside the envelope was a letter. Upon recognizing his messy scrawl, my heart leapt into my throat. It read:

My dear,


I am sorry I couldn’t make it to the service. This is absurd, faking your own death so that we can continue seeing each other. I am sorry, but this cannot go on. I have my family to think about and you your sanity. I am truly sorry.

Yours always,


John
I reread it, afraid that I had misunderstood something. Each word felt like a punch in the gut. I wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something, to rip the letter to pieces. Shaking, I walked into the bedroom. There, on the table was a glass of water and three yellow cylinders. I smiled to myself and within minutes, the horrors of the day were long forgotten.

Months passed without any word from him or anyone else for that matter; it was just me and Jeffrey. As much as I wanted to tear up that stupid letter, I kept it hidden away in the back of my closet under a pile of old sweaters and jackets. I reread it almost every day for two weeks after I received it. I couldn’t understand why he would send that. He knew my plan; after all, he was there when I came up with it. And then it dawned on me: ‘I have my family to think about.’ His wife must have found out about my plan and threatened to expose him if we continued to see each other. She was to blame for everything. Once she found out about us, she made him end it, so then I devised a plan and now she’s threatening him. She was the cause of all the pain, not only ours, but also my families. She did that, and now she had to pay.

I explained all this to Jeffrey and as per usual, he agreed to help without asking any questions.

“How are you going to go about this, Miss?” he asked a few days later.

“Well, she’s the only thing standing in our way. So, if she were to be…eliminated, then we’d be free to be happy,” I said picking at the red nail polish on my thumb.

“Miss, I want you to know what this means. You’re talking about killing someone. You will have to lie with that for the rest of your life.”

“Jeffrey, I have to live with the guilt of killing myself. Nothing can possibly be worse than that.”

“Okay. Well, I know a guy who could be of use in this situation. Seeming as you’re dead you won’t have the chance to meet her face to face, so it’ll have to be in a crowded place. So that no one sees you and you get a few seconds to disappear,” he added in response to my furrowed brow.

“So where does he come in?”

“You’re going to need two shooters; one to kill and one to get caught. If the police find a man with a record, the same gun, and fired rounds, they’ll stop looking right then and there. No one will ever suspect a second shooter.”

“Jeffrey, you are truly amazing,” I said with a smile.
A year passed with me following orders from Jeffrey and our frequent visitor, Mr. Lee Oswald. He was an old associate of Jeffrey’s. I never did ask in what way, but I suppose I don’t want to know. Just as he never questioned me, I never questioned him. Life went on that way for a while until August. Oswald decided it would be best for us to sever contact, so as to keep the façade of a lone shooter. By then, all the planning was done and all there was left to do was to sit and wait.

Summer went by all too quickly, and autumn even faster. All at once it seemed, the day was here; the day I finally chased away my demon. I awoke on November 22 and stared at the white plaster ceiling of the motel room. Jeffrey was asleep in the bed to my left, snoring softly. The walls seemed to secrete the smell associated with unbathed bodies left to bake in the Dallas sun. Jeffrey insisted that if you breathe through your mouth, the initial shock of the smell would wear off. Although that was true, there was nothing to help the bitter taste that accompanied the stench.

“Just one more day,” I told myself as I dressed quietly.

I couldn’t stand the silence, or the smell, or the taste, so I opened the glass door and stepped into the morning sunshine. My lungs welcomed the fresh air as if it were a gift from a heavenly God. As I stood there in the sunlight, I thought over our plan one last time.

Oswald would be in the Texas School Book Depository, while I was on the Grassy Knoll. I would have the loaded weapon and he would he have the other, filled with blanks. Jeffrey would be in a car two and a half blocks away, waiting for me. We would both shoot as they reached the exact middle of the street and then leave the scene immediately.

It all played out very well in my head, but so much could go wrong. One of us could shoot early and blow the whole thing. I could miss, I’m no professional. The gun could jam.

“Miss, it’s time we got ourselves out of here,” Jeffrey’s voice tugged my out of my thoughts.

“Alright then, why are we still standing here,” I said smiling.

He laughed as we reentered the small room. It took less than ten minutes for us to pack our things and leave. Once at the pre-determined location, I got out and took the most indirect route to my position as I could. The cold metal of the rifle sent shivers up my back. I settled into position and waited. I could easily see the street through the branches; it was less than one hundred yards away. I could barely hear the crowd over the blood pounding in my ears. Over the din, came the sound of motorcycles. I moved my finger to the trigger. Any moment now. My hand shook slightly as the sleek black car glided towards me. Five hundred feet. Four, three, two, I squeezed it tight. Then reloaded and shot again. Screams replaced the dull hum of conversation. The car kept moving. A black suited figure had slumped sideways. The one in pink was spattered with blood and frantically shook her husband’s lifeless body.

I slid from the tree, grabbed the shell casings, and ran without looking back. My mind was a blur of anger and fear. How could I have missed? I shot him! I killed him! He was dead and she was still alive. She was still alive. How could she still be alive?

I wrenched open the door and Jeffrey stepped on the gas. I looked over my shoulder every ten seconds or so to make sure we weren’t being followed. Once we were out of the city, my paranoia gave way to shock and then to grief. I looked down at the bullets in my hand, twisting them between my fingers. My heart skipped a beat and my blood turned cold in my veins. If I had the blanks in my hand, then Oswald had the bullets, which meant that I planned his murder. Tears began to pour from my eyes and I shook uncontrollably.

“Miss, are you alright?” Jeffrey said glancing in the rearview mirror.

“Jeffrey,” I whispered. “Jeffrey, she’s still alive.”