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I’ve been watching Eugene constantly for about a year now, and if I’ve learned anything in that time at all, it’s that my future plans wouldn’t be easy. Eugene was a smart, devious man. He always seemed to know what was going on, what he needed to do, and who he needed to “take care” of. His constant goal was simple: Be at the top, and kick anyone down who tries to climb their way up. He was respected by his allies, and more importantly, feared by his oppressors.
He did, like all the greater men today, have a weakness. You see, my observations of him weren’t just restricted to my daily office environment, where he and I both conveniently work at. I watched him drive his luxurious Mercedes back from work most days. I watched him walk out of the most prestigious nightclubs and party houses. I watched him take rides along the bay in his prized, multimillion dollar yacht, which is considered to be his trademark investment.
However, I watched him become successful from the beginning, or at least become rich. He was part of a well known, high-class family that had a history of business, talent, and of course, crime. He wasn’t always at the state he is now. While he did live a spoiled and comfortable childhood, he lived life almost like I have. He was an average man working in the same office I did. However, I never was fond of him even before he became what many call “king of the city”. He was arrogant, always thought himself above others. He didn’t care about your achievements or future plans, and he would always push you aside if you so much as stepped in the way of his. Once his father and mother died in an “accident” involving a helicopter crash, he was believed to be unstoppable in most eyes. He was still arrogant, however, and I would use this to my advantage.
I have a reason for my hatred towards him. You see, my wife is – sorry, was – a detective for the Vancouver Police Department. Dangerous work, no doubt, but can be a death wish if you get involved in Eugene’s plans. When Eugene’s parents died in the helicopter crash, everyone expected he was involved in some way, but there was direct proof of it. Unlike everyone else, my wife, who happened to have seen Eugene suspiciously walking away from the helicopter before takeoff, decided to try to expose Eugene’s actions. I warned her not to do it, but she saw it as an opportunity for recognition and reward. The only award she received was a cut to the throat. I know it was either the action of Eugene, or someone hired by him. I can only hope that her death was quick, that she wasn’t tormented for by his hands. I’ve had nightmares that have plagued my mind that have convinced myself otherwise. Let’s just say that they have made me a different man.
It was at this moment that I snapped. My dislike of Eugene had turned into an inferno of vengeance that the ocean itself couldn’t expel. I began to watch him any moment I could. Many times at the office, I found it difficult to sometimes restrain my anger, and my thoughts to impale his eye with a pen. I knew, however, that the only way I could hope to achieve my revenge would be in a way of stealth, of subtleness. I needed to exploit one of Eugene’s few weaknesses. Be there when he slips, and then cease to make him breath.
What could I do though? I was only a simple, 27 year old average man, working in an above average office space. What skills did I have in murder? Could I just wait until Eugene stumbles into a dark alley? No, he always has bodyguards when walking the streets. Could I raid his high-class estate and get him in his sleep? No, his security is probably top-notch. Could I sink his multimillion dollar yacht to the bottom of the coastline while he’s on his weekend sail? Wait………I could. Never has I thought of the idea until that moment, but I actually could. He liked to have some space when he sails. He liked to take some time away from the popularity, the security, and the pressure of all his opponents. He takes this time away in the form of his yacht trips. I know, I’ve seen him do it many times, all in the same way. He would board the boat (usually with a woman, sometimes two), sail out to the coast (far out to the point where he can hardly been seen from the shore), and then stay away for the rest of the days, until the weekend is over.
The more I thought about these truths, the more I thought the plan was possible, and the more I thought it possible, the more I began to laugh. Along with this, what I found the most… strange, however, was how I heard a faint voice in my head, laughing with me. I couldn’t make it out at first, but, looking back at it, it sounded very similar to my wife’s laugh, if my wife was an eager psychopath about to start a massacre in the downtown streets. Was I going insane with my plan? Perhaps, but then again, I could already be insane before I thought the idea. The way I’m going right now, however, I don’t see that too much of a problem.
Well, back on topic. So, I evolved my sudden flicker of an idea into a bright, glowing, and functioning plan. The talk of the building, which I always listened to, was that Eugene was going to take a slightly extended voyage on his yacht at the end of the month, starting May 23rd and returning the 27th. The day the began the plan was the 20th. Considering the materials and planning required of this plan, I had very limited time. What did I need to do though? I could just as easily sneak on his mostly unguarded yacht (where Eugene ironically believes he most safe), and kill him quickly with a simple kitchen knife or cheap Saturday night special.
No. It can’t be that simple. I don’t want him to just die in a quick moment of pain and demise. I want him to suffer, to fear every moment of his impending doom, and then parish in a way he would never expect coming. Sinking his yacht, along with his treasures onboard, his few guards, and all his successful history on that trip is a perfect way to do so.
With the few day’s I had, I examined the boat at the marina. I made sure I hastily logged and mapped every opening and point of the boat. Every door, every balcony, every ladder, every window. No spot was spared. I made appointment’s with some of the street dealers, and obtained cheap, homemade, but effective explosives. I also bought a knife and a silenced .45, just in case I need to get my hands a little dirty with a guard. I don’t plan to though, I don’t want to kill until the moment is right. As a final part of the planning, I listened in on some of Eugene’s phone calls and conversations to know exactly who will be on the yacht at the right time.
The night of the departure, I ran the numbers a final time: One rich bastard, one woman, four guards, two butlers, one boat pilot, one angered and possibly crazed assailant, and hopefully by the end, one capsized yacht. It was time to put the plan to action.
It was the 23rd, 10:00 at night. I had set the explosives under the boat the night before. Eugene always preferred to depart in the late evening, possibly to enjoy some nightlife before departing. As he boarded his boat, I laughed quietly, but confidently. Eugene had walked obliviously onto an explosive-riddled yacht, which would began to sink rapidly at the push of a button. I made sure I laughed secretly because he was also unaware that I was inside the yacht’s lifeboat. He of course didn’t suspect this, as his arrogance and confidence in his yacht trips always makes his brilliant side blind.
Once the boat was about a mile offshore, I began my work. I sneaked my way into the pilots control room. I slithered behind the pilot, and like a rogue train smashed his head into the control wheel. His dazed body fell to the floor, as the control of the yacht rested in my vengeful, shaking hands. I set the vessel to constantly travel north, out to sea until the rest of my plan would be accomplished.
I then waited until Eugene called down everyone for a late dinner brake. The few people on the yacht would gather in the dinning room, drink, and have a good time before the guards and servants returned to their posts. All except for the pilot, who was required to stay at control until the guards secured the area again. When everyone was present in the room, I barred all the doors that led to freedom. I didn’t need to worry about the windows, as all were closed and Eugene had them bulletproofed years ago, feeling the need for at least some security.
I fled to the lifeboat with all my stamina. There was no more need for stealth, just haste. Once I dived to the small boat, lowered to the water, and got myself around twenty feet away, I took a few deep breaths, and then pushed the detonator for the explosives.
A loud force from underneath the surface could be heard, and then large amounts of bubbles began to excrete around the edge of the boat. I heard a few startled screams at first, then silence, and then screams of turmoil and fear as the boat began to become consumed by water. The passengers screamed as yacht dragged down into the water, as if it was a dammed soul being forcefully taken to hell. They tried to break the windows, but continued to panic as Eugene’s poor planning said otherwise.
In one of the yacht’s last moments, Eugene looked out of one of the last surfaced windows, and he spotted me. He an I exchanged hateful glares for a quick moment. The look I witnessed in his face was brief, but it’s one I will remember for the remainder of my life. It was a look of recognition, of remembrance, of regret. But most of all, it asked a question: How the hell did a man like this get the best of me? Perhaps, he found the answer to that question in the little time he had left.
Eugene, along with everyone else on that boat, was never found. Neither was the yacht for that matter. I had made preparations to make sure it wouldn’t be recovered. Because of the remoteness of the boat, and the depth of the coastline, it was remained suspected that Eugene’s yacht was lost at sea during a storm, which actually happened the day after my actions. I suppose that was lucky on my part.
Sitting here in my apartment now, thinking about the event, I can’t help but think of the life I destroyed. I took a life with great potential, a life that had many turns, many moments of struggle, and moments of success and victory. Eugene could have even gone to the status of President if he had put the effort in. He was feared, respected, and in some cases, loved. The more I think about it, the more it begins to make me laugh. The more I laugh, the more I hear the faint voice of my wife begin laugh with me.
Credit To – Richard C. Southard