'Til Bet Do Us Part: An Ending

'Til Bet Do Us Part: An Ending

The banker ran to his chipped and scratched oak desk, wrenching the drawers open one after another, searching frantically for an item he remembered placing in there years ago. He'd never had to use it before, but he knew he'd left it within one of the drawers of his desk. He rifled through the numerous compartments, sending gusts of dust into the air with each jaunty movement. The final drawer rattled fiercely, refusing him entrance within its confines as he tried to recklessly tear it open. The lock whined with each jerk of his hands, but did not budge. He cursed at it heatedly, glaring angrily at the delinquent lock. He stilled himself for a moment in thought before he realized that all he needed was the key to open the stubborn drawer.

He suddenly seemed to go mad as he tossed papers from his desk, regardless of their importance. It didn't matter anymore. He needed what was in that drawer. The papers fluttered to the floor and were crushed beneath his heavy feet as he stomped around the room, digging into his pockets furiously in search of the key. It wasn't there. He glanced apprehensively about the room, eyes roaming wildly.

Finally, a beaten and worn, navy blue overcoat caught his attention as it hung from a loose hook on the wall by the door. Dust had settled over the faded woolen material of the coat, but he paid it no mind as he scrambled towards it, nearly tripping in his rush. He searched its pockets, thrusting his fingers into each pouched orifice and finding nothing before finally finding the key in the last unchecked pocket; it was there he found it, hidden within the dark recesses of the coat's interior. He pulled the tarnished brass key from the pocket with a triumphant smile and meandered back to his desk, no longer in such a hurry. He had found the key after all. He didn't even notice when the decrepit coat fell from the hook, landing in a moldy heap next to still shut up door.

The banker sighed in relieved satisfaction as he slid the key into the keyhole and heard the unmistakable click of the lock coming free. He only waited mere seconds before delving inside the now unlocked drawer, his hand meeting with a round barrel of frigid steel. He fisted his sausage-like fingers around the object and pulled it out into the dim light. The metal shone dully as he placed it carefully on his desk.

He stared at the ancient-looking pistol for only a moment before he reached back into the drawer in search of another item he assumed to be there. He slowly drew a tattered letter out of the drawer. It was the one the lawyer had written to him years ago. He read the letter over and over again, solidifying his resolve with each passing. He, of course, had a plan to escape the bet they'd made.

He grabbed the rusted metal rubbish bin from its place beside his aged desk. It was mostly empty, but for a few rumpled and crinkled documents rolling about in the bottom. He swallowed an obese lump that had lodged itself uncomfortably in his throat and closed his eyes as he tore the letter in half. As he tore it again and again, he began to smile, then to laugh and before long, he was breathing heavily and crystalline tears ran in thick, salty rivulets over his plump cheeks in his hysteria. He opened his panic-ridden eyes to watch as he let the minuscule pieces of the shredded letter fall from between his fingers like a spring rain into the partially filled trash bin, an insane-seeming grin plastered on his ruby-coloured lips.

The banker rummaged in his trouser pocket once more, his stubby fingers fumbling with a packet of half-used matches which he managed to grasp and haul clumsily from his pocket. The delusional smile remained upon his overly generous, corpulent lips as he lit the first unused match and watched the tiny flame dance on the sulfur tip before dropping it into the bin after the letter. The letter, amongst the other articles of garbage caught fire almost spontaneously, burning swiftly into ashes that floated aimlessly to the floor. He watched in solemn fascination as the evidence of the lawyer disappeared before his eyes.

As the infantile flames subsided, he glared at the pistol still perched silently on his desk top. He knew what he had to do then. His hand shook uncontrollably as he reached for the weapon and he licked his suddenly dry lips, forcing his fingers to cooperate and close around the butt of the gun.

There was no other way. He couldn't possibly pay off the two million rubles he owed the lawyer and there was no way that the lawyer would forgive him for his foolish wager, having robbed the man of fifteen years of his life. He knew that the lawyer would be outraged when he found out that he had been cheated. The banker did not want to go to prison for such a crime, so the pistol became his only option. Dawn and the threat of the lawyer were fast approaching and time was of the essence. He gulped in a breath of stale air and held the heavy pistol within his grasp.

His hand trembled in fear as he brought it to rest against his sweat-slicked temple. His finger pressed on the trigger, slowly, slowly, until only a click was heard. The banker closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut and let his hand fall to his lap for just a moment before raising the gun to his head once more. He was sure there was at least one bullet in the foul thing and he was determined to use it. He kept his eyes screwed closed as he slid his paunchy digit over the trigger again. This time there was no click.

The sound of the bullet's release so close to his ear would have deafened him if he hadn't already been dead from its entrance into his brain.

The next morning, when the lawyer found him, he took off the hat from his balding skull with thin fingers and shook his head at the pitiful scene the banker's hunched and lifeless form portrayed before him. The poor man had ended his own life in the hopes of escaping the bet they'd made so many years before. The lawyer's smile was ruefully morbid as he turned from the sight, placing his hat firmly on his head once again before walking back out the doorway, leaving the chilled corpse untouched. It was a shame. After all, he'd only come to thank the man for all that he'd allowed the lawyer to accomplish in his fifteen years of utter solitude, nothing more and nothing less.