In Pace Requiescat | Teen Ink

In Pace Requiescat

March 8, 2014
By ehopping SILVER, Rocklin, California
ehopping SILVER, Rocklin, California
6 articles 0 photos 0 comments

As I tracked through the catacombs that led back to the palazzo, my thoughts wandered and pulsed with sensation as the last audible words of Fortunato ran rampaged through my stirring mind. I thought of my intentions and my reasons for what I had done.
It was through the insanity that was driven into me through the continued inflictions of Fortunato’s insolent behavior that I took vengeance in a manner that fit both his actions and gave me the cruel pleasure that I desired. What audacity he had and what immolation he received that came with a sort of dark irony that portrays the wicked deeps of human nature. The same type of nature that always frays at the edges of our minds lurking, waiting for the right moment to enter our consciousness and tint it with its lust.
The lust that I relished in the last moments of his contact to the world.
Fortunato was a man of enormous self entitlement who lived a life of luxury in his audacious palazzo who died a death worse than a beggar boy who lived his life in the squalor of the surrounding streets and alleyways that bordered his dear home. He was a man whose fatal mistake was his passion for his connoisseurship.
When it came down to the harsh truths and I must be forced to be forward with myself, I must admit that no person deserved an end like I had given the man. The end that he still might suffer right now. The torment he must feel as he opens his eyes to darkness that human nature nourishes and he realizes his actions that lead to that moment. The mindless minutes that drag and the wild dog of insanity that must push its way into his mind in that cold crypt.
Yet, as my mind visualizes the agony he must endure, I no longer feel the same last minute regret that pushed around me like the cold dense air when I was in that part of the crypt. Instead, as I walked further and further through the corridors and I felt untouchable by the human laws and individual morals that usually drive my actions. In its place, I felt a sense of exhilaration and god-like supremacy that comes from the sensation of the power of being in control of someone’s life and their last moments of conscious perception.
Using that power I made the choice with a type of malicious certainty that he- Fortunato- would forever stay in that crypt. As I climbed the stairs to rejoin that party that no longer held the same type of frolic nature, the bright light of the open air seemed harsh in comparison. My mind boiled and I felt a sense of pride of that I would meet no redresser.
With no redresser, I played god as I went about the gathering. I smiled and moved with a sense of lightness that portrayed my inner thoughts and feelings and the self-righteous madness that plagued my soul. There were no longer the vestiges of human life and death that surrounded me in the catacomb, but a room pulsing with life that seemed to grow as I imagined Fortunato getting weaker.
Then, with a twist a fate, she came into my view; a women whose beauty rivaled the Greek goddess of Aphrodite.
“Montresore,” the women called out and her curls moved up and down with each delicate step she took forward.
“Lady Fortunato,” I replied in the same tone. I was careful to keep my voice under control and depict no emotions on my face.
“I haven’t seen you around the carnival,” she stated. For a second I thought she had caught on, but for beauty she had was balanced by her feeble mind.
“Yes, yes,” I started, “yes, yes. We went to the vaults. Good wine cannot wait.”
“True-true, especially when it comes to my husband,” and an amused smile played at the edges of her lush red lips.
“He needs to get that cough looked at,” I said with decree of someone who was truly concerned, “We wouldn’t want him becoming ill. Especially a man at his status.” I kept the conversation neutral hoping that she would merely move on, and I could resume floating around the party until such time where I could make a silent quick escape that would bring no light to what had occurred earlier that night.
“I’ll tell him your concerns. Now would you like to dance? He seems to have disappeared again,” having heard that, I weighted my options. I would like to have vanished and be gone from this wrenched house, but it would be rude and suspicious to turn down her invitation. With the same invincible feeling that compelled me to prance around the room free of guilt earlier, I agreed.
We made our way to the center of the large space and our steps seem to echo with unusual volume and I took her small hand in mine as the dance commenced.
I danced with his wife, and felt a sense of power. To know what I’ve done, and to know what she will feel. But with each cord, new emotions pulsed through my body.
As the piano played with a slow melody of gentle key stokes, and the violinist pulsed with a rhythm that matched the pianist, such that the gentle melody offset my beating heart.
Adrenaline pulsed through my veins almost as much as it did in the crypt, as we slowly followed the movements of the throng in circular motions through the crowd of jovial dancers.
The piano keys played to a simple beat as the song started slow, and our movements matched.
We swayed to the puling rhythm and she smiled a dazzling smile. The room started to spin and the only thing that was still in focus was that smile. Colors blurred and red soon looked hazy and all white light sprang forth into full view.
I spun her under my arm, and she threw her head back in a laugh. Her eyes focused on mine and my heart started beating frantically in my chest.
Thump. And another piano stoke.
Thump. The violinist played a cord.
Thump. She changed positions in the crowd.
The beat that was pounding in my chest matched that of the music and got louder and louder with each passing second. The music got faster and the lights brighter.
She knew, she must, she could hear my heart and she was playing with me. Her beauty and her cruelty all shined through, but her smile never daunted.
How does she do this? Keep up this mask? She must know, how else is she acting like this? How else is the world showing through with its colors, giving me hints of what everyone has discerned?
The music, the pianist, everyone in the room seemed to know. Their smiles grew and the noises got louder and louder. Everyone was tricking me. They were being my grim reaper and I no longer felt like playing god anymore.
Thump. Another person caught my eye and smiled.
Thump. Fortunatio’s son laughed with his group of friends.
Thump. The Lady’s eyes looked into mine and her curls bounced and moved a certain type of lightness.
My heart pounded with speeds that I’ve never previously reached even with intoxication and it was so loud and thunderous everyone in the room must have heard it and recognized it as my guilt.
The lights seemed brighter, and finally the noises seemed to grate on my mind so that it pushed me over the edge.
I unclasped my hands feverishly from hers, and bellowed to the room, “Stop these antics. You all know! You must know!” With that declaration, Lady Fortunato gave me a look of confusion as if there was a point in keeping up the charade. Everyone looked at me funny, but I was convinced that they could hear my heart. How could they not hear the loud thumping organ that pulsed in and out louder then a noise that the violin could ever produce?
“Stop! Stop!” I called as the lights grew too bright. I needed to vacate and get away from these mad people and the house that symbolized everything about Fortunato.
I unclasped my hand from the Lady’s, and with one more wild frantic look, I ran out the doors of his grand palazzo into the cold streets of the unforgiving night, madness deceiving all my senses. They knew, everyone in the forsaken room had knowledge of the lengths I went to secure my wrath, but they played with me.
The wind, the chilling wind of the night, danced before me, calling my name. It spoke with a sense of foreboding, whispering promised into my ear that, I knew, I knew would come to be. It promised my life. It promised my death much like the lady in the room, with her knowing smiles.
The winds spun and stilled, and it weaved softly into my soul as it promised:
In pace requiescat.


The author's comments:
This is an alternate ending (or continuation fic) to the short story by Edgar Allen Poe: "The Cast of Amontillado." The story is set after the final line: "For half a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat (Edgar Allen Poe)." The writing style tired to imitate his dark interior monologue, and give a reasonable ending for our anti-hero. Originally for a school assignment, I ran with the story until it grew on its own. It was fascinating to write and really get into the wording and feeling of the character. Enjoy!

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