A Matter Of Conscience – Short Story By Dorothy Willing
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He hadn’t meant to. It had just got out of hand. Now what was he going to do?
Blame it on the worry of his gambling debts – worse, the ‘heavies’ who threatened, promised to collect – in-kind if necessary. They’d come very soon, he knew.
He’d tried to explain time was running out. If only he could raise money from somewhere, get out of this terrifying mess!
If only she’d listened, understood, cared.
But she hadn’t listened to his plea, his begging.
In a blind fury he’d shaken, punched, thrown her to the floor.
Now his grandmother lay lifeless at his feet.
Shaken, horrified, he stared at the body. Dear Lord, what had he done?
All he’d wanted was his promised inheritance in advance to pay off his crippling debts.
He knew escape was useless. Far better to go home and wait for the inevitable Police Call, probing, questioning.
He lay in bed, tossing, turning, shivering, crying at the enormity of what he’d done. Finally exhaused, troubled sleep came.
The sound of the shrilling telephone rudely startled him out of sleep.
Terror filled him, the body had been found.
He picked up the receiver. No sound came from his lips.
‘Hello, are you there? It’s Grandma. I just wanted to check that you’re not still having those awful, awful nightmares anymore? Darling, if you are you really should change those prescription pills, they’re far too strong. I’ll call again later.’……….
