With the click-swish-click of the mouse, she paused her show and hit start her iTunes, after quickly selecting a song. And with her other hand, she reached for the dial on her speakers, cranked up the volume, and pressed the telephone against it.
The voice of Nancy Sinatra poured from speaker to telephone to cellphone, echoing through the night.
"I was five and he was six.
We rode on horses made of sticks.
He wore black and I wore white.
He would always win the fight!"
The safety on her pistol clicked off.
"Bang bang, he shot me down,
Bang bang, I hit the ground!
Bang bang, that awful sound,
Bang bang, my baby shot me down!"
It was a piercing sound that ended the verse: a gunshot. The first bullet pierced the screen of the woman's cellphone, leaving a smoking hole in its path as the device fell from the tips of her polished fingernails.
Lips parted. A look of horror upon one face, and a look of confusion on the other. The woman in his arms turned to the window with dread, as the volume was cranked up yet again to blast out the window.
"You wouldn't dare!" she screamed at the shooter in disbelief.
He began to button up his shirt. The rain fell harder.
"Seasons came and changed the time,
When we grew up, I called you mine.
He would always laugh and say,
'Remember when we used to play...'
The second bullet hit the lamp post above them, sending sparks and broken glass showering down upon their half-naked bodies as it shortcircuited. Glass tore at skin and wet fabric.
The song had been stopped.
"Damn," she swore, tears running down her red face as she rethought her plan. "I was hoping to electrocute you both."
What will she do from here?