It's Just Business

The sour taste of liquor burnt the back of his esophagus as he lounged back, his eyes closed. It was peaceful and quiet, life was going well for him. Business was traveling smoothly, his boss promoted him to second in command, what more could you wish for than the life of the rich. However, the question he contemplated on often was whether he’d truly live a pleasurable and fulfilling life, one left without wanting.

“Macbeth darling!”

The peace was disturbed by the pounding sound of his wife’s high-pitched voice. He reluctantly opened his eyes to be greeted by his wife who appeared to have struck gold.

“Lady Macbeth, what brings you here at this hour? You know not to disturb me at work,” his voice was dry with disappointment.

“Have you heard the chatter of the town?” before he could speak of his disinterest, he was interrupted immediately. “I guess not, but you know Duncan who you work for? Well, a little birdy informed me that next in line to control the business is you.”

His bushy brow raised at what she said. Him, next in line? It sounded like a dream.

“What do you say?”

He stood from his seat and circled his desk to a separate table where his alcoholic beverages sat as they called him for another glass.

“What?”

“Darling you don’t understand, you can’t get what you want with an attitude like that.”

Her slender fingers grabbed his glass of scotch and placed it back down as she turned him to face her. Her eyes sparkled with hope as she placed her arms around his neck, pecking his lips softly, her gloss smeared onto his.

“What do you want dear?” Macbeth’s voice was clearly strained and worn out he couldn’t seem to catch what she was hinting at.

“This could be what we need.”

“Need?”

Lady Macbeth rolled her eyes. She pushed him back into his leather seat, as she turned him to face her.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know how much you strive for that control. I feel it too.”

Lady Macbeth lowered her voice, her fingertips danced across his shoulder as she circled him. Her words hit a sensitive part of his and he knew what she was advocating.

“You think I kill him?” he was dumbfounded that she would ever propose such a thing.

“Keep your voice down!” she whispered forcefully, as she covered his mouth with her pale hand. Lady Macbeth dazed into his eyes with a wicked grin. That was precisely what she was hinting at and everything about her proposition seemed out of the question, but the sense of greed pushed the idea into full view.

He began to fantasize at the idea of being the richest man alive; he would be satisfied at long last.

“WAIT! I couldn’t possibly kill Duncan. He’s not just my boss but my friend!” Macbeth began to speak anxiously, as his conscious started to deceive him. His eyes flashed with visions as he began to picture the scene before him.

His heart pumped fear through his veins, he had to make this quick and leave with no regrets. Yet the fact that a blade lays comfortably in his grasp as it shone in the moonlight that pierced through the curtains of his house, made him uncomfortable.

He took a deep breath and counted down in his head for the hundredth time.

Slowly a hand reached out as he followed with his curious eyes. A gentle click echoed loudly within his mind as he pushed the door back gently a soft creak stopping him in his tracks, only to later proceed.

The sound of gentle breathing filled the room and his mind already began to persecute him for making it this far without turning back once.

He couldn’t stop now. He was too far entangled in his current circumstances.

After all these loyal years of service, it had led to this. One room, one blade and two close men who were soon to be separated in death.

He stepped up to Duncan’s soon-to-be deathbed, seeing the man at rest with pleasant dreams, being the last he’d ever have.

Macbeth began to panic.

Why was he doing this?

His wife’s seductive voice filled his conscious as he closed his eyes temporarily.

“Do it for me Macbeth, your beloved wife. We are bonded in love and she is just another greedy rich man. We could be more, together.”

He closed his eyes, using her voice as fuel for his movement.

His arms gracefully lifted above his head and with an unfailing force he brought them down to Duncan’s chest. His raised one last time before the life seemed to be sucked from him. The corpse lay lifeless.

Macbeth stumbled back onto his backside. Blood littered his hands.

His breathing became sharp and forced. His heart pounded relentlessly as he stumbled to his feet grabbing the bed sheets for support. The blood only began to spread more. He backed away from the corpse that was once an amazing human being. He rubbed his hands over his suit shirt. His pristine clean white shirt, now stained with a crimson substance.

The guilt began to burn in his chest.

He turned to leave, only to catch his reflection staring him in the mirror.

Once a set of innocent sweet eyes looked back, chocolate brown with so much love to give. Now, it was a different story. They reflected the anxiety that struck at his body, the look of a cold-hearted man stared him in the face.

A stranger, someone he didn’t know, hid inside him. He was a slave to this mysterious side; the side of him that was consumed by greed.

“Macbeth? Darling are you ok?” She shook him around, trying to awaken him from his temporary unconsciousness.

A gently desperate voice filled his mind as Macbeth gradually opened his eyes.

"Macbeth!” Lady Macbeth screamed as she pulled her husband close to her chest, her hands clung to him like she held his last breath. “I thought I lost you,” she whispered, a tear flowing from her eye onto his forehead, trickling down slowly.

He wriggled from her grasp and sat up. He looked her in the eyes softly dabbing her cheeks, careful not to smear her caked face.

“I love you dear, I’d do anything for you,” Macbeth smiled weakly at her.

He pulled her close one time.

“Do it for me Macbeth, your beloved wife. We are bonded in love, he is just another greedy rich man. We could be more, together.”