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“LEGACY” by Anthony Lawrence
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“Are you serious?” asked Desmond with that same smirk he always used to make me feel small.
“Dead serious.”
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“You believe that shit?”
“I’ve seen evidence.”
Of what? Genetic memory?”
I nodded grimly, the pain rising.
“Genetic instructions. A killing gene.”
“You’ve been playing too many of those video games.”
We arrived at his intersection and Desmond paused before he got out of the Phantom. I waved at him and smiled slightly.
“It exists, Des. Memories of our ancestors.”
“Sometimes I worry about you, Avery.”
He smirked again, then shut the door and was quickly swallowed up in the mass of people entering the State Department. The chauffeur moved the Phantom back into traffic and I slipped back into memory as the pain rose swiftly.
I could see it just as clearly as I now saw the summer day. As I separated the black curtains I could dimly hear voices of the actors in Our American Cousin coming from the stage. He was sitting there in front of me next to his wife. I stepped into the box and shot him in the head with my revolver. Then, I jumped from the box onto the stage and cried out “Sic semper tyrannis!” before I escaped through the back of the theatre.
The Phantom continued on down Pennsylvania Avenue as I sat in the back, both the pain and memories rising in concert. It always happened that way, the genetic instructions searing through my body and head like fire.
I was there in Dealey Plaza and I watched the presidential limousine as it made its way just beyond the Texas Schoolbook Depository. But I wasn’t up in that window. I wasn’t Lee Harvey Oswald. I had my own vantage point and my own rifle with telescopic sight. I lined up the shot and I did what I had been told to do. I killed the president that November in 1963, and to this day no one knows the truth.
“Step on it, Murray,” I said to the Phantom driver, “I’m late for the presidential lunch.”
©2013AnthonyLawrence
