Love Kills

by Vickery, Rebecca J.

  But she'd had enough. Rosalyn knocked his hands from her and stepped away. "Not this time, Demetrius. You can see her tomorrow or next week, or never for all I care. But this is my day. You promised me we would be together without interruption, without her intruding. You said if I would fly over to be with you there would be no business, no other women, just us!"

  Frowning at her tone, he stepped toward her. "You will not speak to me in this manner. I love you, but there are limits."

  Rage flooded through her, filling every cell of her body. "You love me?" She screamed then laughed ironically. She hurled a coffee cup at him. "You love only yourself."

  Then her voice changed, became quiet, controlled, "Love? You don't know the first thing about love. Don't you know love kills?" Carefully and very intently, Rosalyn picked up a knife from the tray and plunged the blade into his chest. She watched the blood spurt.

  He staggered, a look of shock and pain crossing his handsome face.

  Steering him toward the railing was easy. Jerking the knife out, still filled with rage, she shoved him over. He was tall and easily over-balanced as he fell against the balcony railing.

  Rosalyn watched his body tumble on the rocks below. Her rich lover sprawled below her, broken and bleeding.

  Then the rage subsided and what she'd done finally began to register. Shaking, she gulped in deep breaths then saw the bloody knife clenched in her hand. With her eyes, she followed the trail of blood near the railing.

  "What do I do? Oh, no. What do I do now? How do I explain this?" Suddenly inspired, she used the same knife to cut her left upper arm. Fighting the pain, Rosalyn let the blood drip all around to mingle with that of Demetrius. She also bent over one of the patio chairs, turned her head sideways, then banged her cheek solidly against the metal rimmed arm.

  A domestic dispute... She had protected herself, he lost his balance, and went over. Easy to explain, if she played it right.

  Dazed from the blow to her face and weakened from blood loss, Rosalyn retained enough presence of mind to drop the knife near the railing where Demetrius fell over. Then she curled up on the balcony floor and began screaming hysterically.

  A maid and then hotel security soon rushed to her aid. She was whisked away to the hospital for treatment.

  At the inquest, it was decided Demetrius died in an accidental fall from the balcony. For the sake of his wife and three children, Rosalyn's part as his mistress and the domestic dispute were kept quiet. She was put on a plane and returned home, quickly and without publicity.

  Demetrius deserved what he got and more, according to Rosalyn's way of thinking. He would never have married her. He used her to amuse himself. She put the ordeal totally out of her mind – until the following Valentine's Day.

  Then a man followed her and tried to run her down as she crossed the street. Later in the evening, she was attacked in her home. Small, but a definite scrapper, Rosalyn rendered him unconscious with a blow from a large ceramic swan and called the police.

  She never made the connection to Valentine's Day and Demetrius' death until she received the phone call from overseas early the next morning. A mocking female voice told her, "Demetrius sends his love. There's always next bloody Valentine's Day, my dear." Then the line went dead.

  Every year since, Valentine's Day brought these attempts on her life and every year on the day after she received the same call. Somehow, Rosalyn managed to survive, though it proved extremely close on more than one occasion. She took self-defense lessons. After buying the gun, she learned to shoot proficiently. Her senses grew sharper; she was more alert and cautious than other women. But then, she had good reason to be. Who was to say when or if her tormentor would decide to change the game and not wait for Valentine's Day?

  Rosalyn decided she'd spent enough time reflecting on the past. Varian's the here and now. A different beast than I've faced before, more dangerous, tougher, smarter. How will I survive this time?

  The hours passed slowly as she agonized over what he would do next.

  Chapter 4

  The deepening chill in the house forced Rosalyn to add extra layers of clothing. Her fingers grew stiff and partially numb from the cold, but still she clutched the pistol, afraid to put it down. Wrapped in a blanket, she alternately sat on the sofa or paced.

  The dark SUV reappeared, parking on her side of the street this time.

  Peeking out between the drapes and the decorative bars, she could make out the vague outline of a man behind the wheel. She jumped when the headlights blinked. He knew she was watching him. Rosalyn hastily backed away from the window.

  The sudden chiming of the clock told her it was mid-morning. Only fourteen hours to go and he would leave. Or would he? What if he stayed out there?

  How long would she survive with no electricity and no heat? Could she find enough to eat and drink to outlast him? She shivered in fear as she realized her safe house might become her tomb.

  Rosalyn started as she heard the slamming of a door. Rushing to the other window facing the front yard, she very carefully put her eye to the slit in the drapes. The Glock was cradled against her middle beneath the blanket she clutched tightly with her left hand.

  Varian stood at the edge of her yard. He carried an odd shaped bar in his hands. As she watched, he used it to flip up a piece of metal set into the ground. He turned it around then stuck the opposite end down into the hole and used both hands to twist the tee-shaped bar. Using his foot, he closed the lid and gazed toward her house. He smiled and waved before returning to his vehicle.

  Rosalyn ground her teeth together. What the devil had he done now? Oh no, not the water. Wasn't that where the plumber turned off the water? She dropped the blanket as she rushed to the kitchen faucet. A thin stream flowed for only a moment, and then nothing. No water.

  Rage mounted and spread over her body. Dropping the gun to the counter, Rosalyn grabbed and hurled the cookie jar followed by everything within reach. Dishes, silverware, knife block, and cleaning supplies – it all flew across the room as she screamed and ranted at Varian and Demetrius.

  Then she collapsed to the floor, deep sobs racking her entire body.

  Rosalyn finally realized the cold from the stone-tiled floor was creeping into every pore when her teeth began to chatter and she sat up. Sniffing loudly, she used a paper towel to mop up her face as she stood and sought her pistol.

  "One good shot, that's all I ask, Varian. Just give me one good shot at you. You'll regret the day you ever saw me," she gritted out between clenched teeth. "You think you can break me, but I won't let it happen, I won't."

  Making a sudden decision, Rosalyn walked to the telephone in the bedroom. She had seen Varian tamper with her property. There were also stalker laws. Surely, being watched for hours constituted stalking. She lifted the receiver and pressed 9-1-1.

  But when she held the phone to her ear, total silence greeted her. Clicking the button repeatedly, she heard no dial-tone. Rosalyn bit her lower lip to keep from throwing the phone at the window. Her cell, she would use her cell phone.

  That decision prompted a methodical search for her purse – a search which eventually turned frantic. The purse was nowhere to be found. Her keys were on the coffee table where she always dropped them, but what had she done with her purse when she came in yesterday? In her agitated state and her hurry to get safely locked inside had she left it in the car?

  Rosalyn looked in the bedroom once more. She stopped, shocked when her image in the dresser mirror caught her attention. She stared at herself in the gloom created by the closed curtains and the cloudy day. Her auburn hair, usually pinned up so tidily, hung in tangled hanks around her face. Deep purple shadows formed huge crescents beneath both eyes, seeming even darker against the milk-white pallor of her skin. Her ice blue eyes looked tortured, haunted and afraid, as she stared into them. Lips trembling, and bloody from being gnawed, she looked nothing like the confident businesswoman she'd been just yesterday morning.

  "I hat
e you, Demetrius! Look what you've done to me," Rosalyn stormed and flung the gun at the mirror. The satisfying sound of glass breaking brought her to her senses. She jumped back as the shattering mirror flew around her.

  Picking through the shards, she retrieved the weapon, her best means of defense, before returning to the living room. She grabbed up the blanket and huddled in the corner of the sofa trying to stop shivering. Her chest ached, terror spreading rapidly at what he was doing to her.

  It had been bad before, but no one ever played with her like this.

  The attacks had come quickly before, repeatedly in some cases, usually violent, but giving her a chance to defend herself, to take action, to stay busy and in control. All this waiting, with her mind filled with suspicion and worry, was definitely taking a toll on her sanity.

  Oh, Varian was very good at his job. Forcing her to think and to relive her time with Demetrius, the previous attacks, and to consider what the future held. Helping her fear to grow and take hold of her, making her suffer in the dark with no heat, no phone, and no water. No way out – without facing him.

  Determined to beat him, she went to the kitchen and made a peanut butter sandwich. She needed to keep her strength up for whatever he threw at her next. She would make it through this bloody Valentine's Day just as she had before. She would not let the mistake she'd made by loving Demetrius destroy her.

  Chapter 5

  Rosalyn's head jerked up from the back of the sofa and she sleepily blinked. She couldn't believe she'd dropped off to sleep. Then she heard a noise, probably like the sound that woke her. Someone knocked on the door again.

  Her pistol lay on the cushion beside her. She grabbed it and trembled. Would he actually knock on the door. Did he really expect her to just open it and let him in? Or was this another of his games? Trying to rattle her? Wanting to frighten her even more?

  She wouldn't let him know, but he was succeeding. Staying low, she crept over to take a position beside the front door. "Who is it, and what do you want?"

  "I'm with the power company, ma'am," a deep, male voice responded. "We have a report your power is out."

  "Yes, it's out. Fix it," she yelled through the door. The gun shook in her hand as she kept it pointed toward the door. She thought she heard a low laugh. Was it Varian out there, taunting her again?

  "Ma'am, I need you to sign a report and give permission for me to go around to the back of your house. The trouble's not in the main line, so it has to be on your property."

  Rosalyn decided to take a chance. "Please, call the cops. The man out there, the one in the SUV at the curb, he intends to kill me. He's the one who cut the power and he turned off my water and phone. Go get the police, now!"

  There was a minute of silence. Then he asked, "What SUV, ma'am? What man? There's no one out here but me. Look, lady, I don't want to get mixed up in any funny business."

  She heard his footsteps receding across the porch. "No, wait, please. Call the police, send an ambulance, anything. Help me!" Rosalyn begged.

  Crawling on hands and knees, she peeked out the window in time to see an average looking man wearing a yellow hard hat. He climbed into a pickup truck bearing a power company logo. There was no sign of the dark SUV or Varian anywhere on the street.

  Rosalyn turned and rested her back against the wall beneath the window sill. Tears leaked down her cheeks. She shivered from the cold, even though fear made her feel numb all over. Her one chance to get out of this and she'd blown it. Varian's mind games were working.

  Where is he? What is he up to now? Will he wait until dark and try something? What? What can he possibly do?

  Time passed slowly. The clock chimed the hours. She remembered to use the key and wind it late in the afternoon. Just seven more hours. If she could last seven more hours, he would go away, she told herself over and over.

  A scratching at the side window drew her attention. The light from outside, almost gone for the day, silhouetted a dark figure near the window. Rosalyn dove for the floor. The blankets hindered her movements. She tossed them off and scrambled behind the sofa, the pistol clutched tightly in her hand.

  When the noise came again, she flipped off the safety, rose up over the sofa back, and fired. She quickly ducked behind the sofa as breaking glass assured her she hit the window.

  Male laughter told her she did no damage to Varian.

  Rosalyn whirled and fired as she heard noises at the front window. Glass tinkled to the floor once again, and still she heard him laugh.

  "You're wasting time, Rosalyn. Demetrius is waiting for you to join him," he called.

  Then she heard him outside the bedroom window. He must be checking every entrance, trying to find a way in. She scrambled along the floor until she could peek around the bedroom doorway. Rosalyn aimed and fired, hitting the window.

  They worked their way around the house. Varian made sounds and she fired the gun in his direction. She searched out an extra, fully loaded clip for the gun and changed it expertly. Soon all the windows were broken and there were holes in the metal covering the back door, but he continued to laugh and taunt her.

  "They're going to lock you away, Rosalyn. When the police get here, they'll think you're nuts. How will you ever explain it? You'll spend your remaining years in an asylum for the insane," he jeered at her.

  As if summoned by his words, she heard sirens in the distance. Is he right? She forced herself to think past her terror. Of course not. They'll believe me when I tell them he was trying to get in to kill me. They'll save me from him.

  Flashing lights and screaming sirens suddenly filled the street in front of her house. The screech of tires and slamming of car doors heralded the arrival of help.

  Terror rose in her mind once more. He had hunted her and hounded her for hours. He wouldn't give up this easily.

  Where is Varian? Is he waiting to pick me off when I open the door? Or when they help me to a police car?

  Rosalyn flinched at a loud voice yelling at her over a speaker.

  "Throw the gun out and come out with your hands on your head."

  What do I do? What do I do? She heard whimpering and realized it came from her own throat. The sound brought her around. The calm, controlled Rosalyn took over.

  She crawled near the window and yelled, "Did you catch him? Did you get the man trying to break in and kill me?"

  After several minutes, the same voice told her, "Rosalyn, your husband is here. We know you're upset. He said he's sorry he forgot it's Valentine's Day. We have a doctor on the way. He'll give you something to help you calm down. Right now, we want you to open the front door and toss the gun out. We don't want anyone hurt."

  Oh, crap... They believe Varian. They think he's my husband. That dirty, rotten, cheat! He's not playing fair. Just like Demetrius. A rage she hadn't felt since she stabbed Demetrius flooded her mind and body. I'm going to kill him. Devil take him, I'm going to murder him.

  Rosalyn jerked the chair from beneath the doorknob and worked the locks on the front door. She opened the door and walked through.

  She heard someone shouting for her to stop, to drop the gun...but all she could see was Varian. He stood beside a policeman, outlined by the flashing red and blue lights. A perfect target.

  She held the pistol with two hands and aimed carefully. Rosalyn took a deep breath and held it as she had trained to do for so long. She squeezed the trigger instead of jerking it. She kept pulling it – until she fell.

  Pain spread throughout her body. Burning agony, she could hardly breathe.

  Varian knelt down and leaned over her. The sight of her blood-covered body filled him with contentment. Demetrius' wife, his sister, could stop her vendetta now.

  "This is from Demetrius and his wife. Happy bloody Valentine, my dear."

  The End

  About the Author

  Rebecca J. Vickery has been married to the same very patient man for quite a while now. She has one son, a special daughter-in-law, and three wonderful grandch
ildren.

  She lives in South Carolina, USA, and slips away to go camping at Myrtle Beach whenever possible. Long walks on the beach help her to unwind and often ignite her imagination with new stories.

  She enjoys the challenge of adding a special twist to her stories of romance. Usually they involve the paranormal, mystery, adventure, suspense, or a bit of fantasy along the way to a happy ever after ending.

  Recently Mrs. Vickery has branched out into speculative fiction and has several short stories published in that genre. She owns Publishing by Rebecca J. Vickery, a small independent company, and also Victory Tales Press, where invited authors share their stories in various anthologies.

  You may visit Rebecca at these sites online:

  rebeccajvickeryauthor.com

  rebeccajvickery.com victorytalespress.com

  Other works include:

  Surviving With Love Looking Through The Mist

  Seeking Shelter Following Destiny

  Becca's Paranormal Collection

  And multiple short stories:

  A Haunting Love Raising the Lost The Rescue

  Dad's Favorite Holiday Night of the Blue Moon

  Christmas Tears Lady Constance Yankee Spy