Grabbing her wrists to stop her attack. “Listen. I didn’t do this. I’m telling you the truth. Everything I’ve told you is the truth,” he pleaded.
Unable to get free, she began to cry, causing him to release his grip as he noticed the image on the television screen.
“There!” he cried, pointing at the screen.
Sarah didn’t know what to do. Everything inside told her to run. “Hit him as hard as you can and run," she told herself, but looking up through her blurred vision she realized that he wasn’t even paying attention to her anymore, and had in fact taken a step back.
“See, I told you!” he cried at the screen. “That’s him! That’s Jason!”
Turning toward the TV, she saw what could have been Derek’s friend from the restaurant the other day, though the image quality was poor and difficult to decipher. The screen was split into quadrants with Jason in the top right corner and the clerk standing beside a display in the top left, mopping the floor.
Forgetting all previous urges to run, Sarah leaned closer as Jason slowly crept from the upper right image, into the image with the clerk.
“Run,” Sarah talked to the screen as if the events they were watching hadn’t yet happened.
Slowly Jason moved closer to the clerk, coming to a stop only a few feet to his back. Removing a bottle from a display, he raised it into the air and with a momentary pause, swung the glass weapon.
Looking away, Sarah buried her face in Derek’s chest as Derek continued to watch the attack. Sitting on top of the dazed man, Jason began savagely beating him until only faint movements told him that he was still alive. Then, apparently satisfied, Jason stopped, stood and began circling the man, seemingly talking to him, before once again kneeling down with his back to the camera as the man’s legs began to thrash.
“Is it over?” Sarah spoke into his chest.
Derek continued to watch as the man’s legs slowed and picking the broken bottle up off the floor, Jason sunk the jagged glass into the clerk’s throat.
“Is it over?” Sarah repeated.
“It’s over.”
“We need to get to Mrs. Tillmore,” Sarah looked up from his shirt.
Realizing she no longer needed convincing, he nodded. “I dropped my license. I have to get it. There’s a gun behind the counter. Grab it. We may need it.”
Sarah nodded, wiping her eyes as they both reentered the store.
Approaching the end of the isle, he knew what to expect but it didn’t help as the body came into view once again. Having witnessed the brutal act now, the bruising and lacerations on the man’s face were even more obvious and upsetting. Focusing his attention away from the body, Derek spotted his license on the floor beside the man’s head. Carefully he reached down to pick up the alcohol and blood coated card but as he did, his foot slipped, kicking the side of the dead man’s face and causing the silver and copper contents of the clerk’s mouth to pour out across the floor.
THIRTY-SIX
The whirling fan overhead was an absolute necessity when it came to Tabitha’s ability to get a good night’s sleep. It had been that way ever since she was a little girl. Even during the winter months, when the temperature was in the single digits outside and the house was freezing because her father was too cheap to pay for oil, she’d insisted that it stay on all night. Some people like fans for the noise, others for the chill that it lends to the air. She liked it for both, but even though the fan was on its highest setting and a cascade of cool air was pouring down onto the bed, she still wasn’t able to sleep.
Richard, on the other hand, was out like a light and had been since his head hit the pillow. He hated the cold and having the fan on all the time had been a big compromise, but it didn’t seem to bother him as he sawed logs beside her, the blanket pulled almost entirely over his head so that only his hair was visible.
His hatred for the cold was the reason she kept having to fight for her own share of the covers, as yet another gentle tug stole her share of the heavy comforter.
“Stop,” she whined, pulling the covers back up over her exposed shoulders.
She didn’t know how he was doing it in such a deep sleep and without any noticeable movement, but that was the third time in the last minute that she’d had to fight to remain covered.
Restless and frustrated with the sandman’s reluctant showing, she rolled over, nestling her head deeper within the down pillow and firmly tucking the covers under her shoulder.
It had been an eventful day, from literally using her head to land the deal with Mr. Branson, to finding out about her pregnancy. There were undoubtedly plenty of reasons for her brain’s refusal to shut down. All she could do was run through the day’s events over and over again, always ending with the same question, “What are we going to do?” She didn’t feel ready to be a mother, but like it or not it was going to happen. Hell, it already had. Not only did she need to worry about herself, now she had to think about the tiny life already growing inside of her. It needed the proper nourishment; no more two pound burritos from the food truck that always parked outside the office building, no more cheese cake splurges just before going to bed, and no more eating entire pizzas from the Italian Pug Pizzeria just down the street. Thinking about it, it was a miracle that she’d managed to maintain her petite figure when she seemed to always be eating like a linebacker, trying to carb up for the big game. Now even that was a thing of the past, she sighed as Richard pulled at the covers again, this time unsuccessful in his attempt as she pressed her shoulder even harder into the mattress.
“Richard, stop,” she nudged him.
As if he were the one being bothered, Richard let out a soft groan as he pulled at the covers again.
“Stop,” her frustration grew as this time she had to grab the retreating covers with her hand to fight the increasingly aggressive nature of his attempts.
Suddenly the comforter yanked out of her hand, retreating toward the foot of the bed.
Startled, she turned her head in the direction of the stolen fabric only to spot a shadowy figure standing at the foot of the bed, the comforter held firmly in its grasp.
She screamed.
Startled awake, “What?! What is it?!” Richard shot up, looking at his wife and then following her terrified stare to the foot of the bed where he caught a glimpse of the figure. Having just been yanked from R.E.M. sleep however, he couldn’t be sure that anything he saw or heard yet was real. Reaching for the lamp on the nightstand, he filled the room with the soft glow of the incandescent bulb and turned back to the shadowy figure, that was no longer there. Meanwhile Tabitha was still sitting up beside him, pressed against the headboard with her eyes closed and screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Honey! Honey!” he attempted to break through the shrill cries. Grabbing her arm, “Sweetie, Stop!”
Finally hearing her husband’s voice she opened her eyes, her scream subsiding as she realized that the mysterious figure was gone.
“What’s going on?” Richard asked.
“A man. There was a man standing at the end of the bed. He yanked the covers off,” she frantically explained.
Looking back toward the foot of the bed he still didn’t see anything except the comforter in a heap at the end of the bed. “I don’t see anything.”
“He was there. Right there,” she pointed.
Even though he thought he’d seen something too, he figured that it was simply the result of one too many horror movies and being awoken in the most terrifying manner possible.
“There’s nothing there,” he assured her.
“But he was.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. It was dark, but I know what I saw. Why are the covers piled up at the foot of the bed?” she attempted to convince him.
“Maybe you had a nightmare and kicked them off,” he offered what he thought was a very reasonable and the most likely explanation.
“I wasn’t dreaming, Richard.”
“Well
, maybe you don’t think you were, but—”
“—I wasn’t dreaming!” Tabitha snapped.
Richard remained quiet.
“I haven’t been able to fall asleep since we came to bed. I’ve just been lying here thinking and fighting you for the...” Oh my God she thought as she realized that it hadn’t been her husband at all. Her stomach sank.
“What?” Richard continued to look at her confused.
A loud bang suddenly came from downstairs, followed by what sounded like every pot and pan falling from the rack hanging over the kitchen island.
“See,” Tabitha whined as she scrambled to pull the covers back over her.
“Get your gun from your nightstand and stay right here,” Richard instructed as he opened the draw to his nightstand and removed his own 9mm.
Doing as instructed, from the perceived protection of the comforter, Tabitha retrieved her own gun. Nowhere near as intimidating as her husband’s, she’d only agreed to getting the tiny pink .380 because she’d never believed that she would need it. Now, holding the gun firmly in her hands, she had to admit that she did feel a little better, but not much.
“Remember what I taught you?” Richard whispered, looking down at her gun.
As taught, she disengaged the magazine, confirming its full capacity before reinserting it into the gun and yanking back on the tiny slide to load the chamber.
“Good. Now stay here. I’ll let you know before I come back in the room so you don’t shoot me.”
“You can’t go out there,” Tabitha protested the plan.
“Just stay here.”
“Shouldn’t we call the police?”
“The rack could have just given way. I don’t want the police showing up for faulty craftsmanship,” Richard smiled.
Frustrated, “There was a man in our room, Richard,” Tabitha insisted. “Why do you need the gun then?”
“I’m just going to check it out. If I see anything, I’ll come right back. Okay?”
“No, it wasn’t okay,” she thought, but she knew she wasn’t going to win.
“Just stay here,” he instructed for a third time as he checked the mag. and chambered a bullet.
Tabitha didn’t respond as she watched her husband slowly open the bedroom door and disappear into the dark hall.
*****
Wondering what in the hell he was doing, but proceeding onward anyway, Richard slowly advanced down the hall toward the dimly lit staircase. As much as he wanted to believe that the contractor, who’d already proven to be worthless, had somehow failed in attaching the hanging rack properly, he couldn’t shake the brief image of the shadowy figure at the end of the bed. Though nowhere near large in stature, it had clearly been that of a man, if it had even existed at all. Tabitha had a history of awakening in the night and seeing things that weren’t there, though usually it entailed reasonably harmless things like spiders and snakes, never cover stealing, shadowy men.
Approaching the top of the stairs, he lifted up onto his tip toes and leaned forward in an attempt to get a view of the foyer without fully exposing himself to whatever potential danger awaited below. Seeing no signs of movement in the dimly lit space he proceeded forward.
Thankfully, if there was one thing the contractor did do right, it was the stairs. They were probably the most solid thing in the entire house with not one loose or squeaky board. He was convinced that the house could be bulldozed, blown up or burned down and still the stairs would remain standing.
Breathing a sigh at the end of his descent, Richard took a step toward the arched entry into the living-room, only to be greeted by a loud squeak from the wood floor beneath his bare feet. Frozen by the sound, he wanted to curse but maintained his cool as he shifted his weight to his other foot and slowly stepped around the vocal, oak boards as he glanced around the doorframe, into the equally dark living room. The kitchen was just on the other side through another arched opening. He could have turned in the opposite direction and taken the short hall through the foyer, but that way was all wood flooring with many known noisy spots. The living room was carpeted and squeak free, so he continued on, gun drawn, hoping for nothing, but ready for anything.
As he approached the other doorway, he paused and listened.
Nothing.
His heart pounding, he caught himself breathing heavy, potentially giving away his location to the man who could be waiting on the other side of the very wall behind which he currently stood. Taking a deep breath to quiet his lungs, he silently counted to three before leaping through the doorway, gun up and ready to fire at anything that moved.
The room was empty. The pots and pans, which he’d seen only an hour ago, hanging over the island, were now strewn about the kitchen floor. The rack that had been holding them lay half on the counter top while the other half remained attached to the ceiling overhead.
“Fucking idiot,” Richard huffed as he flipped the light switch, thinking about all the other, even more insulting names he was going to call the man responsible for this mess.
Moving toward the island, looking up at the two small holes overhead where the steel cables had fastened the pot rack to the ceiling, he let out a sigh, placing the gun on the counter as he knelt down to start picking up the scattered cookware.
“It’s alright!” he shouted. “It was just the god damned rack!”
“Are you sure?” Tabitha’s voice responded faintly from upstairs.
“Yeah! I can’t believe this,” he continued, though more in a tone beneficial to only his ears. “You pay over a quarter of a million dollars to custom build a house and this is what you get. We would have been better off—”
His rant interrupted by the sound of a pan being kicked across the kitchen floor, Richard pivoted on his knee just as the blade of a knife pierced his neck, splitting his tongue and dislodging his eye as the tip came to rest within his right socket.
*****
Standing in the bedroom doorway Tabitha listened as the sound of a sliding pan, followed by a thud traveled up the stairs and down the hall. “You okay?!” she yelled, this time receiving no response as the clanking of more pans reached her ears. “Likely Richard cleaning up the mess,” she thought as she slid her gun into her pajama pant’s pocket and started toward the stairs. “I’ll add it to the list of things to call the Coletti Brothers about,” she spoke loudly as she began her decent to the first floor. “I don’t think it’s going to do any good though. They’ve already cashed the checks and even if they do come back out, I doubt their second attempt is going to furnish any better results,” she almost laughed in frustration as she flicked at the light switch at the bottom of the stairs with no result. Looking up at the lighting fixture hanging overhead she couldn’t help but chuckle. “I think I can fix that one,” she eyed the dead bulbs just as the remainder of the house went dark.
Looking around confused, Tabitha reached for the switch again, flipping it up and down as if that single switch was going to bring back power to the entire house. “I didn’t do that!” she announced as she ran her hand around the end of the railing and along the wall leading to the kitchen at the back of the house. “There’s a flashlight in the drawer next to the cupboard.”
Richard didn’t answer, but the sound of the drawer, followed by a bright beam of light shining right in her eyes told her that he’d been listening.
“Honey,” Tabitha complained, throwing her hands up in front of her face just as she slammed her knee into the decorative table along the wall. “Damn it.”
She didn’t need to see to know that her favorite plant, an orchid that Richard had bought her the day they’d moved into the house, was likely ruined as the sound of shattering ceramic and dancing rocks filled the hall. “Shit! No!” she whined, fighting the urge to drop to the floor to pick up the beloved plant, but still unable to see with the beam of light still aimed directly at her face. “Honey, please.”
The light turned off.
“You didn’t have to turn it off,”
she complained, the darkness seeming even more imposing as the effects of the light still swirled in her vision. Slowly the dim, moonlit hall came back into view but the shadow that had been her husband no longer stood in the doorway ahead. “Richard? Richard, turn on the light again. Where’d you go?” she remained hesitant to move, afraid of cutting her feet on the shards of scattered pottery. “Richard, I don’t have my slippers on. There’s ceramic everywhere. Turn on the light.”
With that request, the flashlight sprang back to life, this time from the doorway to the den on her right.
Startled, “Jesus! How’d you get in there?” she questioned, throwing her hands up to block the powerful beam of light from her eyes once again.
There was only one doorway to the den and she’d been standing beside it the entire time. Even in her temporary blindness she would have at least heard him passing directly in front of her. There would have been no way to avoid the mess in the hall. At least a few rocks and pieces of pottery would have been kicked. But she hadn’t heard a thing, and now Richard was once again attempting to blind her with the emergency flashlight.
“What are you doing? Get the light out of my eyes,” she grew frustrated.
The light went off again, but as the swirling lights faded, this time she could still make out her husband’s shadowy figure, still standing in the doorway just three feet away.
“I hope you’re having fun,” she playfully snapped. “I knocked over the orchid. Shine the light down here so I can pick it up,” she instructed as she knelt down in anticipation, but the light never came. Looking up at the unwavering figure, “Richard, it’s not funny anymore. I’m tired. I don’t care if the power’s out. I just want to pick up my flower and get back in bed. It’s been a long day.”
Still no light.
“Richard?”
No response.
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