u/CBenson1273

Thump. Thump. 

“Aargh!” Again. I screamed into my pillow in frustration. Every fucking night. 

I met my new roommate six months ago; my previous roommate left without warning and I had to find someone quickly or be responsible for the entire rent myself. I didn’t know this guy, but he seemed decent enough the night we met, his previous landlord spoke well of him, and he had the money and could move in the next week, so we shook and it was done. 

Everything seemed fine, at first. He kept to himself, kept his space clean, and paid his share of the rent and bills on time. My previous roommate hadn’t done any of those, so it was great to not have those issues anymore.

Then things started to get weird. He was never around during the day. Like, never. He explained that he works a job where he’s out of cell range, but I’ve literally never seen him when it’s light outside. 

He also never ate in public. In fact, I once tried to peek at his food; it ended with a stern lecture about boundaries and a locked refrigerator for his room. He was private, I get it, but it seemed excessive. Maybe he came from a history of food insecurity? I hear that people like that can be really protective of their food. 

And what was with his wardrobe? I literally never saw him in anything except black. Like, I got the whole goth scene, but come on. It wouldn’t have so bad if he hadn’t been so freaking pale. I invited him to the beach with me, even gave him a gift certificate to a tanning place, but he got weird about it, like he was freaked out or something. 

And you know what? All that would have been fine - being weird is no crime, it’s L.A., after all - if it hadn’t been for the fucking noise. Every night, at 3am, I’d hear noises from his room. Loud, thumping noises, like he was throwing a rave or banging around in his room. I’d even heard what sounded like screaming a few times. I’m all for screaming along to music - we’ve all been there, believe me, I could tell you some stories - but 3am? Some of us have to get up for work in the morning. 

I even saw someone come running out of his room one night when I was coming back from the bathroom. She was holding her neck and darted out with a panicked, crazed look on her face. I looked into his room; he was laid out on the floor, looking barely conscious. That must have been some trip - whatever they were having, I kind of wanted some. But I wasn’t a kid anymore - I had to be responsible. 

Being responsible blows. 

In short, he wasn’t the best roommate, even if he was an otherwise decent guy. But the fact was, it was becoming a problem. I had to do something. 

I visited the landlord and explained the issues. By the time I finished, he had a strange expression on his face. Unfortunately, he said, there was nothing he could do, but he did know someone who might be able to help. Apparently they specialized in getting rid of problem roommates like this. He gave me their card with a knowing look - I took it and smiled gratefully.

When I got back to my apartment, I looked at the card. “VH Removal Services - Getting rid of problem guests for 129 years.” I’d never heard of them, but they had good reviews so I decided to call. A young lady picked up on the first ring. “VH Removal Services - We understand the stakes and will shine a light on your problem guests. How can I help you?”

When I explained my problem to her, she said she’d heard others like it.

“Can you help?”

“Absolutely, sir. It sounds like our Stage Two Removal Service would be the best fit.”

“How much will that cost? I’m not exactly rich.”

“Don’t worry, sir. We work with our clients to arrange a payment plan they can afford. We don’t do this for the money - we see it as providing a needed service. We’ve been doing it since 1897 and have never received a complaint.”

“That sounds fantastic. Let’s do it.”

“Wonderful, sir! Now, a few things to know…”

The next day I called my parents and asked if I could come visit for a few days. They immediately said yes - Mom had been trying to get me to visit for a while now. “I guess you’re too busy in the big city to come visit your old parents,” she always said. Two birds, one stone. 

I entered my apartment three days later. It was spotless, even cleaner than before I left. Every piece of furniture was cleaned, every appliance sparkled like new. And my roommate was gone. All his stuff was cleared out; I guess he left in a hurry. There were even special lights installed throughout the house - they were brighter than the old ones, and VH Removal said they were more energy efficient and better for the environment; win-win. The only thing I did find was a spot of peculiar dust behind a dresser; I had no idea what it was from, but it vacuumed right up. VH really killed it: five stars on Google for sure. 

Of course, I still need another roommate. But this time, I’m being more careful. Multiple meetings to set expectations, conversations to determine compatibility. I even have a solid lead - we had a great dinner meeting, laughed and shared stories. It’s weird how he eats his steak - so bloody it’s almost raw - but to each his own, right? Things are looking up. 

The lesson I learned from all of this? Always vet prospective roommates carefully. It’s annoying, but it’s worth it. Bad roommates suck. 

“Daddy, Daddy, I’m back!”

I reached down to pick up my daughter Irina at the school bus stop right after she climbed down. She just started kindergarten, and I still missed having her at home every day. 

“How was your first day, sweetheart?”

“Awesome! I met a bunch of other kids, and we colored in coloring books, and we had recess, and we had nap time, and the teacher gave us cookies!”

“Cookies?” I asked with an exaggerated face. “She let you have cookies?”

“Yes! Chocolate chip! I had two!”

“Did you bring me one?” I asked, wearing my best hopeful face. 

“No, Daddy. There weren’t any left - we ate them all!”

“Oh, well, I guess that’s ok then. So I can eat all the cookies at home, then?”

“No, Daddy!” she replied, giggling. “Those are mine, too!”

“Ah,” I said, buckling her into her car seat. “I guess you do deserve lots of cookies - you are a kindergartener, now, after all.”

“Yes I am!” she squeaked excitedly as I drove us home. She was so smart - maybe she’d be a doctor like her mother. 

We arrived home and Irina ran off to put away her things. When she came back, I put on her favorite after school cartoon while she got settled on the sofa. 

“PAW Patrol!” she screamed, clapping her hands excitedly and singing. “PAW Patrol, PAW Patrol, We’ll be there on the double…”

As she sang and giggled, I couldn’t help but stare at her. She was perfect. I think back to the time before I had her and it’s like it was another life. A lesser one. 

After a couple of episodes, she turned to me. 

“I’m hungry, Daddy!”

“What would you like, honey?”

“Can we have macaroni and cheese?”

“We’ve had macaroni and cheese three times this week already, sweetheart.”

She gave me the adorable pout I can never say no to. “But I really want it. Please, Daddy?” 

The puppy dog eyes get me every time. “Alright, sweetheart. But you have to eat some veggie sticks too, ok?”

“Yay!” she said, going back to her cartoon while I made the food. When it was ready, she climbed into her chair. “Let’s eat, Daddy!”

As she began to eat her macaroni (and I ate the pasta I’d made for myself), I thought back to that day years ago. My wife and I had been so excited to have our first child. We’d done everything - set up a nursery, taken classes, put in for maternity and paternity leave (me from the bank and her from her elementary school), everything recommended in the parenting books. When Jill’s contractions had started, we’d rushed to the hospital, looking forward to greeting our child. 

Then things had started to go wrong. Prolonged labor. Excessive bleeding. The baby presenting abnormally. Crashing blood pressure. Fetal distress. The doctors had said they did everything they could. The baby’s vitals had started getting better. But Jill’s hadn’t. 

Then she was gone. 

I was devastated. It was like my world had ended, because it had. But I had to keep going. It’s what Jill would have wanted. 

And now, five years later, things had started to feel normal again. My daughter (who I’d named Irina because Jill loved the name) was thriving. I was starting to feel normal. I’d even thought about dating again, though I’d likely wait until Irina was older. I wouldn’t say all was right with the world, but things were better. And I planned to make sure they stayed that way. 

The next morning, I dropped Irina off at the bus stop. 

“Have a great day, sweetheart!”

“You have a great day too, Daddy! I love you!”

I waved at her until the bus was out of sight. Then I drove to a long term parking lot and, making sure I wasn’t on camera, parked, got out, and took another car that I’d previously stored there. I drove three hours out of the city to a small town I’d identified in advance. From there, I went to a random out-of-the-way mailbox that I’d chosen because there were no cameras nearby and dropped off a letter. Finally, my goal accomplished, I drove the three hours back to the lot, cleaned my decoy car of fingerprints and DNA, switched back to my jeep, and drove back to town. 

As I sat at home that night, Irina asleep in her bed upstairs, I imagined my target opening my letter. 

“Hello, again. I bet you’ve missed me. My daughter turned five earlier this month. She had a very happy birthday, with cake and lots of presents. She was so thrilled. You should have seen her. 

“Oh, was that insensitive? I don’t regret it. Speaking of regrets, do you regret going to work that night straight from the bar? Scrubbing into the operating room with your faculties still impaired? Cutting open my wife with unsteady hands? Perhaps if you’d been sober, she would have lived. We’ll never know; your colleagues on the hospital review board made sure you were cleared and no real investigation took place. But I do know this - since you took my family from me, it’s only fair that I took yours from you. I hope you hurt every time you remember finding your husband’s bloody, dismembered body in the park and your child missing. Then you’ll know how I felt. So enjoy these letters, knowing that they’re the only contact you’ll ever have with your daughter again. She doesn’t even remember you. Maybe one day, I won’t, either. 

“See you next year.”

My Husband Tried To Kill Me

“Hello?”

“DAD! DAD, HELP ME!”

“What is it? What’s going on?”

“IT'S JACK! HE ATTACKED ME! I-I THINK HE MIGHT BE DEAD!”

“Dammit! Hold on - I’m on my way.”

I hung up and breathed deeply, trying to calm myself.

Jack had been perfect when we’d met - my savior after a bad childhood. He was the first person who ever made me feel worth something, like someone who could be loved. Within two years, we were married.

That’s when the trouble started.

He became controlling, dictating where I could go, whom I could talk to. He cut me off from friends and family. And he insulted me constantly. “Ugly,” “loud,” “opinionated,” “lazy.” “Stupid.” That was the worst - always calling me “stupid.” It was horrible, but at least they were only words.

The punches didn’t come until later.

I sat, reliving the last few hours, until there was a knock at the door. I went to answer it.

“DAD!”

I’d held out hope he’d be worried for me, but it was the same as always.

“What kind of ridiculous trouble did you get yourself into this time?”

I led him silently to the kitchen, where my husband’s body lay on the ground, a knife in his stomach and blood pooling on the floor beneath him.

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!?”

“IT WASN'T MY FAULT!” I insisted. “Jack lost it and came at me with a knife! I thought he was going to kill me!”

“Are you sure you weren’t just overreacting like you always do?”

Even now, he couldn’t change.

“Does it LOOK like I was ‘overreacting?’

“Well, I suppose we’d better do something about it. Go get a blanket or something.”

I stood there, frozen, watching him start to gather the body.

He looked at me, unmoving.

“What are you waiting for you *stupid girl* - an engraved invitation? Go get a blan—“

He got no further before I stabbed the second knife I’d been holding through his neck. He looked at me in shock as I stood, watching the blood spurt out as he fell over, taking harsh, ragged breaths until he wasn’t breathing at all.

When he was done, I put his hand on the knife in Jack’s stomach to get his fingerprints on it (I’d already wiped off mine), and then reversed the process with the knife in his neck. Then I checked the scene, showered, changed clothes (discarding the old ones), and called 9-1-1.

“This is 9-1-1, what’s the nature of your emergency?”

“Please help me! My husband and father got in a fight and I think they’re both dead! HELP ME!!”

They didn’t need to know how I’d goaded Jack into grabbing the knife, convinced my father to move the body, made sure I’d had an extra knife in my pocket.

Two men had abused me in my life, and now they were both dead. And no one would even suspect it was me.

See? I wasn’t stupid. *I wasn’t stupid at all.*

I sit in the attic, listening to Daddy move around downstares. I dont have a tv, so its the only noise I get to heer unles Daddy plays his tv reelly, reelly loud. The quiet is reelly hard, sometimes. 

I’ve been up here my hole life; I dont remember being anywere else. I dont know how old I am - I think maybe eight or nine, but I dont know how to tell. I dont hav a clock and nothing ever changes up here. 

I hav some old books - Charlotte’s Web, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Where the Wild Things Are. Daddy used to come up and reed to me thru the door, but he stopped when I kept asking why he wouldnt let me out and where my Mommy was. Now the books are all I hav. I used to look at them evry day, staring at the pictures and trying to figur out what the words ment, but now I just imajin what the people in them are doing. Ive looked at them so many times now I can see them in my hed without looking. 

I wish I had something new. I wish I could go outside. I wish I knew why Daddy didnt luv me. 

Sometimes he used to come up and talk to me, but hed always fall down and he didnt sound ok, like he had trubel saying the words rite. Hed talk to me about the outside and when I was born and how butiful my Mommy was. Once when he was having trubel saying his words he pushed a pictur under the door and sed it was Mommy. When I asked when I culd see her, he left without saying goodbye. 

Once I herd him talking and he sed my Mommy died when I was born. He sed it was my fault. But that cant be rite - Mommys dont die when kids are born, do they? I dont even know what childburth is. 

With no new books, and no peepel, all I reely do is sit around and look out the reely small window. Sometimes I see peepel walk by. Sometimes I make up stories about them in my hed - maybe they are reely important, lik a doctor or a politishun (Daddy used to talk about how important politishuns are). Maybe they hav lots of money or a big house. Maybe they would come get me out of heer. 

I dont beleev that anymore. 

At leest I never go hungry. Daddy always brings me food. He puts it thru a hole in the door. I tried to go thru the hole once, but Im too big. When Daddy found out, he made the hole smaller and sed not to try agin. I dont understand why he wont let me out. He brings me food, even tho he doesnt seem happy about it, so he must luv me. I asked once why I culdnt go outsid and he sed it was dangerous for me out there. But he wont tell me whats so bad. Why do I hav to stay in heer? Is he mad at me because of Mommy?

Sometimes I heer him singing a song. I asked him about it once, and he sed it was Mommys favorit - he said they got marreed to it. I dont know what that meens. But when he sings it, he seems sad, not happy. Why keep doing something that makes you sad?

One time he forgot to bring my food. I tried to be quiet and wait, but I got so hungry I banged on the door. He brought up my food and sed he wuldnt forget agin. 

One nite I herd Daddy crying outside the door. He sounded so sad. He sed he wuz sorry, but I just acted lik I wuz sleeping. Now he does that most nites. 

Tonite he came again, but it was diferent. He opened the door and walked to me, holding something long and shiny in his hand and whispering that he had something speshul for me. He sed evrything would be ok after tonite, but he wuz crying while he sed it. It wuz the first time in a reelly long time that he wuz in the room with me, and he smelled so good. I tried to stop myself, but I culdnt help it. Before I knew it, I wuz on top of him and he wuz screeming. I barely herd it - I culdnt think of anything but how good he smelled.  

I luv Daddy, just like I luvd Mommy. I didnt want to hurt him. I didnt mean to rip him open. But I was just… so…

…hungry…

I just saw the trailer for Werwulf. Oh. My. GOD. It looks AMAZING. More “The VVitch” vibes than anything since that movie came out. I am SO excited for this. Anyone else blown away by that trailer?

I just saw the trailer for Werwulf. Oh. My. GOD. It looks AMAZING. More “The VVitch” vibes than anything since that movie came out. I am so excited for this.

In the Bible, Moses was chosen to lead his people to the Promised Land. But because he faltered at one point, he wasn’t allowed to go in with them. Boyd has been a good leader, constantly trying to protect the townspeople and get them home, but he’s also made some mistakes. Could he, like Moses, find a way to get the townspeople out or Fromville but not be allowed to leave with them, instead being cursed to wander?

You know that saying “breaking up is hard to do?” I had no idea how right it was. 

I’d met Alicia when I was a freshman in college. There I was, away from home for the first time, in a strange place where I didn’t know anyone. I was sitting in my first session of Econ 101 when a stunningly beautiful girl, wearing a pair of jeans and a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt, sat next to me. 

“What did I miss?” she asked quietly. 

“We’ve… we’ve…”

She looked at me and the corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Sorry,” I replied, embarrassed.

“It’s alright,” she waved. 

The lecture droned on, becoming more informative and less interesting as it went. When it was over, she looked at me and said “Man, that lecture left me Dazed and Confused.”

Without missing a beat, I replied “yeah, he sure knows how to Ramble On.”

She looked up at me and smiled. And I was a goner. 

We dated all through college, planning our life together after graduation. We were so happy. I even got on well with her parents; they treated me like the son they’d never had. 

But over time, happiness turned to contempt. All the things I thought she loved about me began to annoy her. She began to attack my work, my interests, my habits. The friends she used to try to impress were “bad influences.” The video games we used to play together became “wastes of time.” The job I loved, that provided the apartment we lived in, became a “lack of ambition.” We’d always been able to talk everything out; gradually, we began to fight. Small, quiet disagreements, at first. Then bigger, louder. Broken dishes, thrown in anger, started covering the floor; intimacy, previously shared joyfully, became a weapon to be wielded. One night, when screaming led to a cut in my arm and a black eye, I knew there was nothing left to save. I left that night and did not return. 

At first, I think she thought I’d apologize and come back. But eventually, she must have realized I wouldn’t, because she began to text me. 

*“Are you really going to give up on us like this?”*

*“I’m sorry, but it was your fault, too.”*

*“You can’t just leave me like this!”*

*“Did you ever actually love me?”*

*…*

*“You’ll regret this.”*

Things went quiet for a while after that, but several months later, I began to sense something… off. At first, it was only a faint sensation of unease. I’d be out at the store, or visiting friends, or just taking a walk, when I’d feel an odd sensation, like someone was watching me. But when I looked, there was never anyone there. 

Other things began to happen, as well. One day, I went to a store, and when I went to pay, all of my credit cards had been demagnetized. Another day, I came home to all of the plants in my yard pulled up. Annoying, but nothing I couldn’t handle. 

Then things started to escalate. One morning, I went to drive to work and my car wouldn’t start. When I checked, the ignition wire and brake lines had been cut. If I’d been driving… That was when I knew things had gone too far. 

I called the police and reported the issues, and they mentioned filing for a restraining order. I hesitated; things were already bad enough, I didn’t want to escalate them. 

It was a fool. 

The next night, I was lying in bed when I heard a noise, like something had fallen over. I raced downstairs and stopped. Every dish I possessed was dumped on the floor. And there, on the wall, were the words “You’ll never get away from me” in red paint. Or what looked like red paint, until I noticed the copper smell. 

I immediately called the police; officers was at my house within the hour. They took pictures of everything and had me pull up the camera footage. But when I tried, there was static for a ten-minute window around the time everything happened. The police couldn’t explain it, and they couldn’t do anything without proof. They suggested I upgrade my security before leaving. 

The next day, I installed cameras around and inside the house, covering the doors, windows, yard, and driveway, as well as the living room and bedroom. I also changed the locks and secured all the windows. There was no way she’d come here without being recorded. 

Two nights later, I woke up from a fitful sleep. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t place it. I opened my eyes. 

And saw Alicia standing over me. 

Her eyes were wild, eerie, like she wasn’t quite the same person she’d been the last time I’d seen her. 

Terrified, I fell off the side of the bed. By the time I got up, she was gone. 

This had gone too far. While I waited for the police to come, I decided to do something I should have done weeks ago. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I’d blocked months ago. 

“Hello?” said the voice on the other end of the line. 

“Hello, Mrs. Scanlon.” I hadn’t spoken to Alicia’s parents in months, since I’d called to let them know when we broke up.

“Rick?” she asked, surprised. 

“Yes, it’s me. I hope you’re doing well.”

“As well as can be expected. How are you doing? Mitch and I have missed you.”

“Thanks. You were always good to me. That’s why I decided to call. It’s about Alicia. I think there’s something… wrong with her. She’s been stalking me, and it’s gotten dangerous. Last night she was in my house, standing over me while I slept. I think she might need some help.”

The line was silent. “Is this a joke?”

“Not at all. Why?”

Another pause. “Rick, Alicia killed herself three months ago.”

You know that saying “breaking up is hard to do?” I had no idea how right it was. 

I’d met Alicia when I was a freshman in college. There I was, away from home for the first time, in a strange place where I didn’t know anyone. I was sitting in my first session of Econ 101 when a stunningly beautiful girl, wearing a pair of jeans and a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt, sat next to me. 

“What did I miss?” she asked quietly. 

“We’ve… we’ve…”

She looked at me and the corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Sorry,” I replied, embarrassed.

“It’s alright,” she waved. 

The lecture droned on, becoming more informative and less interesting as it went. When it was over, she looked at me and said “Man, that lecture left me Dazed and Confused.”

Without missing a beat, I replied “yeah, he sure knows how to Ramble On.”

She looked up at me and smiled. And I was a goner. 

We dated all through college, planning our life together after graduation. We were so happy. I even got on well with her parents; they treated me like the son they’d never had. 

But over time, happiness turned to contempt. All the things I thought she loved about me began to annoy her. She began to attack my work, my interests, my habits. The friends she used to try to impress were “bad influences.” The video games we used to play together became “wastes of time.” The job I loved, that provided the apartment we lived in, became a “lack of ambition.” We’d always been able to talk everything out; gradually, we began to fight. Small, quiet disagreements, at first. Then bigger, louder. Broken dishes, thrown in anger, started covering the floor; intimacy, previously shared joyfully, became a weapon to be wielded. One night, when screaming led to a cut in my arm and a black eye, I knew there was nothing left to save. I left that night and did not return. 

At first, I think she thought I’d apologize and come back. But eventually, she must have realized I wouldn’t, because she began to text me. 

“Are you really going to give up on us like this?”

“I’m sorry, but it was your fault, too.”

“You can’t just leave me like this!”

“Did you ever actually love me?”

…

“You’ll regret this.”

Things went quiet for a while after that, but several months later, I began to sense something… off. At first, it was only a faint sensation of unease. I’d be out at the store, or visiting friends, or just taking a walk, when I’d feel an odd sensation, like someone was watching me. But when I looked, there was never anyone there. 

Other things began to happen, as well. One day, I went to a store, and when I went to pay, all of my credit cards had been demagnetized. Another day, I came home to all of the plants in my yard pulled up. Annoying, but nothing I couldn’t handle. 

Then things started to escalate. One morning, I went to drive to work and my car wouldn’t start. When I checked, the ignition wire and brake lines had been cut. If I’d been driving… That was when I knew things had gone too far. 

I called the police and reported the issues, and they mentioned filing for a restraining order. I hesitated; things were already bad enough, I didn’t want to escalate them. 

It was a fool. 

The next night, I was lying in bed when I heard a noise, like something had fallen over. I raced downstairs and stopped. Every dish I possessed was dumped on the floor. And there, on the wall, were the words “You’ll never get away from me” in red paint. Or what looked like red paint, until I noticed the copper smell. 

I immediately called the police; officers was at my house within the hour. They took pictures of everything and had me pull up the camera footage. But when I tried, there was static for a ten-minute window around the time everything happened. The police couldn’t explain it, and they couldn’t do anything without proof. They suggested I upgrade my security before leaving. 

The next day, I installed cameras around and inside the house, covering the doors, windows, yard, and driveway, as well as the living room and bedroom. I also changed the locks and secured all the windows. There was no way she’d come here without being recorded. 

Two nights later, I woke up from a fitful sleep. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t place it. I opened my eyes. 

And saw Alicia standing over me. 

Her eyes were wild, eerie, like she wasn’t quite the same person she’d been the last time I’d seen her. 

Terrified, I fell off the side of the bed. By the time I got up, she was gone. 

This had gone too far. While I waited for the police to come, I decided to do something I should have done weeks ago. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I’d blocked months ago. 

“Hello?” said the voice on the other end of the line. 

“Hello, Mrs. Scanlon.” I hadn’t spoken to Alicia’s parents in months, since I’d called to let them know when we broke up.

“Rick?” she asked, surprised. 

“Yes, it’s me. I hope you’re doing well.”

“As well as can be expected. How are you doing? Mitch and I have missed you.”

“Thanks. You were always good to me. That’s why I decided to call. It’s about Alicia. I think there’s something… wrong with her. She’s been stalking me, and it’s gotten dangerous. Last night she was in my house, standing over me while I slept. I think she might need some help.”

The line was silent. “Is this a joke?”

“Not at all. Why?”

Another pause. “Rick, Alicia killed herself three months ago.”

Hello all,

I have a 2021 Kia Sorento SX Prestige and I want to get a dash cam (too many shifty people on the road). I want one that has 4K video, front and rear, that blends into the car (an OEM look, if possible, no wires all over the place). Anyone here know the best option? What have folks had luck with? (I’m new here - sorry if this question has been asked before.)

Hello all,

I have a 2021 Kia Sorento SX Prestige and I want to get a dash cam (too many shifty people on the road). I want one that has 4K video, front and rear, that blends into the car (an OEM look, if possible, no wires all over the place). Anyone here know the best option? What have folks had luck with? (I’m new here - sorry if this question has been asked before.)

The first time I remember it happening, I was six years old. I was playing with my best friend Mirabella on the swingset outside when I saw something in the air above her head. Something emerald and opaque, less like an image than a solid object, hovering and twirling in midair against the light blue sky.  

3 

I stared at it for a moment and then asked my friend what it was. She looked up where I pointed and then looked back at me with a frown, asking me what I was talking about. When I told her, she looked at me strangely, then said there was nothing there and moved on to talking about the new doll she got for her birthday. But I couldn’t move on. When I told my mother about it later, she smiled, saying I’d always had an active imagination. 

That was when I realized two things: that, whatever it was, only I could see it, and that I shouldn’t talk about it to others. It became my little secret. 

After that first time, it popped up regularly, but a little different each time. My second grade math teacher chided me for not responding when he called my name, but all I could see was the large, white 0 floating over his head. 

The pattern continued for the next few years. Numbers floated in the air above everyone I encountered - friends, family, classmates, strangers. I got used to ignoring the numbers; humans have an almost limitless capacity to ignore things if exposed them long enough. But I still never learned what the numbers meant. 

One day, when riding my bike to school, a driver edged over into the bike lane and clipped me, sending me crashing to the ground and breaking my left ulna, radius, humerus, and clavicle. Nothing life threatening, but extremely painful and requiring me to be taken immediately to the emergency room. (I later learned that the woman who had hit me had been texting while driving.) I didn’t see much for the next hour, being pretty out of it, but I did wake up at one point on the operating table. I was just aware enough to see a green 1,503 above the doctor’s head and a green 784 above the nurse’s. I didn’t have much time to ponder it before I was once again unconscious.  

Two weeks later, I was at home recovering when my show was interrupted.

“This is KCLW with a breaking news alert. Alleged killer Hatchet Henry has been apprehended by FBI personnel. Hatchet, believed to be responsible for the murder of Beverly Shaw and many others, was captured in a hideout nearly…”

I stopped listening. I’d gotten used to ignoring the numbers, but the one over Hatchet Henry stood out. 126. In red. I’d never seen a red number before. I was talking about it a few weeks later with my friend Max - his number had always been zero, a fact he’d made me share with him when I’d first told him about my gift - when he gave me the biggest clue I’d had so far. 

“Wow, that’s weird,” he’d said. 

“What is?” I’d asked.

“I read up on this Henry guy. Police have definitively connected him to 98 murders. But they suspect up to 28 more.”

“So?” I asked, confused.

“Didn’t you pass math with a B+ last semester? 98 + 28 = 126. Weird, right?”

Could it be? Was it possible? I made Max promise to come over after school and I pulled out some paper. I told him what I was thinking, and we came up with a theory. We then tried to confirm by doing some research - it was tough, but it seemed to check out. 

The number above Henry’s head corresponded to the number of killings he was suspected of. What if the numbers represented the number of people you’d killed in your life? I looked up one more thing. I searched online, and there it was. 

“Mirabella Suarez, local resident, is being hailed as a hero tonight. She was driving home when she saw a car flip over on I-285. Most people would have ignored it, but Ms. Suarez ran over and pulled the parents and their daughter from the car. 

“‘She was amazing,’ said a bystander. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind all three of them would have died if not for her.’

“We attempted to reach Ms. Suarez, but she was not available for comment. What an amazing story, Dana. I guess it’s true -
not all heroes wear capes…”

Mirabella. My childhood friend whom I hadn’t thought of in years. That day on the playground. 3. Except that she only saved those people recently - she hadn’t even heard of them back then. What if the numbers didn’t show the people you had saved - what if they showed the people you would save?

We did some more digging. Mirabella’s number had been green, like those above the doctor and nurse, and most were white. But the number above Hatchet Henry was red. If green was the number of lives you’d save, what if red was the number you’d take?

Now I was truly freaked out. What was this? Did I have some kind of ESP? Brain damage? Was I hooked into some kind of heavenly frequency, seeing things that humans were never meant to see?

From then on, I tried to avoid the numbers. I’d avoid looking up, staring at the street when I was out in public. I started turning down invitations to hang out, not wanting the pressure of knowing what I knew. 

But one day, I bumped into a man on the street. He was wearing a lab coat and looked distracted. He quickly apologized, locked up his briefcase, and disappeared into the crowd. I lost sight of him, but all I could think about was the number I’d seen hanging over his head. Large. Red. 8,352,193,717…

I woke up, shrugging off the sunlight and basking in the quiet of the house. Silence was rare for me growing up - the cacophony of our home prevented any real sleep or relaxation - so I’d learned to cherish it now. 

Besides, today wasn’t like any other day. Today was special. Today was Father’s Day. 

Father’s Day only came once a year, and, even though I was older now, it always reminded me of my childhood. I’d grown up in a normal two-story-with-a-backyard house, on a normal street, in a normal neighborhood. I’d had a normal mother who’d worked a normal job, and a normal sister who’d been the normal amount of annoying. 

But gradually things had become less normal. My father’s job had started getting worse; he’d started coming home every day complaining about his “stupid boss” or “useless coworkers” or “idiot customers.” He’d also started drinking more - I hadn’t realized it at first, but I had noticed him start slurring his words more and becoming unsteady on his feet. And I’d noticed my mother’s reactions to him change; she started to look more nervous when he came home. But he was still my father, and every boy wants to think the best of his father, so I pretended things hadn’t changed as long as I could. 

I got up, dressed, and headed out, thinking about the plans I had for today. This wouldn’t be any ordinary Father’s Day; today would be special. 

I closed the door quietly so as not to disturb Dad and headed out into the day. I had most of the day to arrange things before Dad was available, so I had time to make things special. I started by going to the store; I needed supplies for my gift. Dad was a big fan of tools, so I went to the hardware store; fortunately, it had everything I needed. It was a different store than I normally went to; I didn’t want any employees to recognize me, in case they blabbed and ruined the surprise. 

Once I had everything, I went to the space I’d reserved to set everything up. I didn’t have much experience doing this, but I had to learn sometime and this seemed like as good a time as any. I laid everything out until it was perfect; I wanted this surprise to be special. 

When it was done, I jumped into my truck and went to pick up the last piece. Then, after everything was arranged, I headed home. 

It was dark when I arrived home. I called out in a voice filled with excitement. 

“Daaddd!”

I waited until I began to hear the clomp of feet coming down the stairs. Then Dad arrived at the landing. 

“Dad! I’ve got a surprise for you! Get dressed and come on!”

He did; five minutes later, we were heard down the road. Ten minutes after that, I pulled the truck into the lot behind an abandoned warehouse. 

“Where are we?” he asked, gruffly. 

“You’ll see,” I replied as I opened his door and led him inside. Once inside, I led him down the stairs and into an unfinished basement. I’d scoped out the place in advance; no one had been down here for years. 

“Well, I knew you’d want something special, and you’ve made comments about this, so I decided today was the day to make it happen.”

He looked at the gift I’d brought him. My birth father lay there, tied up and strapped to the plastic-covered table I’d set up. He couldn’t beg, given the tape that covered his mouth and the paralytic I’d given him to keep him still, but the terrified expression in his eyes revealed exactly what he was thinking. His pants were wet where he’d lost control of his bladder. 

I looked up at Dad nervously. “Well?” I asked, holding my breath as I awaited his response. 

“Is this the man who terrorized you as a child? Who beat you until you were bloody? Who killed your mom and sister?”

“Y-yes, that’s him.” I paused. “So… what do you think?”

Then Dad looked over at me. “I think we’re going to have some real fun tonight. And I think you’re the best son a man could ask for.”

I broke into a smile. “Maybe tonight you could let me do my first kill?”

He looked at me. “Maybe so. I reckon you’ve earned it.”

I remained calm, but inside I was practically jumping up and down in excitement. 

“You won’t regret this, Dad. I won’t let you down.”

He looked over at me, giving me an affectionate half smile. “I know you won’t. You never have.”

My heart swelled with joy - I was so lucky to have made it out of that horrible situation and found the family I deserved. There was only one thing I could say:

“Happy Father’s Day!!”

I rushed home from the lab at lunchtime; my workday wouldn’t normally be over for another five hours, but this news was too important. I burst through the door of my apartment to find myself surrounded by…

…boxes? What were those doing here? Then my girlfriend walked out of the bedroom. 

“Oh. Stephen,” Lisa said. “I wasn’t expecting you home this early.”

“I know, but something happened that—“

“I was hoping to be gone before you got home, but since you’re here, I might as well tell you directly. I’m leaving.”

“Leaving for where? Visiting your family?”

She scoffed. “Look around, Stephen.”

I did, noticing the sheer number of boxes, all labeled and filled with her belongings. “You’re… leaving? But why?”

“You needing to ask that is part of the problem. You’re never here, Stephen.”

“What do you mean? I’m home every night. Well, almost every night. My work—“

“Your work. I’m so sick to death of your work. If I have to hear about it one more time, I’ll strangle myself.”

“Lisa, believe me, you have no idea what’s out there. My work is important; it could save lives. That’s what I came home to talk—“

“There you go again! I want someone who considers me important.”

“I do.”

“How would I know? You’re never here.”

“You knew when we first started seeing each other how important my work is. What we do can make a huge difference. That’s what I wanted to talk to you abou—“

“Are you kidding me? Even now you can’t stop talking about work. Why can’t you ever prioritize me? Pay attention to me? Spend time with me?”

“I spend all the time with you I can. You know how much pressure I’m under.”

“It never feels like I really matter to you. I want a man who shows me he cares.”

“I try every day to show you I care.”

“How, Stephen? When’s the last time you took me anywhere? Bought me anything?”

“We go out all the time. And I’m sorry I can’t afford to buy a lot of fancy things, but someone has to pay all our bills and your grad school tuition while you don’t work at all.”

“I can’t believe you’re throwing that in my face. I work hard.”

“At what? Shopping?”

“That was low.”

I gesture toward all the boxes. “And this isn’t?”

“I suppose I should have expected this from you. You've always been childish.”

“What’s this really about, Lisa? We both know it’s not about me working too much or not spending enough.” A thought hit me and my breath caught. “Is there someone else?”

She didn’t respond, but the look on her face was answer enough.

“If you must know, yes, I’ve found someone who gives me what I need.”

“By what you need, do you mean paying your bills and buying you things?”

“How dare you suggest I’m some kind of… gold digger! Yes, Jared’s doing well, but that’s not why I started seeing him. He’s kind, funny, and pays attention to me.”

“And being rich doesn’t hurt, right?”

Her face took on a hard look. “I can see you’re not mature enough to handle this like an adult. Perhaps eventually you’ll grow up enough to appreciate what you’ve lost. I’ll send someone for my things; don’t contact me again.”

With that, she turned and walked out the door. I waited to see if she’d look back. 

She didn’t. 

In the coming days, I scrubbed her from my life - my bank accounts, social media, student loan payments. But mostly I focused on my work - the thing she hadn’t given me a chance to talk about. Ignoring news reports, I typed furiously, entering formulae, testing sequences, adjusting hypotheses. Nothing worked. Finally we heard from our command chain at the lab. It was too late. 

I packed my important things and followed the instructions I’d been sent. One caravan and plane ride later, I arrived at my new home for the foreseeable future. There, I continued to watch the news reports. 

Two weeks later, I was alerted by the front gate security team; someone had approached looking for me. Whoever it was, they were lucky not to have been shot. I approached the open steel doors of the large front entrance and looked through the three inch thick military grade bulletproof glass to the world beyond. I’d always felt separate from that world, but never quite like now. I reached for the secure phone. 

“Hello?”

“Stephen! Thank God!”

It was Lisa. As I looked at her through the camera, standing on the outside, I was instantly pulled back to the day she’d left, to the hurt and humiliation I’d felt. 

“How did you find me?” I asked. 

“Location sharing on our old devi— it doesn’t matter. I need your help!”

“Why? I thought Jared had everything you needed?”

She sniffled. “Jared’s - he’s - he’s gone.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s fine - it’s really you I was meant to be with all along. I made a mistake, Stephen - I see that now. Is there any way you could give us another chance?”

“I don’t know, Lisa. You hurt me pretty badly. I don’t think I could ever trust you again.”

“Please, Stephen? I can be better! Cooking, cleaning, even in bed - I can be everything you ever wanted me to be!”

“It’s too late, Lisa. It hurt when you left, but I’ve moved on. I suggest you do the same.”

She looked at me, a panicked expression overtaking her face. “Please, Stephen! Don’t do this!”

I watched her bang on the gate desperately as hundreds of the reanimated dead sprinted toward her. 

“I’m sorry, Lisa,” I replied, watching the horde close in as the blast doors were sealed shut for the last time. “It’s too late to go back now. But our time together was truly special to me; I’ll cherish those memories for the rest of your life.”

“I’m in the mood for an Orgasm. Can you help me?”

I looked up, shocked. Sitting next to me was the most attractive woman I’d ever seen. She was maybe 5’5”, with long hair the color of midnight and green eyes that shone like emeralds. But the thing that immediately drew attention was her body; it was stunning, with curves that belonged more on an ancient sculpture than on a person. How could anyone be that perfect?

Then my brain caught up with her words. 

“What?”

She graced me with a smile that would cause armies to go to war. “I said, would you mind helping me have an Orgasm?”

“Look,” I stuttered, stunned almost into incoherence. “You’re beautiful - the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen - but I’m married, I can’t—”

She cut me off with a chuckle as she smiled amusedly at me, pointing toward the bottle above the bar and raising an eyebrow. 

I stared, confused, my brain taking a second to catch up. Then I realized. 

“The *drink!* Oh My God. I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a complete idiot. I didn’t mean—”

“Its quite alright,” she interrupted, eyes filled with mirth. “It’s nice to know where your head’s at.”

I blushed, something I hadn’t done since I asked Becky Whitmore to junior prom. “Of course I’ll buy you one,” I said, signaling the bartender to put her drink on my tab.

“So who should I thank?” she asked, raising her glass to me.

“Adam,” I replied shakily. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Adam, but you don’t seem like this is really your scene.”

“It isn’t. It’s been a long day.”

“I’m surprised you’re not rushing home to your wife.”

“That’s part of the long day,” I replied. 

“Ah. I’m sorry to hear that. Things not great at home?”

“It’s… fine. It’s just… we’re not connecting like we used to and I’m not sure what changed. We used to be so close; now… How do I fix the problem if she won’t tell me what it is?”

“That sounds rough,” she sympathized. “Did things used to be different?”

“SO much different. We used to really… connect, you know?”

“Have you stopped… connecting… everywhere?”

“What… what do you mean?”

“You know. Is she still… connecting with you the way a good wife should?”

For a moment, my mind went blank. 
“I… I…”

“Because I would never let my husband go a day without connecting,” she said, reaching out and caressing my hand as she gazed into my eyes with the sultriest look I’d ever seen. 

Was this really happening?

“Look, I don’t believe in wasting time,” she said. “I’m attracted to you. I think you're adorable and sexy. I could really use a good time, and I think you could, too. Do you want to come back to my room with me?”

My mind almost shut down. “I’m m-married,” I stammered again.  

“So what?”

Before I knew it, she smiled at me, stood up, and took my hand. As I rose and followed her, I looked around the bar; every single man there was looking at me with a mixture of disbelief and jealousy, as if asking how a loser like me had drawn the attention of a goddess like her. I wish I knew. 

Moments later we arrived at her hotel room. She flashed the key card and let me inside, immediately stripping off my jacket and shoes and pushing me backward onto the bed.

Then she began to remove her clothes, swaying sexily as she shimmied out of her skin-tight dress. She wasn’t wearing anything else under it. 

Oh My God. 

She must have seen my eyes bulge and jaw drop because she smiled and gently shook her torso back and forth. Then she removed her heels and advanced on me. 

“Ready to have your world rocked?” she asked. 

I tried to respond but my mouth wouldn’t form words. 

She descended on me predatorially, pulling off my shirt and pants and running her hands over my chest. 

“Ooh - I’m a lucky girl. Now it’s time for you to get lucky.”

I laid back, my breathing speeding up, and surrendered control to her. She moved down my body, from my chest to my stomach to my waist, and reached for my last remaining clothing. My thoughts were only of her, her perfect body connecting with mine. I couldn’t believe this was happening. 

I was so overwhelmed that I almost didn’t see her change. Horns extended from her head and wings protruded from her back. 

Wings?

Before I could react, fangs extended from her mouth and I felt my life force draining from my body.

Then it stopped. 

She looked at me, confused. And then memories flooded my mind. My father’s body being found in a strange woman’s bed. My mother raising me alone before dying of cancer and grief. Discovering the truth about my father’s death. Making a deal to have the power to stop his killer and others like it. 

My eyes opened, shining an angry, luminous red. 

She looked at me in horror. “What are you?”

“Someone with the power to destroy monsters like you.”

I pulled out my blade and stabbed the creature in its heart. It gave a piercing scream and collapsed. 

I rose and donned my clothes. It always hurt having my entire life overwrite the false memories in minutes, but if I didn't, the succubus could read my mind and end the plan before it started. The pain was a necessary sacrifice. 

I left the body naked in the hotel room. They'd find it the next morning; I’d be long gone by then. None of the cameras had captured me and no one in the bar would remember what I looked like. I’d made sure of it. 

I left, closing the door behind me as I made my way to the next bar. There were many more succubi out there to kill; the night was young. 

“Good morning, honey!” I said as my wife came down for her morning coffee before heading off to work. I gestured toward the eggs, bacon, and waffles I’d made. “Can I get you anything?”

She looked over the spread. “It looks wonderful dear, but I’m trying to watch my figure. I’m not getting any younger, after all.”

“I understand. More for me.”

She gave me a disapproving look. “I’ll be home late tonight,” she said. “I have that end-of-quarter project to finish.”

“No problem, honey. Good luck!”

She headed out, and I finished eating and went to my home office to start my workday. I had the advantage of working remotely - couldn’t beat the commute. 

I’d finished work, done some light cleaning, and made dinner before Cheryl got home. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Dinner’s on the stove.”

“Oh, that’s nice dear,” she said, looking at the meat and cheese pasta I’d made. “This looks good. A little heavy, though, isn’t it? Maybe we could both eat lighter going forward? We’re not in our twenties anymore.”

“You look great, honey. Just as beautiful as the day we got married. You don’t need to change a thing.”

She looked at me, giving me a quick up and down and making a brief frown that wasn’t that subtle.

“Thank you. I’m heading up to take a shower. Feel free to eat without me.”

I already did, I thought. Again. I put the food away and retired for the night. 

Cheryl came down the next morning. She turned down my breakfast offer, as usual, but she seemed unusually distressed. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked. 

“This morning, when I was getting ready, I… I found a gray hair.”

“Oh. Well, it happens - I’ve been there. We all get older.”

“Not me!” Taking a breath, she continued. “I’m sorry. But it’s different for me. If you go gray, you’ll be ‘distinguished.’ I’ll be old, useless, no longer considered for key projects, phased out.”

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad. They know how good you are at what you do.”

She nodded hesitantly, clearly unconvinced, and walked out the door.

A week later, she was brushing her hair before bed when she shrieked. 

“What’s wrong?”

“There are more of them! There’s a whole gray patch on the side of my head!”

I looked at her. “I can’t see anything.”

“But I can, which means the partners will! How can this be happening? I’ve taken care of myself, done everything I was supposed to.”

“Honey, time catches up with all of us. There’s only so much we can do.”

That’s easy for you to say,” she replied bitterly. “You’re not aging by the day. Hell, you look better than you ever have.”

“Thanks. I’ve been taking care of myself.”

“So have I!”

“Good genes, I guess. Come on, come to bed.”

A few weeks later, Cheryl came home from work earlier than normal. The preceding weeks had taken their toll; her hair was mostly gray and her once-smooth face had started to age. But the first thing I noticed wasn’t the lines on her face but the tears streaming down it. 

“What happened?”

“They demoted me!”

“They what? Why?”

“It wasn’t an official demotion; they knew better than that. But they moved me to a smaller office away from the rest of the leadership and reassigned my client-facing accounts. They said it was to ‘optimize the efficiency of the office,’ but it was obvious they wanted me kept away from clients.”

“Why would they do that?” 

“Look at me!” she screamed. “I’m disgusting! I can’t even blame them - why would they want clients to see this when there are younger, more attractive associates?!?”

“Honey, there’s nothing wrong with you…”

“I’m hideous! My hair is almost completely gray, my face is covered in lines, my skin is starting to sag; people are avoiding me. This morning, I almost fell in the office - I told everyone my heel was caught on something, but the truth is, my knee gave out! How can I look this old?” She started to cry. 

“Honey, it’s alright. I promised ‘till death do us part;’ I’m not going anywhere.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She collapsed into my arms. “Why do you look so good when I look like this?”

“Just lucky, I guess. Don’t worry - everything will be fine.”

But everything wasn’t fine. A month later, Cheryl collapsed coming down the stairs. I took her to the hospital and she was admitted. I sat by her bedside holding her hand as she struggled to breathe. She looked at least eighty years old. 

“Craig, what… happened… to me? I… don’t… understand…”

“Well, honey, I believe it’s called karma.”

She paused and looked up at me. “…What?”

“Well, I always knew you liked younger men, that their attention fed your ego. But I didn’t know until recently that you were sleeping with one. So I thought, since you liked youth so much, what if it were taken away?”

“That’s…”

“Ingenious, I know. The hard part was finding someone to make it work. Fortunately, there was a witch who needed money, and we were able to come to an arrangement.”

“No…”

“Don’t worry - you aren’t alone. Your boy toy, Jason? He’s going through the same thing. Well, was going; I understand he passed away last week.”

“I’ll… tell… someone…”

“Go ahead. I’ve already informed the hospital that you have early stage dementia and sometimes get confused about what's real and what isn’t. They all think I’m an angel for taking such good care of you.”

“And the best part? All that youth and vitality you lost - wanna guess where it went?”

I stood up, feeling younger than I had in years. 

“Don’t worry. They say youth is wasted on the young, but I’ll make sure to fully appreciate it. After all, I’ve got my whole life ahead of me.”

I stood and walked to the door, looking back at her one last time. “Goodnight, Mother.”

Part 1

Previous story

Part 2/2
—————

I quietly entered the factory, not knowing what I’d find. But I was surprised when I saw my wife standing with an unknown person. 

“Who the hell is this!” I shouted. “What the hell is going on here?”

“What do you mean, Adam?”

Ignoring her, I focused my attention on the mystery person. I couldn’t make out his face - he was hidden in shadow and wore a hood. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing with my wife?”

The person remained silent. I turned to my wife. 

“I knew you had some guy here! How could you do it? How could you cheat on me? I thought I could trust you!”

“Cheat on you? I think you’re projecting, honey,” she admonished.

I paused. “What do you mean?” I asked reflexively. 

“Oh, please. Do you think I don’t know about Mandy from work? About your late meetings every Wednesday night? About the missing money from my accounts? HOW STUPID DO YOU THINK I AM?!?”

“I… I…”

“I’ve done some digging. You’ve always wanted my inheritance, but I never thought you’d go this far. Fraudulently accessing my accounts in order to take everything I had? But you made a mistake; you put too much faith in Mandy. A few threats about turning her in, along with a nice amount of “walk away” money, and she told me everything.”

No. No, she wouldn’t have…

I had to stop this. There was still a chance. If she disappeared, if they both disappeared, I could still make it work, still tell whatever story I wanted to. I’d already established that she was missing - if she was never found… I moved toward her, ready to do what I had to do. I was a few feet from her when I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my leg and fell to the ground. 

“Aah!”

I stared at the gun in the stranger’s hand as my wife turned to him. “You were right. He did try it.”

“I told you, I’ve seen this story play out countless times. I knew what kind of man he was.”

“Still, we spent so many years together; I guess I didn’t truly believe he’d go this far.”

“Money corrupts even the best of men, and he’s not the best of men.”

“So what happens now?”

“He’ll be taken to face justice. I imagine he’ll spend a very long time in a very small cell.”

“But you don’t understand,” my wife said. “He has money and connections. And Mandy’s already left the country,
So nothing she said can be used in court. Without you to testify, I can’t prove anything. No jury in the world will convict him.”

The stranger looked at my wife. “Who said he’ll serve his time on this world?”

This world? What?

With that, the stranger walked over and put a strange contraption around my neck.

“There,” he said, “now you won’t be able to run or attack me in any way; your body just won’t allow it.”

That’s ridiculous, I thought. But when I tried to knock him down to escape, I found that I couldn’t. 

No, this was all wrong. It couldn’t end this way. I couldn’t go to jail. I looked at my wife desperately, and shouted toward her: 

“BETSY!!”

But she just gazed at me, her face a portrait of disappointment. 

I looked back at my captor. “Who the hell are you?”

He paused, looked at me, and then pulled back his hood. Not a he. A she. And that wasn’t the biggest surprise. 

She looked exactly like Betsy. 

“Beth Mackey, agent of the E.G.D.S., at your service.”

“What the hell is the E.G.D.S.?”

“The Elizabeth Grant Defense Squad,” she said, an undefinable look running momentarily across her face before it resumed its emotionless countenance. “The name is a work in progress.”

I stared at her in disbelief, but my attention was distracted by a portal that opened in midair ahead of me.

“Thanks for saving me,” my wife said. “What do I do now?”

The agent - Mackey - looked back at her as we stepped through the portal. “That’s up to you. You’ve got a second chance at life; not everyone does. Make it a good one.”

Previous installment: My Husband Said He Deserved The Best Version Of Me

Part 1/2

“Hey, man. I’m sick of talking about my life. How are things with you?” asked Mike, nursing his third beer (the real thing - we were splurging tonight). 

“Alright, I guess,” I replied. “You know my wife - every day is something else.”

“I’m surprised she even let you come out tonight,” he said with a laugh made heartier by the alcohol. 

“She actually isn’t home - she’s out with her new friend from work.”

“Huh. Isn’t this the third time this week?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So how well do you know this friend?”

I didn’t answer. The truth is, I didn’t know the friend at all. All I knew is that my wife had called one night last week saying her new work friend was having problems and needed support, and she needed to be there. Since then, she’d done the same several more times. 

I had a feeling in my gut. Sure, she’s never betrayed me before (that I knew of), but with enough temptation, who knew what she’d do? Everyone’s willpower had a limit. 

I needed to find her. 

I checked my phone for the signal from her ID, but it wasn’t sending - it was either blocked or deactivated. Neither was good. I’d have to find her the old fashioned way. 

I called a few of her friends from work, saying that I was worried and needed to get a hold of her. They were sympathetic, but they hadn’t seen her recently and couldn’t help. I tried her boss at the clinic, but she claimed not to have seen her since she left work the previous day. And none of them knew anything about this new ‘friend.’

Where was she? And with whom?

I decided to try her usual haunts. Two hours later, I was in luck. A server at the restaurant she usually went to for lunch recognized her picture. 

“When was she last here?”

“A couple of days ago,” replied the server. 

“Was she alone?”

“No, she was definitely with someone, but I couldn’t say who. They were wearing a thick jacket and one of those face masks that cover everything.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“No, but…”

But? “But what?”

“I could have sworn I heard the two of them whispering about the old abandoned factory on Fifth.”

“Thanks so much,” I said, giving her a 5 dollar coin before taking off. I had to find her. Before it was too late.

“We the jury find the defendant… not guilty.”

Time froze for a moment, as if the world had stopped turning and only I noticed. They actually did it. They actually acquitted him. Despite the shoes caked in mud from the park where her body was found, the video of him at the scene days earlier, even a witness who put him nearby at the time of the murder - they still couldn’t convict him. The trial was over and he was walking away to live his life. 

My wife was still dead. 

Clearly the legal system would do nothing. So I’d have to. 

First I had to find him. It wasn't easy; after the trial, he’d disappeared to escape the notoriety. “Just because I was found innocent, doesn’t mean people believe it,” he’d said post-trial in his last statement before he’d vanished off the face of the Earth. But that wouldn’t stop me. 

I examined personal records, checked online history, spoke to his friends and coworkers (in an attempt to “make sense of it all”), broke into his former house and searched it from top to bottom - anything that might reveal where he’d gone. 

Finally, I got a lead - his face was caught by a traffic camera. Thanks to an inside source and a hefty bribe, I identified his location as a small town in Maine. He was living alone under a different name, but no one can stay hidden forever. 

I traveled there in a nondescript car I’d stolen off the street two states away. I arrived into town, rented a cheap hotel room in cash using a fake ID, and began searching. On the fourth day, my efforts paid off; I was at a small diner when I saw him. Hidden, I watched him; he greeted the staff and customers jovially and ate his breakfast leisurely, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As if nothing could touch him. 

It was time he learned differently. 

I spent the next few days gathering information: where he lived, where he worked, what time he left for work, what time he came home. Soon I knew everything about his life here. 

The following night, he came home from work at his usual time. He turned on the lights to find me sitting in a chair.

His eyes went wide. “You!”

“Did you think you’d gotten away?” I asked coldly. 

“Look, you don’t need to do this. I’ll never sa—”

BANG!

“Yes,” I said as the bullet blew a hole through his head.  “I do.”

I cleaned up, threw some of his things in his car, and drove it, and him, into the lake. It would look like he’d fled town in a hurry. Then I left, confident no one here would be able to identify me. 

For the first time in weeks, I relaxed. It was done. The man accused of my wife’s murder was gone. 

Now no one would ever know I killed her.