Page 1 of Falling for a Killer

One:

A Little Attempted Murder

Violent knocks make my jaw clench as I hide between the window and the door.

Eyes closed, fists tight, I wait.

I called the cops the second the power went out because I knew.

Sit tight, they said. Someone will be right there.

“Open the door, Josephine. You’re making this so much harder than it has to be.”

Good. I hope it’s hard. I hope every time he stalks me, threatens me, tries to break in, that it gets a little harder.

I don’t answer. I wait. The cops have to be here soon.

But then the window just to my right shatters completely and I know it won’t matter. By the time they get here, it will be too late. He’ll hurt me this time. They didn’t listen, they never fucking listen, and now he’s going to hurt me.

I won’t make it easy for him.

Scrambling, I race down the dark hallway to the kitchen with Ryan right on my heels. I make it to the counter, grab the biggest kitchen knife I have, and face my ex-fiance. “Leave,” I say sharply. “I’m not giving you a fucking cent.”

“You think this is still about money?” he laughs, stepping closer. “All you had to do was open your pretty little pocketbook and none of this would be happening. So yeah, I guess it’s about money, but it’s also bigger than that now. It’s about you being disrespectful. No one ever taught you prissy rich bitches to know when to kneel.”

I don’t have it in me to be hurt by his words anymore. This isn’t my Ryan, the one I fell for, the one who chased mefor months and never stopped acting like he had to earn me once I let him have me. Addiction changes people. All kinds of addiction. “The police are coming,” I say flatly. “Just go. You’re not going to kill me, you’re not going to get what you want. So just leave unless you want to spend the rest of your life shitting in front of other people.”

Ryan’s laughter sends a chill up my spine, but it’s nothing compared to the dread I feel as he pulls a handgun from his waistband. I can hear the sirens now, the cops are close. But bullets are faster.

“Are you sure about that?”

My heart hammers in slow motion. I made a choice a year ago when this all started — I’d rather die than give in. When you give in to an addict once, they’ll never stop. I’d have spent the rest of my life paying off his gambling debts, in constant fear that one day, he wouldn’t be the one to come asking. So I said no. Over and over again, despite the threats, despite waking up to see him standing over me, despite the dead animals he left on my porch and the fire he started in my closet. I always believed he’d never hurt me, not when it really came down to it.

So I nod.

“I’m sure. My answer is still no, and you’re never going to pull that tr–”

Click.

The sound makes me jerk so violently, I nearly drop the knife. It clatters to the ground as he tries again to pull the trigger, and everything that happens after is a blur. Suddenly, we’re both on the ground, weapons kicked to the side by police officers twice my size. They’re yelling, but I don’t hear them. They’re asking questions I have answers to, yet I can’t do anything but dissociate as the cold reality hits me.

Ryanwillkill me. He’s ready.

And I can’t stop him.

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An hour later, I’m wrapped in a blanket holding the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted. The metal of the chair beneath me seeps through my leggings, making me shiver. The two cops pacing on the other side of the table don’t help. “We’re just trying to sort this out,” they say for the twelfth time. “Tell us again what happened.”

It seems much ado about nothing since no one actually got shot, and my patience is wearing thin. “I told you. He cut the power and broke in through the window, I grabbed the knife to defend myself, and he tried to shoot me. I called you guys the moment I realized he was there because he’s been terrorizing me for a year. Look back at your records, you’ll see that I’m telling the truth.”

The slightly shorter officer glances at the other and shrugs. “His name is on the deed to the house, same as yours. He said he heard screaming and didn’t have his keys, which is why he broke in through the window. He claims you’re the one who had the gun, you’re the one who tried to pull the trigger, and when he wrestled the gun away from you, you grabbed the knife. You see how his story makes a little more sense?”

No, no I don’t, and this is everything wrong with our legal system. Anything but justice for the victims, anything to stop a straight white man from getting in trouble. I fucking hate it here. “Yeah, and he cut the power to make it easier to see,” I deadpan. “I told you the truth. If you’re going to arrest me, just do it. I’ll have bail posted before either of you manage to find your next donut and then I’ll be telling every media outlet that will listen that you two sided with an abuser.”

Their smug expressions turn sour. “You’re not being charged, and neither is he. If you’re telling the truth, why haven’t you gotten an order of protection?”

“Because it’s just a fucking piece of paper,” I spit. “What’s a piece of paper going to do for me? Patch a bullet hole? Scare him silly? No. It won’t do anything.”

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