Page 51 of Deadly Obsession
There was nothing. Not so much as a howl or a chirp of a cricket from the outside. Maybe the only useful thing I’d committed to memory from my daddy was that when a predator was near, the prey were silent.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I slowly placed the dish towel down and reached for the large Lamson’s Chef Knife,the Michael Myers knife,drawing it from the block.Then I steppedout of the kitchen, leaving the sink running while doing my best not to make a sound, as my eyes flicked to the base of the stairs. Where I’d left Micheal.
It was entirely empty. Shotgun and all.
Fuck, why didn’t I pick up the gun? Stupid fucking Sera.
I crept over to where he had been and looked around forany clue as to where he might have gone. But before I was able to decide on my next move, the wall behind me erupted into splinters.
“Fucking cunt!” Micheal’s coarse voice sent a shock to my soul.
I spun towards the source and found him in the living room. Tucking the shotgun between his legs with one hand and attempting to rack the action to chamber the next round. His opposite hand was still bent at an unnatural angle, looking like something fromThe Goonies. More monster than human.
I rushed him. I didn’t know what possessed me to do it, but at that moment, I felt it was my only option. So I charged at him with every ounce of strength I had left in my body, my knife at the ready. There was no stealth. No quiet approach. I was a mad beast.
He looked up, dropped the shotgun to the floor, and reached for the revolver still tucked in his waist just before my shoulder collided with him. The gun flew through the air and then spun away on the floor as he fell backwards. Taking me with him. I tucked my head down into my shoulders to defend myself from the onslaught of punches I was certain were coming. But didn’t.
Something warm and wet was flowing over my hand and pooling between my fingers. And I could feel him struggling beneath me. His breathing strained. Like he was drowning. Daring to look down where I’d been holding the knife, I realized the majority of it was now embedded in Micheal’s belly. All twelve inches.
Perhaps coming out of the shock of being stabbed, he tried to push me off him, but with each attempt, a new gush of blood flowed out over my hand. I watched, mesmerized as the stream changed direction and slowly ran over the tiny rose I’d tattooed on my pointer finger. I’d done it one day when I had too much time on my hands at the shop.
Maybe I should add some red ink to it. It’s so pretty.
Fuck, why was I having this inner dialogue right now? Was I in shock?
A hand gripped the back of my head, yanking it up and then back down again, his forehead crashing into my nose. The crunching snap telling me he’d just shattered it.
“Bitch!” I cried out, one hand instinctively shooting to my nose as I pushed myself up, my hand on the knife faltering and giving him the opening he needed.
Leaning on his damaged palm, he swiped me to the side, back far enough for him to slam his boot into my chest. The force sent me flying backwards, into the end table beside Jade’s body, my head cracking against the top edge and making my vision blur.
The next thing I knew, I was staring up at the beautiful rafters above me. Watching them move across the ceiling. A sudden and painful change in the surface beneath my head snapped me to reality as I was dragged over the kitchen’s stone floor. I still couldn’t focus my eyes but I could tell that’s where we were. Micheal’s voice was muffled while the scent of gas filtered through the stronger scent of copper in my busted nose.
“You always were a stupid bitch, you know. I could tolerate that, but you’ve become truly evil and vindictive. I was so good to you.”
What was that clicking noise? Why did I smell gas?
“Then, without any provocation, you attacked me. Stole my dear child from my life and painted me the monster.”
I slowly raised my head, ensuring that I was still in one piece before daring to look in the direction of the mysterious clicking noise. Micheal was standing in front of the gas stove, trying to light one of the burners.
If I’d had the energy, I might have laughed at the sight. Micheal had never shared in the household’s daily tasks. He’d mowed the lawn and took out the trash, but that had been it.Anything inside the home that was not in the category of fixing or building was strictlywomen’s work. Laundry, dusting, vacuuming, dishes, and of course cooking were some of my most-sacred duties, he’d say. My way of showing him respect for putting a roof over my and Alexander’s head. I’d also been extremely fortunate to have a husband such as him, so that I hadn’t been forced to pursue my own career. Despite the fact I’d been dreaming of becoming a tattoo artist since I’d been a teenager, and had secretly purchased my own machine to practice on fake skin with.
All this to explain that this was quite possibly the man’s first attempt to use a stove.
A bright flash drew my focus back. “There we fucking go,” he said as he held a short, broad knife over the flame.
I followed the length of his torso to see the larger knife still protruding from his body, while a loud clank told me he’d set the other blade directly onto the metal coil of the burner. He then held what appeared to be a pill bottle to his mouth, pouring its contents inside before washing it down with some alcohol. Tossing it onto the stone floor between us as soon as he was done.
The bottle shattered, spraying me and the area around me with various-sized shards of glass. My hands shot up, successfully shielding my face from being cut up while also reminding me of the wound on my shoulder.
“Fuck, Micheal!” I screamed, but before I was able to say more than that, I was cut off by the bark of his laughter.
He was fucking laughing.And it was the most sinister sound I’d ever heard. Like a massive ball of ice exploding against my ears. Then, in the blink of an eye, his uninjured palm gripped the handle of the knife I’d sank into his belly and tossed it onto the floor next to what remained of the bottle.
If I thought it looked like a Michael Myers’s knife before, it definitely did now that it was coated in his blood.
His laugh became more strained, turning into a pained, grunting noise. And my eyes widened when I realized why. He’d picked up the blade from the burner and was now pressing the side of the heated metal over where I’d stabbed him.
