(Continued from Part 1)
While pondering how to reach the knife and at the same time stay safe she heard more sounds coming from down the hallway.
Like a statue she froze while listening to silverware being moved about in a drawer or maybe being dropped on the floor.
“Damn it honey! We ain’t got no more butter knives? Why ain’t we got no clean knives in this damn house” And then like a reoccurring nightmare she heard him walking down the hallway.
With her hands starting to shake uncontrollably, wild thoughts of being discovered and killed started to race through her mind once again. She pulled the door closed quickly, but with great effort to remain quiet - she did not want to snap the door bolt. She thought, “He might realize the door’s been open.”
“Be careful – be careful – be careful” she muttered so quietly the sound might be considered by some as a thought that merely seeped from her brain and made it across her lips.
As the cadence and sound of his approaching steps increased she stumbled across the bathroom and fell to the floor. The impact was hard on her body as her buttocks slammed to the floor tiles. Her mouth popped open, similar to an autonomic response and her hands immediately covered her lips to ensure no sound came out. Once she was sure no sound had been made she reached behind herself and rubbed the parts of her body that had hit the floor, but never allowing her eyes to move away from the door.
She screamed out, “There should be some silverware in the dish washer!”
But was that answer sufficient to halt his advance down the hallway?
His steps paused for a moment, and she heard him mumble “Damn knives better be in the dishwasher”. His steps could be heard diminishing in a measure of sound; it seemed he was moving back down the hallway.
She thought, “Oh my”, while placing hands over her face and massaging both temples. Tears started to stream down her checks and she gasped for a breath while searching for control of her emotions.
At that moment the knife re-entered her thought processes, “I need that knife. How can I get out of here, reach the knife and get back to safety without him hearing me?”
“I found that damn knife!” he called out. “It was in the stupid dishwasher. I don’t know why you can’t put things up where they belong?”
“You should know to check the stupid machine without having to ask!” but she kept the thought to herself.
‘Hey, that felt really good to think’. Without realizing it, a moment of empowerment was taking place.
She continued her silent assault, “You’re a grown man and think that you can come down here and kick my ass or kill me, but you can’t find a stupid knife? What a wimp! You’re no real man!”
Thinking like this seemed to strengthen her resolve to get the knife and survive. Standing up from the floor she flexed her fingers similar to when a person cracks their knuckles and fingers, then slowly walked back over to the door and turned the door knob. Peering out, she could still see the knife across the hallway.
“I only need to move a few steps across the hallway, pick it up, and get back through this door.” she mumbled to herself. “It’s only a few steps and he is not even on this end of the house. His lazy ass is sitting somewhere down there eating a sandwich.”
Without hesitation she pushed the door open, took a step through its frame, cautioned a single glance down the hallway and sprinted to the knife. Quickly lifting it up in front of her face she chanced one more glance down the hallway and then turned back toward the bathroom.
Completing a single step toward safety, she paused, considered racing down the hallway and pushing the knife into his chest. “That would end it” she thought. “It would only take a moment. No one would blame me for doing it; in fact they would probably wonder what stopped me from doing it a long time again.”
The next moment she pulled a chair over that was sitting in the hallway, maybe the chair he placed in the hallway earlier, and sat down. It was as though she had lost control of her mental capacity to deal with reality.
As if in another reality she touched the point of the knife against her thumb and turned it ever so slightly like a person turning a key in a lock. But there was no lock in the thumb and the knife was not a key. A small drop of blood oozed from her finger and covered the tip of the blade. She twisted the blade against her thumb for few more seconds and then, as if someone sprinkled water across her face she snapped back to reality, noticed the blood covering her finger tip and palm of her hand. Raising the bloody hand in front of her face and similar to a person eating the melting ice cream from a cone, she slowly licked the blood away from her skin.
After a few moments of deliberate effort to eliminate the blood from her fingers and palm she lifted the knife in front of her eyes, recognized the blood on the blade and wiped it against her pant leg.
“That wasn’t hard” she thought. “The blade is sharp and it wouldn’t really hurt him, at least not for more than a few seconds, and then it would be over.”
“I could even drag his chauvinistic ass out to the back yard and bury him like that girl I read about in the newspaper. No one would even know, I could tell them he went on a trip and never came back.”
With that thought in mind she stood up, took a few steps down the hallway toward the television sounds while twisting the knife between her fingers. Blood continued to drip down to the floor while she advanced on his position. Occasionally she lifted her hand towards her mouth and licked the blood off her skin. Thoughts of the blood dripping on the floor caused to her consider that the blood didn’t taste bad and that he would only hurt for a few seconds. As she continued with a methodical procession down the hall she wiped her hand against the wall, trying to be inconspicuous as to where she wiped the blood. Her self-empowering assurance that it would be easy to kill him bolstered her resolve to commit the murder.
“But it would be murder in self-defense” she reminded herself and that it would be easy, like pushing the “Easy” button sitting on her boss’s desk. She reached out and gestured like the button was just pushed, then said out loud, “That was easy”.
A smile came across her face.
Looking into the living room where the television was located she was unable to find him. Immediately her heart started to beat uncontrollably. She thought, “Oh no, oh no, oh no. I’m going to turn around and he’ll be standing directly behind me.” While that thought racing through her mind the sensation of a heart bursting through her chest seemed real.
“There you are!” he said. Her reality heard the male voice booming like an overhead sound system at a football game. “What have you been doin’ honey?”
As he wrapped an arm around her shoulders a subtle whimper could be heard while she held her breath, trying to veal her fear. Her body continued with a slight tremble. Gulping a quick breath of air she whimpered and tears streamed down her face. He hugged her tightly and said, “Its ok, things are OK baby.”
Thoughts continued to stream through her mind with the location of the knife now a fleeting thought. How she could kill him seemed to be the final thought that she was coming to terms with, “But he’s not acting crazy like he was a few minutes ago…” she thought to herself as she draped her chin over his shoulder.
“Maybe I can change him.” She squeezed him and recalled better days, when they first met; days filled with parties, dancing, trips to the beach and making love.
“Maybe he just had a bad day. How can I kill him when he’s not acting crazy?”
At the very moment the “bad day” thought no longer existed in her short-term memory, and as-if he was waiting for her thought to complete he commented, “I thought I was going to have to come down there and kick your ass, but I can see your not acting crazy anymore.”