Lisa held her hands to her ears; hot tears slid profusely down her cheeks. If only Rob would hush. No matter how hard she tried to please him, nothing was ever good enough. Right now, he was yelling because the dinner she’d slaved for hours over was cold. But whose fault was it? -- certainly not hers. He had come home late, drunk, as usual. He was far from perfect. So, what gave him the right to yell at her?”
“Get in here and take my steak and warm it!” he bellowed in his hateful – despised by her – voice.
She sucked in air. “Yes … Yes … ”
His gritty-red eyes met hers with a glare. “What ya snifflin’ at? Some kind of wife you are … can’t keep my dinner warm.
“It was hot when I cooked it four hours ago,” she snapped, not believing her sudden burst of courage. She’d never spoke up to him before. She had been too afraid.
“That does it!” he snarled.
“I … I didn’t mean it, Rob. I’m sorry. Please!” She ducked automatically, expecting to be hit. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Too late. You already said it. Think you’re smart, eh? Well, I’ll take care of your grocery money from now on. Never trusted ya with it anyway.”
“But … But …” she knew he would blow it on beer, and Timmy needed new sneakers for kindergarten. “Rob!”
“Shut up! Get in there and warm my steak!”
With shaking white hands – fork rattling against the porcelain plate – she took the dinner to the kitchen. If only she had one of those microwaves, it would make life a little easier, then she wouldn’t have to listen to him nag about his supper being cold.
She rinsed out the skillet, plopped the steak back in, spooned the mashed potatoes into their pot and turned the burners on. Something in the sink sparkled – reflected sunlight from the kitchen window – so bright it blinded her temporarily … all silvery and shimmering. She closed the blinds so she could see. It was the butcher knife Rob had given her for Christmas. That was all he’d given her. He never bought her anything she wanted, desired, or needed – always something for the kitchen or house, something for wifely chores.
Rob’s mumbling brought her back to the here and now. “Stupid female,” he said. “That woman ain’t worth the money it takes to feed her. Whimperin’, snifflin’, little slut.”
More tears glossed her eyes. He was drunk! How dare he!
The knife twinkled, enticingly, as though saying “take me”. She stared, hypnotized. It was actually a work of great art, of beauty, so smooth and bright. She envisioned herself picking it up and slowly, ever so slowly, walking to the living room, then, when Rob wasn’t looking, she would come down with it, stab him in the back, neck, chest, legs, any and everywhere.
Her hands flew to her face. “Dear God! What am I thinking?”
“What’s takin’ ya so long, woman?”
She jerked and turned. He had slipped up behind her. Not fair. He’d been so quiet. How could a fumbling, stumbling drunk be so quiet?
“It’s almost ready, honey,” she said softly, not looking at him, feeling guilty for her dark thoughts.
“Now, it’s honey, is it?” he snorted. “Ya know ya ain’t gettin’ your money – God only knows what ya blow it on – you’ve decided to be nice.”
“I never blow money!”
“Yeah? Yeah? Tell me why there’s never enough to pay the bills?”
“Your beer.” There, she thought. She had finally said it.
“Bull!” He snatched a cold one from the refrigerator. “Buy the cheapest off-brand there is. Ya ain’t gonna blame me!” He thumbed his chest and swayed at the same time.
Another beer is what you don’t need, she thought, wishing he would fall.
“Where’s Timmy?”
She’d been waiting for him to ask.
“He’s spending the week with my mother. She picked him up early this morning.”
He swaggered around to face her. “Without asking me if it was all right?”
“I really didn’t think you would care.”
“Look … I’m his father.”
“You never pay any attention to him. Unless it’s to yell at him.”
He gave her an icy stare, laid his head back and gulped down half his beer. It drooled down his unshaven chin. He straightened his head to normal position, red-veined eyes still glaring.
She turned away. Disgusting!
“Feeling high and mighty today, aren’t ya?”
Her eyes fell to the sparkling knife again, so pretty and smooth, so keenly sharp. She wondered why she’d never realized how beautiful it was, until today.
“You haven’t answered me!”
“It’s the last week of summer vacation, Rob. He’s been wanting to stay with Grandma all summer. I didn’t see any harm. Besides, it’ll do him good to get away for a little while.”
“Get away from me, ya mean. He stumbled off to watch TV.
Exactly what I mean, you drunken slob!
After she took Rob’s supper in to him, she went to take her bath. She stepped into the silky warmth and laid her head against the cool surface of the tub.
She’d barely closed her eyes when she thought of the knife. It was like it was beckoning to her, wanting her, to use it. The thought scared her. Crazy! She wasn’t a murderer. No matter how much she hated Robert, she couldn’t kill him – or could she?
She tried to push her mind into other things. The knife always returned, as though it had a will all its own.
Again, she found herself thinking of what it would be like to plunge that fine blade into his alcohol-saturated, reeking body. She could picture crimson liquid spilling out of his torso, open wounds gaping raw, could see him lying in a pool of his own blood. And there would be a look of absolute horror on his face.
The corner of her mouth crooked up in a little smile. It would be so pleasant if … No! She had to stop this. Stop it now! She yanked the chain on the plug and got out of the tub. Rest was what she needed. She’d take a couple of Advil and go to bed. Tomorrow, she would feel better, be able to think clearly. She wasn’t a killer. No … nonsense.
Rob had fallen into a drunken stupor on the sofa. She was glad. He stunk. She went to bed.
For some reason she wasn’t sure of, she woke in the middle of the night. All was quiet. She couldn’t even hear Rob snoring his inebriated snore. She flipped back her covers and pulled herself out of bed. She stopped. The knife! Lying on the dresser! How did it get it here? She raised her arms, suspending them momentarily, halfway between her waist and shoulders, then drew them up, placing her fingers to her temples, pressing hard, trying to think.
Her mind was still a fog from sleep. Rob! Yes! He put it there. But then … if he did, he knew what she’d been thinking. No! That was impossible. Still, how did it get there? Now, she was mad.
She snatched the knife up and went to the living room. All was still dark. She relaxed when she saw Rob was still asleep on the sofa, looking all gray and cool from the moonlight drifting in through the windows.
Maybe she had taken the knife to the bedroom and left it on the dresser? Her nerves. Yes. It was her nerves. Stress. Made a person do weird things. God knew she suffered from far too much. Sure, she must have taken it there. She went to the kitchen to get more Advil.
She stood silently in the kitchen, watching soft shadows dancing on the night walls, drinking water to wash down the pills. The knife was still in her possession. A trickle of moonlight hit the lovely blade. Now, it would be so easy … she thought.
But –
Yes! It would be over so quick, just a few minutes, seconds maybe. She’d wipe the blood off. Say someone broke in the house while they were asleep. They’d believe her – the police. She’d never done anything wrong in her life. Her friends and family would support her. She would be free!
It was as though her feet made her mind up for her. Slowly, her right foot slipped a bit forward, then her left. She found herself inching into the living room, arm raised, knife high.
She approached from behind his head, which was resting on the arm of the couch, covered by his blanket. He was so still. She knew she must not wait any longer. She took a long, slow, deep breath, then furiously drove the knife down into his chest. Again and again, she stabbed, crying, laughing, crying then laughing, cackling. Then she stopped. Something wrong. He’d never made any sound, not even the faintest of moans. She grabbed the blanket and yanked it back.
“Noooooooooo!”
Nothing but pillows.
“Looking for me?” he said from behind her.
She swung around wildly. “You! You knew!”
“Yes, Lisa.”
“How? I don’t understand. How?” She shook violently. Now, she’d never be free. Never! He’d have her locked away for good, forever, and he’d have Timmy. God! she thought. He’ll have Timmy!
“You can come on in, now,” he said, seeming to speak to someone other than her. He was staring at the front door.
Now, she was really confused. The door swung wide and two policemen stepped in. Enraged, she screamed like a banshee and flung herself at Rob with the knife, desperately trying to stab him. He caught her wrist. She couldn’t pull away; he was too strong. “Timmy! You can’t have Timmy!” she screamed.
“Lisa, you don’t remember, do you?”
“Huh? Remember what?”
“Timmy’s dead. Timmy and your mother. You killed both of them. You told me you did. Remember?”
She was still and silent for a moment, grasping to understand, then said, “No! You’re crazy!”
“I thought about covering for you … but I can’t.”
“Liar!” She kicked him, but he didn’t flinch.
“They didn’t go anywhere. You stabbed them with this knife and stuffed them in you mother’s car, drove it to the edge of town and took the city bus back…. Remember?”
“No! No! No! No!” She pulled back and forth, side to side, flapping like a fish out of water. His grip was far too strong.
“I knew something was wrong when I couldn’t reach your mother on her cell last night. She always answers. And, she’s always home. When I expressed my concern, you told me that you had killed them.”
“Idiot! You killed my son! I’d never kill my own kid … or my mother!” She tried to pull away again, couldn’t, then tried to stab him while he held her wrist.
“No … Lisa,” he said firmly. “Not I. You! You imagined I was drunk … imagined it because you wanted to believe it. I should have taken Timmy away from here years ago – but I’ve always loved you so much. I couldn’t. Now, I wish, I had.” He shook his head sadly and looked at the policemen, expectantly. “You’ve seen enough, haven’t ya?”
The officers nodded, grabbed her, snapped handcuffs on her wrists, then led her out the door.
After the black-and-white pulled away, Rob went to the refrigerator. “Ah!” He helped himself to a cold beer and went to the living room, flipped the television on and sat back in his favorite recliner. Slowly, a grin spread across his face.
Lisa didn’t speak to the policemen. She didn’t speak to them in the station, either. She never spoke to anyone again.
