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The title says it all.  But it is not what you think.  Enjoy this twisted short story.


Sara sat in her car and watched the back door of her house.  It was ten after two a.m.  Her car was parked across the street.  Not her normal parking spot.  Her driveway was where she normally parked.  Not that night.  Not for the last two weeks.

It had been two weeks since she began this nightly ritual.  Get home around five-thirty p.m.  Wait for her children to come home.  Take them to her sister’s house to spend the night.  Lie to her sister and her children that she was working overtime.  Go back to work for three or four hours.  Stop by a restaurant on the way to her house and pick herself up some dinner.  Eat it in her car.  Then park across the street and wait and watch.

This was the last night of this, she told herself.  She could not live like this.  It was unfair to her children.  They should not be shuttled back and forth to different houses.  Whatever was going to happen needed to…

A dark figure crouched down beside the steps of her back door.  She could hardly contain her excitement.  Fear and adrenaline pumped through her body.  This was it.  This was the night.  This was it.  She strained to see the figure still crouched down by the steps of her back door.

Go ahead, she thought.  Move, you son-of-a-bitch.  She watched and waited.  Moving her head to the left and right she began to doubt she had seen anything.

The figure stood up.  Its head turned left and right.

Go ahead, she thought.  Go ahead.  I dare you.  Have the balls to go inside.  You chicken piece of shit.  Do it.  Go ahead.  Come on.

The figure walked up the steps to the back door and stopped at the door.

No one is looking, she thought.  No one is out.  No one will see you.

The figure leaned over at the door and was doing something.  She assumed they were breaking in.  The door opened.  No alarm went off.  The alarm system had been fried by lightning a month ago.  She did not have the money to replace it yet.  That is what she told everyone who knew about it.  The system was complex and costly.

The figure walked inside her house and closed the door.

She leaned her head back and waited for three minutes.  Her heart was racing.  She was nervous.  Her chest felt heavy.  You can do this, she thought.  You can do this.  You are ready for this.  You have practiced.  Get it over with.

She leaned over and opened her glove compartment and carefully reached inside.  Her fingers touched and grabbed the handle of a large butcher’s knife.  She took it out and put it in her large leather hobo bag.  She sat there for a few seconds and started her engine.  She then drove down the street and pulled into her driveway.  Pretending to look for something in her car she let the engine run and the headlights shine on the house for a few minutes.

She turned off the engine and got out.  Without hesitating she walked up her driveway to her front door.  She put the key in the lock and turned it.  She paused for about thirty seconds while she removed the knife from her bag.

She grabbed the doorknob with one hand and clutched the knife in the other and opened the door and walked inside.

She turned around and shut the door and was grabbed from behind.  She jabbed her elbow backwards several times.  It hit something hard on the stranger’s body.  It felt like a rib cage.  The stranger’s grip loosened from around her.  The stranger staggered back.  There were a few feet between them.  It gave her a few seconds for her to whirl around.

When the stranger reached out to grab her she thrust the knife forward.  She felt the blade slide through soft tissue up to the handle.  Pulled it out and thrust it forward again, even harder this time.  She did it over and over and over and over.

Aggressively she moved forward thrusting the knife into the stranger’s body as the stranger backed up, retreating.  After a split second pause, she drew the knife back and spun halfway around and drove the knife into the stranger’s side.  The stranger let out a low grunt.  She pushed the knife inside him and held it there until the stranger’s body slid from it and collapsed onto the floor.

She leaned over, breathing hard, catching her breath.  Then she laughed loudly.  “It’s over,” she said.  “It’s over.”  She laughed again.  The stranger was wheezing.  She walked over to the door and flipped the light switch on.  A middle-aged, pudgy man wearing black pants, a black tee-shirt, and black sneakers lay on the floor, bloody and clinging to life.

She walked over and stood over him.  “All you had to do was go away,” she said.  “But you wouldn’t.  Sneaking into my house.  Telling the court all those lies about me.  Wanting me to pay you alimony.  Get real.  Man up.”  He wheezed.  “Now look at you.  I was waiting for you.  For the last two weeks I was waiting for your pathetic ass.  I knew I’d get you.  Now look at you.  You’re going to die with nothing.  I have full custody.  No more sharing them with you.  And the assets were always mine.  You were a worthless, horrible husband.  And an even worse father.  You may have tricked the kids.  But you never tricked me.  Why do you think I threw your ass out?  You’re such a loser.”  He wheezed and whispered something.  “What?”  She looked down at him with disgust.  “Die already.  Or, do I need to finish you off.”

“Can I,” he wheezed, “say…something…to…you?”

She sighed, frustrated.  “Why not?” she said and stood over him.  His fingers moved slightly, motioning for her to come down to him.  She looked around and sighed.  Now, even more frustrated, she knelt down on one knee beside him.  “Hurry up.”  She held the knife loosely in her hand, waving it over him.

A slight smile came across his face.  She shook her head.  “It’s good you can find the humor in this,” she said.

He tried to keep his smile.  But he grimaced as he lifted his head a few inches off the floor.  It shook as he held it up.  His hands were pressed over some of the knife wounds.  “I got you,” he whispered.  She stared at him and squinted.  He really was an idiot, she thought.  What was she thinking when she married this idiot.  He was lying there dying and he had her.  He gave her a half-smile and dropped his head back to the floor and snickered and groaned.  “I told them…you were a bad mother.”  He coughed.  “Look.”  His finger shook as he pointed over his head.  “Got you…bitch.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” she asked, standing up.  He was barely breathing.  “You got me how?  You idiot.  You’re…”

Her mouth dropped open.  She tilted her head and squinted in disbelief.  She was staring down the hallway at a camcorder on a tripod.  A red light was on.  Her mouth became dry.  That asshole was probably sending what was recording to some place else besides there.  Son-of-a-bitch was always screwing around with that digital shit.

She turned and looked down at him.  His eyes were almost closed.  He was barely breathing.  “What did you do?” she asked.  “What did you do?  Where else do you have this going?  Where else?”  He smiled a little.  She began to kick him in the side.  “Where?”  His wheezing was barely audible.  “Where?  Tell me.”  His smile slowly faded.  “Where?”  He was not moving.

“No.  No.  No.”  She dropped the knife and fell to the floor.


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