"Alexa, Who Is In My House?" (Part 5)
Chapter Five
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Michael hadn't been home in over 72 hours.
I called my mom and asked her to stay with me just after I last posted. She came as soon as possible, sometime late Tuesday afternoon. I can’t stay with her - she has a new husband... and teenage kids. I figured I’d settle with this until I could get something else lined up.
Nothing really happened. The dogs were thrilled to see "Grandma", and it was as if some semblance of normalcy had begun to ooze its way over the house from the bottom up. Maybe it's because my mother was with me - cuddled up with tea in her pink silk robe. I can't be sure, but it's hard not to feel safe around your mom - if you have a good one. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to be honest with her about everything that’s been going on. Certainly not after the way Dustin reacted.
We had just finished watching the latest episode of CSI when we realized it was after midnight in the blink of an eye. Maman decided to go to bed, but I didn't really want to let her. I was reluctant to be alone, but at least she would be staying in bed with me as the guest room doesn’t have a complete bed set yet. I let her go. I was going to have to get through the night regardless. How anyone could sleep in this house is now beyond me.
I decided to head into the shower for a quick rinse before going out to the hot tub. I was going to video call my friend in the UK since it was daytime where she was. By this time, it was 7:30 AM for her, and she wouldn't have classes for a while. She was expecting calls from me regularly by now. I figured this would help me relax.
I checked in on mom before I went out. She was sound asleep in my bed. Alexa had been unplugged and stuffed into a drawer since the day before, and I could see that she remained that way without Michael coming and going.
I never had an experience in the hot house and had fond memories of Michael there. We had even spent the evening celebrating with champagne and blackberries the very night we moved in. We had kissed, and he had toasted.
"Here's to the rest of our lives," he said.
I slipped my shorts and t-shirt off and stepped over the redwood and towards the hot tub. I pressed the jet button twice for moderate pressure and pulled the light switch slider down halfway. I was nude, and really didn't appreciate my neighbors knowing too much about me. I clicked on my phone and slid my finger across the screen, searching for my friend's screen name. She wasn't online yet. She would probably call me any minute. If not, I would call someone else. I pressed the button to turn off my screen so I could get in.
That's when I saw him. Michael's face stared blankly from behind me, his reflection blurry in the black screen in my hands. I couldn't see most of his face, but I could see one of his eyes, and I noticed that there was no real shine in them, creating an echo of void. He rushed me forward with his body and slammed my hips against the side of the hot tub. A sharp pain radiated through my pubic bone and up the right side of my ribs. My phone clattered into the water as he locked my arms behind my back.
I tossed and thrashed around, knocking off my glasses, but I couldn't seem to pull myself free from his grip around my wrists. His palm pushed me beneath the water, his fingers tangled in my long hair. I could feel the hot tub jets pumping steam bubbles in my face, the stream causing me to gag as it forced air into my already drowning lungs. My red hair bled through the water like an omen.
I can't believe my husband is trying to kill me.
I could hear his voice over the humming of the tub under the water, laughing and calling my name. But it isn't really my name. "Kitty! KITTY! I TOLD YOU I WOULD END YOU!" He was shouting in that same voice I heard him use that night in the bedroom. It sounded unreal now that it carried through the vacuum of the water. It was almost electronic in nature.
I was able to hear my dog Tucker barking in the yard. God, she sounded so far away. I squinted my eyes shut. Yet again, it was my last resort. I just wanted to wake up. My flesh was burning and my eyes rolled back beneath their lids. I felt dizzy, whether from the 97 degree water or from lack of oxygen.
When I came to, I was on the redwood planks, staring up at the hot house ceiling. I could still hear the jets pumping away. My skull vibrated with the buzzing of the motor. My muscles ached with the cold, and my hair was plastered to my face.
When my vision came into focus, I threw myself onto my feet, but I kept low. I stared out the screen door of the hot house and towards the office window.
The light turned on. Michael was still inside the house.
I couldn't let him get to Maman, but I couldn’t call for help without a phone, either. The walls on either side of the property are too high. I would have to go through the house. I crept up to the side of the kitchen window and slowly picked up the garden spade sticking out from a bag of fertilizer. I crossed the back porch and silently let myself in.
Tucker and Walter rushed over to me, their tails wagging. Walter sniffed my arm as I shuffled through the kitchen, still soaking wet. I guided him aside and stopped to listen. Over the sound of their claws tapping on the tile, I could hear movement in the back of the house. I pushed them both out the doggy door so they wouldn’t give away my position. I had two options: either go for the front door to my left and save myself, or save my mother to the right. After a moment, I could hear something else. It sounded like retching, long and dry. A shuddering breath. It was Michael, and he was vomiting for some reason. Was he drunk? I could hear him spit into the toilet bowl.
I snuck along the edge of the hallway, my back pressed against the wall leading to the office. When I got to the end, I noticed a trail of pale vomit leading into the first bathroom with the tub. I could see into the bedroom from where I was. I could see James on my pillow, his head tilted slightly. The light was now on, and my silver bedspread was tainted with a copper puddle.
My entire world shifted violently to the right. I had lost my footing in time, and all I could do was stare. In bed was my mother, her arm hanging from the corner of the bed, twisted in her robe. Her sock dangled from the edge, pink and fluffy with what looked like kittens on it. The white pom-poms on the side were splattered and florid. Purple bruises trailed up and embraced her neck. She had also been strangled, her eyes bulging and her gaze directed towards the closet.
Sudden silence awoke me and my adrenaline kicked in again. For a moment, I had been as breathless as she was. I heard Michael stand up from his place on the floor and stagger towards the door jam. I saw his fingers curl around it and run up the side of the hallway wall just above my head. I tightened my hold on the lime green grips of my spade. Again, time seemed to screech to a halt.
I couldn’t help but think about all that had brought us here in that short time before we tumbled to the floor in a pile of arms and legs. Here was my husband, the love of my life, and he had just taken the life of someone who gave me mine. This was his goal all along. He had always meant to take me down, no matter if it was by suicide or murder. I couldn’t have that. We just couldn’t have that.
It must’ve been that damn life insurance.
Even though Michael is twice as big as I am, I had managed to end up on top. I was the one who was armed. He was shouting as he struggled, and the dogs barked in alarm from behind the baby gate. I cracked him over the skull with the metal spade.
“Stop, Kick, damnit!!!” he sobbed. “You killed her!! You FUCKING killed her! Oh, Jesus, you PSYCHO!!!” His voice broke like a teenager. He wasn’t so scary now, writhing on the floor as he reached for my neck. He just looked sort of pathetic, but I knew that now, as always, he was trying to trick me into submission. He had just tried to kill me, and then he had killed my mother. This had to stop.
Over our banging struggles echoing down the hall, I could hear a small monotonous voice coming from the bedroom next to us.
“THAT’S NOT VERY NICE TO SAY.”
His hands flew wildly over my arms, chest, and face. I hit him again. I felt the harsh burn of his fingernails raking over my skin as he fought to kill me before I killed him. He began to gasp like a fish when I pressed my knee over his throat to subdue him.
“No,” I said, heaving to regain lost breath as I leaned over him, my spade poised. His eyes flashed, and again, I saw that void. “It’s not.”
I plunged my spade into his skull using both hands. It lodged itself between his jaws, slicing through the flesh in his cheeks. The gashes cut through his gaping face like sewing scissors through silk. His chest rose forcibly and his legs began to kick. The lacerations reached all the way to his molars like a splitting seam. His blood bubbled over the sides of his face and pooled onto the floor.
It gathered beneath him, right over the patched vent.
He glugged and gagged on his severed tongue for a moment, his hands giving one last violent squeeze to my upper arms. They slid down my shoulders and rested at my elbows. Cloudy red marks spread across my flesh as a ghost of Michael’s fingertips. His body went slack beneath me, his eyes still wide and glassy.
It was over.
“IT’S 3:18 AM.”
I headed back to the hot house to get my glasses, where Michael had knocked them off. As I passed through the hallway, I could hear that wet slapping beneath my feet - the same I’d been hearing all along.
We could hear the buzzing, and the dogs were nowhere to be found. The loud static of the air around me reverberated around my ears. I had totally forgotten I was still nude. I was in a haze from what had happened, and I could virtually see myself, wearing Michael’s blood like war paint, as I crossed the backyard. My skin stung with sweat and I could feel the rake marks from his nails all over my chest and face. It felt like I hadn’t even really been there at all. We had been so far away.
When I reached for the door handle to the hot house, the buzzing stopped. I could see my breath in front of me, and in front of it, a red handprint over the handle. Michael had killed my mother first, and I had killed him. I must’ve stood there for a long time, because when I finally went for the handle, my feet had gone completely numb on the cobblestone and my flesh was pricked with goosebumps.
The hot house was still warm and the hot tub had calmed to a quiet purr as the jets had turned off for power saving. We went over to my clothes and started to dress. I found my glasses near the other end of the hot tub. I stood upright and peered into the water at my reflection doubled in the tiny waves of unrest. My phone still lay at the bottom. It was useless to call for help now. Besides, what was I going to do? I couldn’t live anymore - not after we had to destroy the only thing I loved to save ourself. What sort of life would I have, after all this? What could possibly bring me back?
All I can do is stand up, walk out of this office with Michael’s pistol, and face what we’ve done. At least our dogs will be fed until they find us.
I want to apologize to you all. I know nothing can bring them back. I can only imagine what will be said. The only thing that is real for me anymore is the wooden floor beneath me and the open door behind me. I can’t help but be reminded of living as a child in that "strange home" on Claremont Place. Like I said before, when you live in a house like that, it never really leaves you. Maybe it never left me.
I’m just hoping whatever is inside of me will let me pull the trigger. Please forgive me. God, I’m just hoping you can forgive me.
I’m hoping you all will be witnesses.
I slid down the side of the hot tub, pulling my knees up. I felt a lump in the pocket of my shorts. I reached down, and my fingers met plush fabric. The spattered pink kittens stared at me in the dark.
There will be no more updates.
Posted Mar 14, 2018, 11:41 AM UTC