The garage was dark and damp and the faint odor of gasoline hung in the air. Claire’s bare feet were cold against the concrete floor. She heard nothing besides the muffled sound of crickets and toads. Her head began to spin; taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. It was difficult to see – the three small windows were crusted over by years of grime – but a small ray of moonlight pouring from a hole in the ceiling revealed a pile of boxes, a tool bench, and an old lawnmower clustered together in a corner. A man was slumped over the tool bench, his bloodied face tilted upward and the fingertips of one arm brushing the floor. Fighting the urge to gag, Claire brought one hand to her mouth and jumped when she felt that her fingers were wet. A step toward the light revealed a thick, crimson fluid on her fingertips. Blood! She felt no pain except for the pounding in her head, so she dismissed the idea that it was hers. She wiped her shaking hands on her thighs, soiling her jeans.
Claire did not recognize her surroundings, and she thought the man looked familiar, but the immense amount of blood consumed his features. As the instinct to survive took over, she scrambled toward the garage door. She ran her hands along the wall beside the massive door, searching for the button that would set her free. Her heartbeat pounded like a jackhammer in her temples as she attempted to suppress the panic that surged within her. Her fingers met with the handle of a shovel mounted on the wall, a sticky cobweb, and then the large button she had been looking for. She pushed it and nothing happened. She tried again with both hands. It didn’t work. Her eyes brimmed with tears of frustration.
Claire turned toward the center of the room and glanced at the moonlit corner. Her eyes narrowed in the darkness, and then widened as she realized that the body was gone. A dark bloodstain on the tool bench marked the spot where the man’s head had been just moments before. Claire’s breaths became quick and shallow. She felt like a caged animal. She pushed tangled blonde hair out of her face and spun around to reach for the shovel. She patted the wall with both hands, and jumped back when she felt bare skin against her palm. She rushed over to the tool bench and grabbed a hammer. The moment a bloody face appeared in the light, she swung with all her might and heard a loud crack. A second later, she felt something like a bee sting in her neck and she withered to the floor.
The smell of coffee roused Claire from a deep sleep. She sat up too quickly from the bed and brought one hand to her head, groaning. She stretched out her arms and studied her hands; they were clean. The room was bright with butter colored walls. Early morning sunlight spilled in through an open window and a cool breeze rippled a lacy white curtain.
A low creak captured Claire’s attention. She watched a glass doorknob turn, and in walked Adam Levi. He and Claire had dated as teenagers, and the last time she had laid eyes on him, they were both eighteen. Seeing him now, she felt the deep, aching pain again. She had tried to forget, but she knew she would never be able to erase the memory of the night Adam raped her.
He hadn’t changed at all in fifteen years, except that he had gained a few pounds and his hairline had begun to recede. He walked toward the bed, carrying a breakfast tray with one hand. She glanced at the tray. It held a plate of steak and eggs, a steaming cup of coffee, and a single pink carnation. He set the tray on the small night table beside Claire and kissed her on the forehead. “Good morning, darling,” he said, smiling. Claire did not speak. She only stared. His smile widened. “I know you’ve had a rough night, Claire, but everything is going to be okay now. I always knew you loved me more than him. You made the right choice.” Perplexed, her glassy eyes wandered and nausea gripped her stomach when she spotted a framed photograph of herself propped up on a dresser across the room. Claire’s gaze moved back to the breakfast tray and her heart beat faster when she noticed a steak knife glinting in the sunlight.
In one rapid motion Claire snatched the knife and stabbed Adam in the chest over and over again. She couldn’t stop. He fell to the floor and she let out a primal scream as she gave one final blow, blood spattering onto her face and white shirt. Knife still in hand, she ran out of the room. Crashing through the front door, Claire sprinted to the garage. She kicked herself when she saw a side door; she had not noticed it the night before. She threw the door open and hot bile rose in her throat. The knife in her hand clattered to the floor. The body was facing away from her, but she could see that part of the man’s skull was caved in. Claire held her breath and walked in a wide circle around him. Despite his bloody and bruised face, the daylight allowed her to see more clearly. The eyes that stared blankly at the ceiling were the same eyes Claire had known for years. The lips that remained frozen in a silent scream were the ones that had kissed her every night before bed. The gold band on his left ring finger, though tarnished with dried blood, matched the one she wore.
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