The Midnight Wife

by L. G. Davis

  I clasp my hands tightly in my lap and make myself a promise. If I go down, Jared will go down with me. I will not let him get away with murder again, even if I have to pay a high price for it.

  I rise up from the floor and return to the window. Last time I screamed until my throat was sore, but I have to try again in case someone hears me this time. It surprises me that no one has come to my rescue yet. It’s the middle of the night and a woman is screaming. Why has no one called 911?

  I call for help again until I run out of breath and give in to a coughing fit. Drained, I slump against the wall. This is not getting me anywhere. I need to gather my strength, to think clearly.

  It could be that someone heard me and called the cops. But I need to come up with Plan B, in case no one is coming to help me.

  Squeezing my eyes tight, I force myself to think of a way out. Even though the front door might be locked, there might be other ways to escape.

  If I make it out of the bathroom, my only way out of the house might be the kitchen. It’s the closest room to the bathroom. It also has a window large enough for me to fit through.

  When he starts kicking against the door or perhaps striking it with a hard object, I search frantically for something to attack him with.

  “Don’t think I can’t break this door down,” he shouts. Something hard crashes against the door.

  Biting my lower lip, I grab the first object my fingers touch, a heavy ceramic flowerpot from the windowsill. If I hit him over the head with it, I might be able to knock him down.

  My fingers are shaking so hard and the sweat coating the palms of my hands makes it hard for me to hold the pot firmly. I wipe my palms with a towel and grab the pot again, lifting it high above my head as I position myself on one side of the door, ready to attack.

  He continues to rage and throw things at the door. Each time I think he will burst right through it, but it’s a strong door and it refuses to give in.

  When he doesn’t get what he wants, he curses a few times, then silence follows.

  A few heartbeats later, I hear him talking as though to someone else. He must be standing a good distance from the door because I cannot make out the words he’s saying. Maybe he’s talking to himself.

  He stops talking, but his feet continue to pace around the door as he waits for me like a hunter waiting for its prey.

  Between the thudding of my heart and the rush in my ears, I catch the sound of the doorbell ringing.

  Relief like I’ve never known before gushes through me. Someone must have heard me scream and called the cops.

  The longer the doorbell rings, the faster my hope dies. Jared is refusing to go to the door.

  My stomach drops.

  Even if he does answer the door, he could tell whoever is out there lies about me and they might go away. Maybe he’ll say I’m crazy. After the way I acted at the festival in front of many witnesses, the person would probably believe him.

  Even though the bathroom window doesn’t face the front of the house, I scream out again in the hopes that the person at the door will hear me.

  The doorbell stops ringing for a few seconds only to start all over again. The sound is unbroken, which means the person at the door is holding down the button. The sound is soon followed by the thud of Jared’s footsteps as he finally walks away from the door.

  I thought he was smarter than that. If I were him, I would never have left.

  My chance has finally come. I unlock and open the door carefully, cringing when it pushes against broken furniture. I step through it and close it again. I want him to think I’m still inside.

  Without wasting time, I run on tiptoes down the hall in the direction of the kitchen.

  The kitchen door is wide open. As soon as I enter, something pierces my right foot. It’s a wood splinter. I pause to yank it out.

  The pain burns through my skin, but I clench my teeth tight so I don’t scream. I can’t mess up my chance to escape.

  I consider closing the door, but it won’t be a good idea. He will walk past the kitchen on his way back to the bathroom and know immediately that I’m inside.

  Instead, I hurry to the back door and push the handle down. Of course, it’s not open. Before I can recover from my disappointment, I hear the jingle of keys. I spin around, my hair flinging itself across my face. My vision is only disturbed for a moment before I see Jared standing by the door, closing it. A twisted sneer splits his face.

  “You should know by now that I’m always one step ahead,” he says, locking the door. We’re both trapped inside now.

  I fell right into his trap.

  “Don’t kill me.” I hate for him to see my fear, but I can’t stop my body from shaking out of control.

  “I’m afraid it’s the only way out of this mess.” He uses the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his bloody forehead. “You messed everything up, Kelsey. I gave you a chance and you blew it.” He narrows his eyes. “I’m a patient man, but you are much more trouble than I can handle.”

  I swallow my fears and toss my hands into the air. Anger burns the back of my throat. “Fine, Jared. I’m tired. Go ahead. Kill me. Murder me like you murdered your first wife. At least I’ll be dead and at peace, and you’ll be running from the law forever. You will never find peace because you’ll always be afraid to get caught. I’m talking from experience.” I shrug. “So, go ahead. Do it.”

  Laughing, he bends to lift something off the floor, a large plastic container filled with clear liquid.

  When I read the blue label on the container, I choke back a cry and my earlier courage comes crashing down.

  Gasoline.

  Chapter 34

  His tight expression tells me everything I need to know. There’s no going back. He intends to set me on fire and get away with murder.

  The man who puts out fires for a living is about to set a deadly one.

  If I had any doubts that he’s a heartless psychopath, those doubts are now null and void. The flames of his anger are already burning. There’s no physical fire yet, but I already feel the heat on my skin.

  “You really want to do this?” Keeping him talking delays the inevitable. It gives me a chance to get used to the idea of being burned to death.

  “You give me no choice.” He drops the bundle of keys into his pocket. “Your time is up. It ends here...for you.”

  My gaze flickers to the fire alarm high above his head. It’s broken. He planned everything.

  With a sick grin on his face, he unscrews the cap on the container. I have no idea whether it’s my imagination, but I already smell the dangerous liquid.

  I should keep him talking, but I have no idea what more to say to him. How does one communicate with a monster?

  There’s nothing I can do to save myself, and the person who was ringing the doorbell is long gone and probably won’t return.

  When my fighting spirit deserts me and I start to accept my fate, I remember my baby. I no longer care about my own life, but my baby’s life depends on mine. I search my mind for one last thing I can do to save us both.

  An idea drops into my mind without warning.

  The kitchen is mine. It’s where I’ve spent most of my time when Jared and I were married. I know it better than he does. He’s holding a container of gasoline, but there are other flammable substances in the kitchen. I’m standing in front of a cabinet filled with them.

  His eyes never leave mine as he lifts the container and starts spilling its contents all over the place. As the liquid lands on my skin and slides across the floor, I take a few steps back until my back comes into contact with the long cabinet where all the oils and spices are kept.

  I’m about to turn and open it when in the corner of my eye, I notice the large bottle of oil I forgot to put back in the cabinet after I cooked the scallops. Before fear can stop me, I grab it with both hands.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” He stops pouring the gasoline, but continues to hold the container.

/>   “If I’m burning down, so are you.” As our eyes lock, I swing back my hand and hurl the bottle in his direction, aimed at his head, which is still bleeding from the wounds I had inflicted earlier. His skin is red from being scalded by the hot soup.

  He ducks at the last second. The bottle flies past him to explode against the wall behind him, sending shards of glass and oil flying in all directions. Some of the oil lands on him.

  Furious, he attempts to charge toward me, perhaps to kill me with his bare hands, but he slips on the oil and stumbles. I turn back to snatch another bottle of oil from the cabinet while he has lost his balance. When I turn back to him, I choke back a cry. He has straightened up again and he’s holding a lighter. His eyes on mine, he flicks it on and extends his hand in my direction, as far away from his body as possible.

  “Once I throw this at you, you’ll burn to a crisp.”

  He’s right. There’s enough gasoline on me, the smell strong as it floods my lungs, poisoning my baby.

  “You and me both.” I’m not ready to give up yet. I grit my teeth and send the second bottle of oil flying across the room. Like the last time, he ducks out of the way. I don’t stop. I grab the skillet from the stove.

  This time, I hit him on the head and he yells out. He drops the lighter on the floor, where the small flame instantly catches the oil and gasoline and explodes into bigger flames around him. His eyes widen in horror.

  As the fire starts to spread across the kitchen, I know it’s only a matter of seconds before I’m engulfed.

  While Jared stumbles across the kitchen, bumping into chairs and sending them crashing to the floor, I try to find a way out.

  Since the key to the kitchen door is inside his pocket, I have no choice but to find another way out.

  Holding my breath so I don’t inhale too much smoke, I grab a chair and slam it against the kitchen window above the sink. I must not have hit hard enough because it comes bouncing back, leaving only a crack.

  I try again, screaming at the same time the chair connects with the glass, breaking right through it. The sounds of glass exploding and my own screams merge with Jared’s roars of pain. He’s rolling on the floor now, trying to extinguish the fire.

  I peel my gaze from him. With the help of the chair, I climb over the sink and push myself through the window. The glass slices my skin, but I don’t care. I don’t have time to give pain my full attention.

  The flames are already starting to lick their way up the kitchen curtains.

  I make it out alive, falling on my back in the garden. Pain explodes inside my stomach. I try to scream, but only release whimpers.

  An arm around my stomach, I scramble to my feet and run across the garden toward the fence that separates our house from Rachel’s.

  The fence is short enough for me to clamber over, and the adrenaline inside me makes the task easier than it would normally be. But there are rosebushes on the other side. I land right in them, the thorns piercing my body. More pain flares across my skin. But I’m alive.

  By the time I reach Rachel’s front door, my lungs are burning and I’m gasping for air.

  I alternate between ringing the bell and knocking on the door.

  The lights go on inside, but she doesn’t open the door immediately.

  Someone must have called the police because I can hear the sound of sirens in the distance. It’s like in the movies. Many times, the cops arrive when it’s all over.

  I knock again until my knuckles burn. When the door is finally swung open, I almost fall inside because I was leaning heavily against it.

  “Kelsey?” Rachel says, tightening the belt of her bathrobe. “What are you doing here? What happened?”

  I don’t understand why she’s asking. She only needs to look out the window to see smoke pouring out of the house I used to call my home.

  “Fire...Jared.” One of my hands is still around my stomach and the other is pointing toward the house. “My baby.”

  Rachel steps out onto the porch. When she sees the fire, her hand goes to her mouth. “Oh, my God. What did you do?”

  I consider telling her everything that happened, but I don’t even know where to start. I’m also in so much pain that all I want to do is lie down. Surely, she sees how hurt I am.

  “Help me,” I cough out the words. I try to say something else, but my body gives up on me. I cannot stop myself from crumbling to the floor of her porch.

  Rachel kneels in front of me and brushes my wild hair away from my face.

  “Don’t worry,” she whispers into my ear. “The cops will be here soon.” Instead of helping me inside, she gets to her feet and lowers herself onto the porch swing. Through the blur in my eyes, I watch her swing back and forth, making me dizzy.

  The sirens get louder, but I’m starting to drift in and out of consciousness.

  “Hang in there,” Rachel says from a distance. “You’ll be fine.” But she doesn’t come to help me.

  It feels like an eternity until the cops and paramedics arrive.

  I close my eyes as someone grabs me under the arms and lifts me from the porch.

  “She’s pregnant,” a woman says while I’m being lifted onto a stretcher and an oxygen mask is put around my face.

  “Yes, with my husband’s baby.” Even though my eyes are closed, Rachel’s voice is clear enough for me to hear. “She’s a murderer. She killed my husband and set her own house on fire. Her husband is inside. She tried to kill him too.”

  Her words hit me like a bucket of cold water. How long has she known that I’m connected to Victor’s death?

  The question follows me to the ambulance. As I’m lifted into the back, my eyes drift open in time to see Rachel standing outside, her arms around her body, a smirk on her face.

  I don’t remember the journey to the hospital. When we arrive, I’m still weak and barely able to speak. Doctors and nurses fuss over me, cleaning and covering up my wounds, checking my vitals, and asking if I can hear them. I hear all their questions, but my ability to speak is lost.

  It’s only a while later when things calm down, and a new doctor comes to check up on me that I find my voice again. I have many questions, but only one is more important right now.

  “My baby,” I croak, my throat still raw from the smoke. “How’s my baby?”

  The doctor, a woman with a mop of curly hair, looks down on me with a sad expression on her face. She doesn’t need to say a word. I already know.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “We couldn’t hear the heartbeat.”

  A hot tear slides down the side of my face and drips into my ear.

  Jared won. He got what he wanted. The baby is gone and I’ll probably end up in prison. If they are able to prove that I killed Victor, I will be put away for two murders—my grandmother’s and Victor’s. If Jared dies, I might also be blamed for his death.

  I close my eyes and Rachel’s face shows up behind my eyelids. How did she know? Did Jared tell her? If she knew all this time, why did she not go to the cops?

  I need answers, but I’m too overcome with grief at the loss of my baby that all I can do is cry. The hospital staff do their best to comfort me. I push them away. I don’t want anyone near me. I don’t trust anyone.

  After a while, I turn to my side and peer through the glass separating my room from the hallway. A police officer is standing outside in full uniform. They have come to get me.

  Overcome with fear of going back to prison, I thrash on the bed, screaming things that don’t even make sense. Nurses run into the room and try to hold me down, but they fail.

  Left with no other choice, they inject me with something to calm me down. Every muscle in my body relaxes and I fall into the darkness of sleep.

  Chapter 35

  When I wake up, my whole body is in pain. I remember what happened. I lost my baby. I went through hell to save him or her and failed.

  Was it because I inhaled too much smoke? Was it the fall? Or was it the fear that killed my baby? I’m
not even sure I want to know. It would torture me for the rest of my life.

  My hands go to my stomach. It’s still bulging out. My baby is still inside me…dead. Grief like I have never experienced before tears through me.

  “Mrs. Bloom,” a woman says. I blink in surprise. I thought I was alone in the room with the beeping machines. It’s hard to see her face through the film of moisture in my eyes.

  “That’s not my name,” I say, turning away from her. “I’m Kel…I’m Kelsey.” I don’t want anything to attach me to Jared ever again.

  “Kelsey,” she says as she approaches the bed with a white clipboard. “I’m Dr. Sanders. We saw each other briefly before you fell asleep. How are you feeling? Do you know what happened?”

  I know exactly what happened, but it’s too painful to put into words, so I say nothing.

  “Kelsey, can you hear me?”

  I blink and still don’t respond. I put my arms around my stomach and continue to stare through the window on one side of the room. The cops are still out there. They don’t even scare me anymore.

  The doctor gives up and goes to study one of the machines attached to me.

  A nurse enters the room. They talk to each other in low voices while I pretend to be asleep.

  I hear everything they say to each other.

  “She’s not communicating. She might need a while before we tell her about the D&C.”

  “That’s a good idea,” the nurse whispers. Her voice is slightly deeper than that of Dr. Sanders. “The cops are still waiting to question her.”

  My arms tighten around my belly. From movies I’ve watched in the past, I know they’re planning to perform a dilation and curettage scraping of my uterine lining.

  Tears trickle down my cheeks and sink into the pillow. My life is over. They will remove my baby from my womb and I’ll be taken to prison.

  “I told them to wait a while,” Dr. Sanders responds. “In the state she’s in, I doubt she’ll speak to them.”