by Shaun Hupp
“What, Han. . .” She stopped. She didn’t want to even say his name.
“I’m sorry. I know what I did was wrong. I didn’t mean to lead you on. Can. . . Can you still forgive me?”
Gwen said nothing. It would be dead silence if it weren't for the feverish hand washing going on in the bathroom. What is Adam’s problem, she thought. Does he have some sort of phobia of blood?
“Please, Gwen. . .I really do love you.”
“I loved you,” she said and finally turned to meet those eyes. Deep down, she hoped that by saying those words, she would see those loving eyes again. She wanted to see those eyes that she could stare into all night. She needed to see those eyes.
Those eyes were empty. Hank was dead.
Gwen cried. Not so much for Hank, but for herself and the year relationship that was for nothing. She cried for the woman and child she would never meet, for unknowingly enabling Hank to commit adultery. She cried for all those past relationships that didn’t work out and for being a fool to think this one would work. At least, she thought, I won’t have to grow old alone, because I’ll never make it out of here.
“Alright, alright, we’ve been at this for over ten minutes. You have been by far the-“
Adam dropped the stopwatch and ran over to Hank. After moving his hand in front of those lifeless eyes and lightly shaking Hank’s shoulder, Adam slumped onto the dusty floor and lowered his head. “This is all your fault.” His voice trembled. “How was I supposed to know that you were a fucking whore?”
Adam leaned in again, within an inch of Gwen’s face. “A fucking whore. You don’t deserve the intimate touch of my blade. I should slice your fucking throat so you can’t talk before you die. I should let you choke on your own blood. God won’t speak from those whore lips. No. No. No. Your soul won’t be making that connection. You’re bound for the lake of fire with the rest of your kind.”
Gwen was done. She was tired of being a victim. This wasn’t her fault. She needed to fight back. It was her only chance. Before he could react, she smashed her forehead into Adam’s nose. This direct hit brought forth a steady stream of blood and a loud squeal from Adam.
“You fucking whore! Look what you’ve done!”
Adam tried to wipe the blood off his face with his hands, then off his hands onto his pants. He tilted his head backwards, but all this did was allow the blood to flow into his mouth. He threw himself forward and retched.
“No. No. No. No! Get it off me. Why won’t it stop!?”
Adam ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Gwen could hear the water from the sink, but only barely due to Adam’s continued curses. That’s when she saw the key to her escape.
The scalpel.
He must have dropped it when I hit him, she thought.
Only a foot away from her, Gwen was able to bend forward and grab the gory scalpel. She pulled her blood covered dress up her thighs, placed the knife upwards between her knees, and started sawing at her bound wrists. Adam swore at her from behind the bathroom door. As her hands were now free, she quickly snatched the scalpel and sawed through the duct tape around her ankles. Free at last, she ripped all the tape off, stood up, and set her sights on the door to the apartment. A loud bang brought her attention back to the bathroom door. It was standing wide open.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Adam asked in a slightly nasally voice. Toilet paper was stuffed in each nostril.
Gwen extended her arm with the scalpel held high. She started edging forward, towards the door. Adam rushed at her. She sliced left and right, but hit nothing as Adam gingerly stepped back, smiling.
“Just stay back! I’m getting out of here!”
“Oh, please. I kidnaped both you and your ‘John’ without any problems. I think I can handle myself against an itty bitty woman with an itty bitty knife. In fact, I wonder if you can even-“
Before she knew it, Adam sprang forward and grabbed her wrist that was holding the scalpel. A swift kick caught Gwen in the gut and Adam rammed his shoulder into her face. Gwen tripped and fell backwards. She was horrified to realize that she was back where she started.
Sitting next to Hank.
Adam with the scalpel.
“It’s time to end this. I need to get out there and find someone truly worthy of my time.”
As Adam advanced, Gwen turned her head away from what was coming. She was looking once more at Hank. She reached out and took his hand. She figured if she were going to die, she would do it with the man she loved. When she squeezed his limp hand, she felt nothing for him. Their love was just a lie. This man was nothing to her. He was not her boyfriend, her soon-to-be husband. He was just dead flesh, bone, and blood.
Blood.
Gwen had nothing left to lose. She reached into the open wound in Hank’s stomach. A handful of guts and squishy stuff slipped and slid between her fingers. As she pulled her hand out, the cut expanded around her closed fist and closed against her knuckles. She would never forget that sound. She turned her hand over, and it slowly opened. The amount of guts and gore made her feel queasy, but she had to remember; Hank is gone. Their relationship was fiction. That was the past and she needed to look toward the future. Only one man stood in her way.
Adam’s advances stopped when he saw what Gwen had done. His eyes grew wide. He opened his mouth to say something, but Gwen lobbed her gory handful at his head. Adam’s face disappeared behind a mask of bloodshed and unidentifiable innards. His legs went out from beneath him as he slipped on the blood and hit the floor. Gwen thrust her hand inside Hank again and pulled out more ammo. Adam turned to run as more gore rained down upon his back. He got hit two more times before he made it to the safety of the bathroom and slammed the door. Gwen continued to throw bloody gobs at the door, crying the whole time.
She looked down at her hands and then, at Hank. She couldn’t believe what she had done. A day ago, this man was her world, but he was using her. Now, she was using him. Gwen’s tears turned into laughter at the thought. She reached in for more. She found she was less nauseated this time.
“How do you like that, you sick fuck! You want some more blood?”
A wet clump thumped against the door.
“What’s wrong, Lady MacBeth? Can’t get the spots out?”
Thump.
“Get out here, asshole! I’ve got a present for you.”
Thump.
“Can you guess what it is? It’s wet, sticky, and red.”
Thump.
“Stop! Just stop! Go. Just leave. Get out of here. You win.”
Did he really just let me go, Gwen thought. She had gotten so caught up in the moment that she didn’t realize she had a clear shot at the apartment door. She didn’t even give Hank another glance as she rushed to the door, but something else stopped her. She heard water running again, except it was different this time.
Is he taking a shower? She thought.
She went to the bathroom door and put her ear to it. Yes, he was definitely taking a shower, this time. Apparently, she did more damage to him than a sink could fix. He could be in there forever especially if he thought she was gone. She had an idea. . .
“Fine. I’m leaving,” she screamed out so he could hear over the frantic scrubbing. Instead of going towards to the door, she headed over to the makeshift kitchen and grabbed the portable stovetop. She carried it with its heavy attached gas tank and set it in front of the bathroom door. She cranked the gas on without lighting the burner. Gwen made her way back to the countertop, grabbed a loose match, and stuck the wooden end between her teeth. There was a large sheet of particle board leaning by the window. She lifted it up and placed it firmly against the partially boarded window. Instantly, the apartment was plunged into darkness.
Gwen couldn’t rely on her sight. Her hearing wasn’t much help either. Thin walls and bad piping made it sound as if Adam’s shower could be happening anywhere in the apartment. She didn’t want to strike the match just yet. Gwen lost her heels in
the skirmish with Adam, barefooted, she tip-toed forward. She was supposed to be gone and didn’t want Adam to hear her. Gwen hoped that none of these old boards creaked under her weight. She wasn’t a good judge of distance in the dark, but she thought she had to be halfway to the door by now. That was when she slipped and fell backwards. Her head smacked the ancient floorboards. She could feel what was under her. She knew what she slipped on.
Blood.
The shower turned off.
Gwen was still on the floor. She could hear her heart pounding. She figured he heard her fall. Any minute now, Adam would open that door and find her. She shut her eyes tight. Here he comes.
The shower turned back on.
He didn’t come out, she thought. He must have heard me fall, then thought nothing of it.
It was then that Gwen realized she had lost her match. She turned over onto her hands and knees and felt around on the floor. Her hands slid through the gory darkness, searching with the sensitive touch of a gifted sculptor. Every time she grabbed something solid, she realized it was some part of Hank, the stranger.
Finally, she knew she had the match between her fingers. She wasn’t about to put it in her mouth again. She figured she might as well crawl to the door now. It would be safer and she was already down on the floor. If she could see, she imagined there would be bloody handprints everywhere. She quickened her pace when she caught the scent of rotting eggs. The gas! She knew she had to hurry. Just when she thought she might have crawled in a circle, her head struck the wall. The thud made her stop and listen to the water pipes.
Please, don’t turn off, she thought. Please, keep showering.
The water never stopped flowing, the odd operetta echoing as Gwen continued along the wall searching for the door. When she found the door, she stood up holding onto the frame. Splinters bit into her skin, but she didn’t care. She felt around the nearby table until she found what she was looking for. She grabbed a hold of a wax candle with one hand and held the match in the other. She struck the match against the rotting wood of the door.
Nothing. The blood must have coated the match.
She tried again.
Nothing.
The water shut off.
She tried again.
Nothing.
She heard footsteps in the bathroom.
She struck it again.
A flame bloomed and she quickly touched it to the wick of the candle. She knew she was running out of time as the room filled with gas. She slowly opened the door, hoping its creaking would not give her away. She opened it just enough to slip through. When she was on the other side, she quietly, yet firmly, closed the door. She knew she wasn’t safe yet, so she ran down the hallway looking for the nearest exit. She shoved open the door leading to a stairwell and took the steps three at a time. She didn’t look outside the window before she boarded it up so she had no idea how many stories up she was. The levels all blurred together until the steps ended. She burst through the door and had to cover her eyes from the blinding light.
Outside. I’m outside, she thought. Is it over?
She looked up at the wall of windows. She didn’t know which room held her captor and the dead stranger. Just as she gave up on finding the right window, there was a giant explosion. Chunks of brick hurled down on her. Gwen covered her head and ran. When she thought she was at a safe distance, she looked back to see the fire starting to spread throughout the other windows in the building. Black smoke billowed into the sky.
She looked down at herself and noticed all the blood covering her favorite dress and hands. She could feel the stickiness in her hair and on her face.
Sirens.
What should I do? she thought. That man killed Hank, the stranger, but I’m covered in his blood. My fingerprints were all over that apartment and the murder weapon. Would the fire destroy all that evidence? Would they know who Hank and Adam were? Are they in any criminal database? Hank could be. She realized she pretty much knew nothing about him. Could they go off of dental records? What about Hank’s wife and child? If I come forward, will it destroy their family? Is it worse to lose a husband and father to a mysterious fire, or to find out he was cheating and a serial killer murdered him?
The sirens got closer and brought Gwen back to reality. She hastily took off for a side alleyway between two abandoned houses. She found a window that was unlocked and crawled inside. After a quick search of the premises, she found some clothes and shoes she could wear that the former homeowner must have left behind. The water wasn’t working, but she found some old two-liters of water someone must have kept in case of an emergency. This seemed like a good time as any to use it.
Inside the smelly, mildewed bathroom, Gwen set down her armful of bottles on the counter, peeled off her clothes, and stepped into the tub/shower combo. She twisted the cap off the first bottle and poured the contents over her. She couldn’t find any towels, washcloths, or even a stale bar of soap, so she used some of the clothes she found to wipe the blood away. After emptying three bottles and ruining four t-shirts of a stranger, Gwen finally felt somewhat clean.
Putting on a stranger’s old, filthy clothes didn’t even faze her. Lying down in the bed of a person she didn’t know didn’t seem important either. Her old life was just as unknown to her as this place.
I can’t go back to my old life, she thought. As soon as the police and firefighters leave, I’ll find a way back to my apartment and pack my things. It’s time to start over.
Six months later. . .
Gwen had put it off long enough. She finally managed to unpack the last box. She kept putting it off, like maybe if she never unpacked, she’d wake up from this nightmare and her life would be back to normal. Hank would be there. He would ask her to marry him. They would move to a small house outside the city and get started on the family Gwen always wanted. False hope and dashed dreams; the senseless guilt. Hopefully, this move would be the last piece of the puzzle. She had to be away from the memories of Hank. She needed closure.
Now in front of her was an empty white wall and she thought about the life she left behind. After the movers had taken out the last of the boxes from her old place, Gwen was left in her empty apartment with her wall mural. Ever since she lived in that apartment, she had painted something on the wall that meant something to her. Over the last year, she added in several things that had to do with Hank. There was the first rose he gave her. There was the teddy bear he left her after he spent the night. There was the space on the wall that she had been leaving empty, hoping she would one day fill it with a painting of a ring.
She had to paint over it. She didn’t care about losing her deposit. If she left it, it would get painted over anyway. She wanted to do it herself. She started off slowly applying the eggshell white but as memories bubbled to the surface, she starting painting faster and sloppier. She had to apply multiple coats as images of candlelit dinners and weekend picnics fought to survive. She shook the roller, spattering her face with white paint. It was done. The mural of her old life was gone.
Now, in her new apartment, she had a blank canvas once again. It yearned for life and it felt good.
Maybe, tonight, I can, finally, sleep without the tv on, she thought.
The television blared so much senseless noise at her all day and night that it became as common as a bird chirping or the wind howling. She needed the noise to drown out the thoughts in her head so she could sleep at night.
She was exhausted and ready for bed, when a news story caught her attention. There was a small fire in an apartment complex. Firefighters quickly put it out and no one was hurt. Despite the differences, the news story made her think back to the day she made it back to her old apartment after the fire.
I’ll just change the channel, she thought. No sense dwelling on the past.
When she was within a few feet of the tv, the power went out. Her new apartment was plunged into darkness. The comforting noise from the television had ceased. For a few minutes, Gwen just
stood there. She felt as if she was back in that abandoned apartment.
Gwen laughed, “I’m being stupid. It’s probably a citywide blackout.”
She turned to look out her living room window, only to see the silhouette of a man.
Gwen screamed, turned, and went to run in the direction of the door. She got two steps and slipped. The back of her head hit the wood flooring hard. She turned over and as she pushed herself up, she could feel something on her hands. She knew that texture all too well.
Blood.
That’s not possible.
She looked back at the window. It was empty. The man had vanished. There was a clear view of the city. She could see lights on in the building across the street.
She wanted to yell out, “Who are you,” but she thought that might reveal where she was in the apartment. She hoped that if she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her. She also hoped that it was just her imagination playing tricks on her.