Blood Red Roses

The National Weather Service was predicting a steady decline in temperature along with light snow flurries for the next five to seven days. However, as the storm that was pummeling the east coast began to worsen, so did the snow and the winds in Ohio. By Sunday evening, Akron's snowplows had fallen so far behind schedule that only the main highways; through, in, and out of the city were plowed.... Monday was looking less and less like it was going to be either a back to work or a back to school day.

Kyle walked in the backdoor from his fifth round of snowplowing for the day, and found his wife sitting at the kitchen table filling her coffee cup with crocodile tears.

Removing his snowmobile suit, he asked, "What's the matter?"

"I can't drive in this stuff." Throwing her arms up in total frustration, "How am I suppose to get to work tomorrow?"

Disgruntledly, he snapped, "I'll get you there, 'one way or another'. Ok?"

"They don't let the residents, nurses, maintenance, or housekeeping go home when the weathers like this. What'll I do if they won't let me go home"?

After several hours of her repetitive and persistent blubbering, he totally lost it.

He jerked her out of her chair and slammed her body up against the wall. Several seconds later, regaining his senses, he found her dangling limply two feet off the ground, her eyes bulging, and his calloused hands around her throat, literally, chocking her to death.

For almost three years he had put up with her calling him at work; "Can you come home? There's somebody in the back yard." Or "There's a man looking in the bedroom window." Or "When I answered the phone, they hung up...are you cheating on me again." And the strangest call of them all, "There's an Indian on the telephone pole outside the bathroom window watching me pee."

When they were first married, he actually thought her eccentricities were rather cute, but after the last couple of years.... he could write a book on her paranoid, neurotic calls.

He eased her body to the floor, removed his hands from around her neck, made sure she was breathing, and walked out the door.

He asked the neighbor if she would stay with his wife until her son and/or her daughter arrived. She was their problem now.

And that was the last time she saw him.... Until today.

* * * * *

She first noticed the dark colored Pontiac parked at the mouth of the cal-de-sac, while she was looking for her shoes.

The next time she saw it, she had her car keys, ready to leave for Easter Morning church services, it was swerving into her driveway.

She dropped her keys.... After four long, hard years, she recognized him instantly, even through the dirty windshield.

As the car door swung open, she grabbed the phone, but with her body betraying her, she stood paralyzed with curious indecision. Her brain was screaming, 'call the police', while her heart forced her to momentarily hesitate.

She just stood there, feeling the fear trying to rip her heart out of her chest: the fear, forcing the hot, sour, bitter tasting bile into her esophagus.

When he knocked on the front door...every pore in her body began to sweat simultaneously, causing her skin to become cold and clammy; she began to vomit uncontrollably.

Her body trying to return from its now somewhat less than normal state, she cracked the front door open. Seeing the flowers and the bottle of wine, she moaned, "Go away. Give me an hour or so to clean up my mess and take a shower. Maybe, just maybe, I'll let you in, but don't count on it."

* * * * *

"You lousy, miserable, son-of-a" Stopping in mid-sentence to fill her lungs with air, "how did you find me."

Smugly, he handed her the flowers and acting as if he owned the place, he put the bottle of wine in the fridge. Returning to the living room, he headed for the couch.

"Don't even think about it Kyle, you're not staying long enough that you'll need to sit down. You still haven't said how you found me."

"Does it really matter?"

"Of course it matters, but for now, just tell me what the devil you're doing here."

"It's Easter. I figured if Jesus could forgive the guys that crucified him...the least you could do would be to maybe forgive me, after all these years. We could have a nice cozy dinner," Placing his hands on her shoulders, she flinched noticeably. "share the wine, and see where things go from there."

Forcibly removing his hands from her shoulders, "and I'll bet you a dollar, I'm suppose to cook the dinner too. Right?"

"You arrogant........." Sighing deeply, she let it all out, "First, you tried to kill me, and now you want to worm your way back into my bed, with a bunch of wilted weeds, and a cheap bottle of dago-red."

"Kyle, you're drunk, or you've been snorting some really bad coke. Either way, get out of my house. And I don't ever want to see your face around here again."

She had no idea were the courage to stand up to him came from, but he was leaving, and that's all that mattered.

* * * * *

"The coroner's report said, 'she had twenty-three stab wounds to her upper torso.'"