The Bitch is Back

Until now.

Mark drove as fast as he could, but Beltway traffic didn't pay attention to the laws of dramatics. It took four hours, not three, before he pulled into his driveway. He raced to the door, and felt a surge of heaven-sent gratitude that it remained locked. Unlocking it, he ran to the bedroom and knocked three times on the closed door.

"Erica," he said. "It's me, I'm safe, I didn't see her again. I know that's not proof, but you need to let me in so I can prove it to you."

There was a long pause, filled with what sounded like someone moving furniture, and finally, Erica's taut voice said, "It's open."

He smiled as he opened the door. Erica was standing just inside the room, holding a croquet mallet and tensed up for a fight. He held up his hands and slowly edged into the room. "Good thing there are no reporters around for this one," he said, relief turning the stupid joke into a hilarious one. "I'd never be able to explain why my wife greets me with blunt instruments."

Erica sighed in relief. "I didn't believe you at first," she said. "But about twenty minutes ago I thought I saw someone out the window there." She pointed behind her. "That was when I got out the mallet."

Mark went over to the window. "I don't see anyone there now. But that doesn't change anything. We'll have to--" Peripheral vision gave him a split-second's warning, just enough time so that the mallet clipped the side of his head instead of crashing full on into it. Even so, he spun around, his knees went wobbly, and the room started to spin. His wife wobbled crazily around, a beatific smile on her face. And in the center of the room, in the center of his vision, perfectly still in the spinning vortex, standing at just the right angle so he couldn't see her when he'd walked in, was Mistress Eva.

"Two hours," Mistress Eva said, walking towards him slowly. "That was how long your wife took. Really, it was scarcely worth the challenge."

Mark shook his head slowly, feeling like he was moving underwater. Already, he couldn't look away from her eyes. "...no..."

"Oh, Mark," she said. "You're not worried that I'm angry, are you?" Eva rubbed the back of her head. "It's true, I was a little upset at first. But I've had time to think. And I think that living well is the best revenge." She laughed, a cutting, cruel laughter. "You will serve Me. Both of you. And in time, I may...just may...forgive you. Ten years, Mark. That's how much you owe Me. With interest, of course."

"I..."

"Broken to My will, Mark." She was mere inches away from him now, her eyes flashing like the night of the storm.

"...broken to your will..." He heard Erica's voice join with his own.

"Ten years I've waited for this, since the night you ran away from Me. Waiting for your potential to bear fruit. Waiting for my moment. Waiting for your wife's will to break. Waiting for you to return. All that waiting, you will repay Me." She reached a hand out to him.

His will had drained completely out now. "I'm sorry, Mistress," he heard himself say. "I just...we...I thought you were dead."

She pulled his eyelids closed with two fingers, and as his mind fled, he heard himself think, they are cold as a statue now. "Oh, but I am..."

THE END