The Wife's Neighbor (A Novella)

Chapter 6

Driving home, I knew what I was going to do.

Taylor was the man for me. I had jumped into my marriage with Jeffery too early. I should've just declined every single advance and waited. Maybe in some alternate universe, I would've met Taylor sooner. Not having to deal with the nightmare I was in now.

I couldn't change what was fact. And the fact was, I was married to an idiot with a temper who clung to the ideals of 'good old-fashioned America'. Whatever the hell that meant.

Her home was bathed in darkness. Daylight had long gone to be replaced by a pitch black, starless sky. She quietly shut the front door and removed her shoes. A tiny bit of rain fell onto the roof of the manor.

Just slip into the living room and lie on the couch. I don't think I can snuggle up to Jeff anymore. Feeling that weak son of a bitch would probably get me pissed. I might slap him if I see his face again. Gotta control myself a bit. I can't risk getting hurt. Taylor needs me and I need him. I'm going to ask Jeff tomorrow for a divorce. I'm going to get papers signed. Maybe he can go his way and I can go mine? Violence isn't what I want. What I want is freedom.

In the doorway of the sitting room, stood Jeff who had watched Marcy enter the home, slightly spattered with rainwater. His tie hung loose, he clutched a glass of bourbon. "Nice to see you finally come home." Snidely he spoke, bringing the beverage up to his lips and gulped loudly. Feeling the spicy smooth touch of his drink.

Marcy gasped. "Jeff! You scared the shit out of me!"

"Well, that's not too bad. Scaring you. Compared to what you're doing to me." He sighed, watching her remove her jacket.

"Doing to you? I've cooked for you. Cleaned for you. Fucked you. I should be able to go out when I want. I do everything you ask." She nodded, her voice not raising in anger or bitterness.

"We never agreed to that. You started sneaking out on your own. You cheating, lying, bitch." He finished the drink. Head feeling light. Muscles relaxed.

"I have not cheated on you." She frowned walking up to him, scolding him.

"You think I'm stupid?" Jeff cocked his head a bit. "You don't think I smell cologne in your hair from your wild nights with men? You don't think I see the car gone? We need very, very strict rules. All women do. It's okay. You're just...confused and sad. I will set you straight."

With a grunt, Jeff slammed the empty glass onto Marcy's head. She yelled, falling to the ground. She lied on her stomach, feeling a piece of small glass sticking from the side of her head. She heard his footsteps walking close to her. He kneels, watching warm blood trickly down the side of her face.

"You poor, misguided girl. If you listen to me, I won't hurt you. I hate seeing you in pain. Really, I do. If you continue this reckless behavior, I will kill you. Can't have you tainting my good standing." Jeff rolled his sleeves up, watching his wife moan in pain and roll onto her back. She was muttering something.

"I can't hear you, dear." Sympathy filled his voice.

Leaning in, his ear hovered over her mouth as she lies on her back. The rain fell harder, thunder boomed.

With one hand, Marcy held a shard of glass in her hand and swiftly thrust the object into Jeff's carotid artery. Blood sprayed as he stood, tumbling back. His breathing heavy and labored. He backed into a wall, blood caked one side of his white shirt, giant spots of blood spattered on the hard floor. She stood, looking into his eyes. Shock and looming death overcame his face.

"Please...take me to a hospital. It hurts." He whined, his voice became weak and feeble. He slowly sat, his head feeling heavy. His muscles tense.

"It does hurt. I know." Marcy smiled. Beside Jeff, stood an antique table and upon this table was a metal bust of some famous president.

With two hands, she gripped the heavy bust and with precision-she slammed the blunt object into the top of his head. Once. Twice. Three times. With each thud a deep and loud squish. His head nearly split in half. His face was now drenched in blood, it poured down the middle of his forehead and dripped down to his nose and mouth.

Marcy dropped the object and sighed deeply. Looking at the battered body of Jeffery. With his forehead split, revealing part of his skull.

Running to the bathroom, Marcy shook in fear and disgust as she stripped and showered. The shower was huge, the shower head itself had amazing pressure. She'd miss this elegant bathroom for sure. Washing her arms, breasts, and hair, she tried to wash away the mental image of her husband. Just seeing a body covered in that much grotesqueness was enough to make her want to vomit.

Once finished, she slipped on some comfortable, casual clothing and called Taylor.

His voice was tired, he yawned before speaking. "Hi Marcy."

"Taylor...you need to come over to my place now. Alright?" She tried not to sound panicked, but it was quite difficult to keep her composure. Perhaps if he knew why he was coming, he wouldn't show up. Would he just rat me out to the police? Would all of this had been a horrible idea?

His truck pulled up, the headlights bursting through the dark night made Marcy stand at attention.

She hugged him as soon as he entered the house. "Taylor. I need you to stay calm. And trust me." She nodded, looking up at his massive form.

"I do." He said holding her hand softly.

She led him through the first floor, it didn't take long for him to see the battered dead body of Jeffery. He covered his mouth and staggered back.

"Is this a joke?" Taylor stuttered, eyes wide, body tense. Leaning against a nearby wall. Never was his tone up like this. Never had he sounded scared or confused until this moment. If he were to break-now would be the time he'd do it.

"If-if you want to go to the police, you can. I won't stop you. I understand this is...unconventional. If not...you need to help me." She looked at him, voice shaking. Terrified she may never feel the man's touch again. Afraid she'd never feel as safe as she felt when he was around. She wanted to close her eyes. Her heart leapt into her throat. Self defense would be the charge she hoped. Or...it could be murder. Who knew how it would work out? Hopefully security cameras were on and functioning. A tear falls down my cheek. First time I had cried not due to the horrendousness of my husband-but by my own actions.

Marcy's boyfriend hoisted Jeff's body over one broad shoulder with a deep sigh. "Where do we put the body?"