The Funnel Of Love

I get weak in the knees

Kyle forced himself to breathe as he stepped downstairs, the sharp, erratic rhythm of his heartbeat masked behind a carefully constructed calm. He had spent too long upstairs, pacing, planning, drowning in the steady thrum of rage that pulsed through his mind, but he knew he couldn't stay there. He had to go down to dinner, act normal, sit through another family meal, all while the plan formed more clearly in his mind.

He stepped into the dining room, his face schooled into a mask of quiet concentration as he pulled out his chair. The scent of roasted chicken and garlic filled the room, his mother bustling back and forth with plates, his father sitting with the newspaper spread in front of him, and Ike already digging into his mashed potatoes.

"Finally joining us, Kyle?" his mother teased, giving him a quick smile as she set the gravy boat on the table.

Kyle forced a weak smile back, nodding as he took his seat. "Yeah, sorry. Got caught up in some homework."

The lie rolled off his tongue smoothly, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth. His family was here, so close, unaware of the chaos inside him, of the thoughts that clawed at his mind. They didn't see the murderous intent simmering beneath his surface, the darkness that was slowly taking root.

Gerald glanced up from his paper, nodding at Kyle. "Good to see you're keeping on top of things," he said, oblivious, flipping the page.

Kyle gave a slight nod, his gaze fixed on his plate as his mother dished out food. But he wasn't tasting the dinner tonight. All he could think about was Wendy, about the way the flames must have surrounded her house, about how close he had come, and the infuriating knowledge that she had slipped through his grasp.

The sound of silverware scraping against plates, the soft hum of his family's idle chatter—it all blurred into a meaningless background noise. His thoughts sharpened with every second, every bite he forced down, his mind circling one relentless point: he couldn't let her get away again. He wouldn't.

"Are you okay, Kyle?" Sheila's voice broke through his reverie, her tone laced with faint concern. "You're so quiet tonight."

Kyle blinked, snapping himself back into the moment. He looked up, managing another faint smile, his eyes meeting his mother's gaze with an almost eerie calm. "I'm fine, Mom," he replied, his voice steady, betraying nothing. "Just tired, that's all."

She seemed to accept his answer, turning her attention back to Ike. Kyle kept his head down, cutting his chicken into neat, even pieces, but his grip on the knife was a fraction too tight. The metallic glint of the blade under the warm dining room lights drew his attention, a flicker of satisfaction threading through him as he imagined how easily it could solve his problems.

He let his mind drift as the dinner continued around him, refining his plan, considering every possible detail. He would be smarter this time. More careful. Wendy wouldn't be so lucky.

Finally, as he pushed back from the table, murmuring a quick thanks, Kyle felt that sense of purpose settling deep within him. Murder had a way of sharpening his mind, focusing him like nothing else ever had. And tonight, he had never felt so sure of himself.

When he finally turned to leave, he could already picture Wendy's terrified face, and that thought carried him up the stairs, a chilling satisfaction settling over him.

~~~~~~~~

The house was quiet as Kyle slipped out of his room, carefully cracking open his door and listening for any sign of movement from his family. Silence. He moved with practiced stealth, inching down the hallway, over the creaky floorboards, past his parents' room, holding his breath until he finally reached the staircase.