Town Slayer

Run for Your Life

Frightened five-year-old Timmy darts to the corner of his closet.  Scooping up his baby blanket crumpled on his floor, Timmy throws it over himself.  trembling body.

His little body trembles as he pleads, "Please, God, please make them stop fighting. Oh, please stop daddy from being so mean. Timmy knows when his dad gets like this, he'll beat on his mom and then come looking for him.  

The child huddles in the corner and covers his ears with his hands. He can still hear his daddy screaming at his mom.

Bill storms across their kitchen. The green checked tile, and lime green appliances haven't been remodeled since it was initially built. "How many fucking times do I have to tell you? I expect my supper on the table when I get home," Bill yells in a drunken rage.

Janet smells an intoxicating scent of his nightly liquor lingering on his breath. She takes a few steps back, hoping she won't gag from the foul stench.

Grabbing a wad of hair, Bill pulls her close to where they're face to face."How many times do we have to go through this? Huh, how many?" he slaps her across the face with his free hand, he shoves her back.

"I... I'm sorry, Bill, it'll never happen again," she whimpers, covering her throbbing cheek.

"You're always sorry. You're a sorry excuse for a wife that's what you are. I don't know why I married you," he screams, slapping her again. "The only things you have to do all day is clean the house and get my supper, but you obviously can't do either. right." He shoves a stack of dirty dishes onto the floor. Small fragments scatter across the filthy tile.

Janet drops to her knees and starts cleaning up the mess.

"Yeah, you better clean that up if you know what's good for you." He puts his muddy foot on her back and then pushes her to the floor. "Get down there closer, so you can get every piece. I better not get as much as a sliver in my foot, or there'll be hell to pay," he warns, grabbing a beer from the fridge. He turns around to see she's slowly working on the shattered tableware. "Oh, for God's sake, Timmy can clean it up faster, and he's only four." He kicks her in the butt.

She tumbles into a pile of broken plates.

He grabs her long brown hair and pulls her to her hands and knees. "Get to cleaning, woman," he orders.

"Y ...yes, Sir." Blood trickles down her head as she gathers up the slivers.

"Bring my supper in the front room when you're finished," he instructs. He kicks her in the ribs. "That's so you'll remember to have dinner on the table when I get home."

"I ...I will, I promise," she blubbers, grabbing her aching side.

"You damn well better." he storms out of the room.

A few minutes later, he stomps back into the kitchen to find she's still cleaning the mess. "I'd like my supper tonight."

"I... I'll get it for you now." She tosses a handful of broken glass into the garbage beside her.

He grabs her hair and pulls her to her feet. With one hard shove, he sends her flying across the room.

Her thin, frail body slams into the stove; spices fall across the top.

"Cook me something right now," he demands, marching towards the living room.

Janet is grabbing leftovers from their fridge when she hears a loud thud. I better make sure he's alright. Emptying her hands, she runs to the front room to find  Bill's face buried in a pile of clothes. I can't have you suffocate on me. Janet starts to roll him over when a thought suddenly occurs to her.  Timmy and I would finally be free if he died. A second thought pops into her head.   I'd be a murderer if I let him suffocate. I wouldn't get charged if I told the police it was self-defense. Could I live with myself knowing what I've done? How will it be self-defense if he smothers in a pile of clothes? Could I claim it was an accident? I was asleep and had no idea he fell into the clothes. I'd still be a murderer whether the cops buy it or not. What about everything he's done to Timmy and me? After a quick mental debate, she reluctantly makes her way across the room.  She notices blood gushing from the back of his head when she bends down. A bloody ball bat is lying on the floor beside him.  "What happened, Bill?"  she asks, dropping to her knees. He didn't respond. She grabs a few towels from the pile of clothes and applies pressure. The blood quickly soaks through. I've got to get help. "Timmy," she screams. Not seeing the child, she tries again. "Timmy, I need you now."