Love in Death

Trading Stories with Kit Walker

            It seemed like hardly any time has passed when suddenly the loud room grew much quieter. I furrow my brows as I attempt to shift and turn in my seat to sew whatever it is that has caught Pepper's attention.

Before I can stop her, she is up and my eyes follow her as she moves, bouncing between the bodies of other patients until she is in front of a young man, taller than me I think, with light brown or blonde hair, I cannot tell from here.

That's when I hear the whispers run through the room.

"Bloody Face."

"Bloody Face."

"Bloody Face."

The words become a hiss in my ears as I stare at the young man. The young man who looks like he's around my age. The young man in front of me looks neither crazy nor like a cold- blooded killer. But then again, what do I know? I can't even remember what happened to my husband. Immediately I cringe as nightmarish images flash across my mind at the thought.

Surely, he cannot actually be the notorious Bloody Face, the lady killer I've read bits and pieces about in the paper. Just looking at him, he does not look the type to me.

"Um, is this seat taken?" I hear a male voice ask and I blink open my eyes, shoving away all those nasty thoughts and images, to see the young man in front of me.

"Oh, no." I shake my head, "Be my guest." I wave my hand at it, with a shrug.

He looks relieved and sinks down into the chair, "I'm Kit. Kit Walker." He introduces himself, holding out his hand with a nervous smile on his lips.

"Please, call me Samantha. Sam or Sammy for short." I smile back at him, hoping it's welcoming. "So," I pause, trying to come up with something to say. "May I ask, what did you do to land up here?" I watch his face as I ask my question.

"Uh," He rubs the back of his neck and then down the side of his face, a tired look in his eyes. "I don't actually know if I did what they say I did." He shakes his head, sadness emanating from him. "They, uh, they think I killed my wife." He clears his throat, "They think I killed her and all those other women." Kit looks down and studies his hands which are together on the table, absently picking at his fingers. "I don't remember what happened. I woke up and she was dead."

A wave of sympathy hits me and I place a comforting hand over one of his and he stops, his eyes darting up to me.

"I'm sorry." Emotion fills me as I feel the weight of his story on my mind, the similarities within it to others. To my own.

"So, what did you do?" he cocks his head to the side as he studies me, this complete stranger he's just poured out some of his pent-up emotions to, his story to.

"Actually, my story is very similar to yours." I admit with a sigh, "I truly don't know or remember what happened. All I know is that when I went to bed my husband was fine, but when I woke up he was lying dead next to me and I was absolutely drenched in his blood. It seemed to cover nearly everything in the room. All I could see was red. I couldn't escape it." Words keep tumbling out of me as my eyes lose focus, and I am brought back to the memory of those few days before I was locked up in here.

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