A House on Eden

19. Shooting Range

Roanoke Range And Training was the only indoor shooting range in the Valley. It was open to the public seven days a week and had hours until seven at night. Kevin and I would grab a quick dinner downtown after work and then drive to the range.

Each night my aim improved and after a week's training Kevin said: "I think you've got this, Jess."

Martin, the gregarious forty-year owner, had been watching us with a smile on his face. When I showed him my last target he whistled.

"Pretty damn good!" He smiled. "Who you're trying to kill, sweetheart?"

"My husband," I said.

"I hope that's a joke," he said.

"Actually no," I said. "My husband is a dangerous man and he's coming for me. I must be ready."

He nodded, his eyes serious. "Then I better give you some free advise," he said. He pulled me into the narrow hallway where no one was watching us.

"If he comes at you, shoot his knee caps out," he said. "That'll definitely slow a guy down, if you're intent on running. If you want to kill him, shoot him point blank in the forehead, that way you're sure he stays down. No second guessing if you know what I mean."

"Thank you," I said.

"Good luck, sweetheart," he said.

"Are you really going to kill him?" Kevin said to me on the parking lot.

"I don't want to," I said. "The gun is only a precaution, for self- defense. What I do with the gun depends on what Bruce does with me."

I pulled into my driveway, cut the engine and walked onto the porch. The kitchen door had been kicked and stood half open. Shattered glass crunched under my feet as I stepped inside. Bruce was sitting on a chair in the center of the kitchen, wearing a smile.

"Honey, I'm home," he laughed. "Except you're supposed to say that to me, Jess, to your husband."

"What do you want?" I said, feeling for the gun in my purse. He moved like lighting, kicking it out of my hand. The purse flew toward the sink and he caught it effortlessly. He stuck in his hand and brought the Magnum.

"Looking for this?" He smiled. He held it up, turned it over in his hand, testing its weight.

"A woman's gun," he smiled. "Good for you, Jess. A woman should protect herself, especially in this dangerous neighborhood, yes sir."

"Why are you here?" I said.

He pushed the empty chair beside him over to me. "Sit," he said. "Were gonna have a nice civil conversation."

I sat down, my heart pounding. "What do you want to talk about?" I asked.

"About what I've got coming to me," he said. "About for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health. About my sugar."

"Where is your cruiser?" I said.

"Pete dropped me off," he smiled. "Wanted to surprise you. Wanted to drop in."

"I am only going to say this once," I said. "Please leave. I don't want you here."

"You're the one leaving, Jess," he said. "You're leaving here with me, yes sir. I guess I'll have to drag you out by your hair then, your choice."

"I'm not coming, Bruce," I said and then he was on me. He punched me in the throat, leaving me breathless and dizzy. Tears streamed down my face, my vision was blurring.

"I got more of that," he said. "Do you want more, Jess?" He brought up his leg and drove his knee into my stomach, making me double over. I gagged and vomited and lost my balance. I hit the floor with a thud, trying desperately to draw air into my lungs. He stood over me, his breath slow and even.

"Are you coming home, Jess?" He said loudly. "Gonna give some of that sugar?"

"No! Never!" I screamed.

He kicked me in the stomach, hard, with brutal force. I turned to see his face and saw his rage. He kicked me again. The pain was intense, radiating through my body. And then I realized I was going to die, here in this house, with no one to see, to help, to fight for me. I closed my eyes and willed myself to be still.

Then I heard him unzip his fly, felt my dress torn from my body, my underwear shoved down my legs. He was in me, his darkness and fury took me.

"A man's gotta have his due, yes sir," he grunted, pushing himself deep inside me. It was over in a moment. I felt him shudder with the climax, felt him get up on his knees, saw him raise his fist above my head.

"I've saved the best part," he said, "your pretty face. Gonna do a real fine number on it, Jess, so you'll remember me."

Underneath me the floor vibrated, rippled like water. Above me the ceiling grew transparent like glass, showing the upstairs bedroom. A section of floor beside Bruce ripped open, sending the planks upward, turning into a thick brow brown liquid that enveloped his fist.

Beside me the floor opened into a deep hungry hole, the wood forming arms and hands, pulling him down into it.

"Son of a bitch!" Bruce roared, fighting the wood as it grew around him. His feet were pulled down first, disappearing between the kitchen floor and the basement ceiling. Then he was halfway down, disappearing, grabbing the edges of the hole to pull himself up. Then only his head remained, his face red from straining, his eyes filled with terror. Then he was gone.

I got up, unsteady on my feet. I struggled my way down the basement steps, leaning heavily on the railing. Bruce was lying face down on the concrete floor. The floor was changing, bubbling, forming a soft spot around his body. It pulled him down slowly, the concrete circling around him like water in a drain.

In his last moment he swung his head around, facing me, spitting the concrete from his mouth.

"Help me, Jessie," he said in a small voice. Then the concrete closed over him and he was gone.

I stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching as the floor gathered itself, changing back to a smooth hard surface, erasing all evidence of its deed.

I waited by the steps for my breathing to become steady. The pain in my abdomen and sides was like a fire. I could still feel him kicking me, moving inside me with his violent hatred.

After a long time I climbed back upstairs and looked into the kitchen. The hardwood floor was flat and smooth, glistening by the neon light above the sink.

I sat down on the floor and sobbed. The house surrounded me, understood me, the walls stood by like silent witnesses. I sat there a long time, rocking my body the way I had done when I was a little girl, hiding in my bedroom closet from a drunken father looking for something to hit.

Finally I felt a strange calm come over me. I got up, went into my bedroom and undressed. I took a long hot shower, washing ten years of terror from my body. I dried myself and crawled naked between the sheets.

I slept a peaceful sleep, the soft sounds of the house singing to me.