The Bottom of the Sea

Part 33: Army of Me

The lights came on then, so bright it startled us both. I saw something in his eyes I'd never seen before: fear. I reacted without thinking, grabbing the knife on the table and plunging it through his hand between his thumb and forefinger, into the table. His shriek was long and loud, and I savoured it as I bolted.

I ran down the hallway, something telling me to go upstairs instead of outside into the night. I only had a split second to decide and I had visions of him dragging me back into the house again like he did before.

Despite my ankle, I bolted up the stairs. When I tried to go into Missy's room on the second floor, the door slammed in my face. The same thing happened when I tried to go into the third bedroom. With no choice, I went into my bedroom in the middle where the cold air was like a slap in the face because of the tarp-covered, broken window. With nowhere to go, I crawled under the bed as far as I could into the middle and waited.

My whole body was shaking. I tried to remember where I'd left my phone, but my mind was blank. I just kept hearing Shane over and over in my head. "He suffered a lot."

I had to believe that Shane was lying. I thought about the time I invited him to my office Christmas party, so proud to bring my cop boyfriend to meet my work friends. Apparently, I spent too much time talking to a male colleague and later when we got home, Shane held a gun to my head. It was empty, but he enjoyed pulling the trigger just to fuck with me.

Jake is alright, I told myself. Shane is a coward and he is lying. The son of a bitch was toying with me, like he always did.

The fear evaporated then, and I felt a burning fury that engulfed my entire body. I could hear him screaming downstairs, probably pulling the knife out of his hand. I hoped it really fucking hurt. I scrambled out from under the bed and checked between the mattress and the box spring, looking for the knife I hid there in the early days, but it was gone. Of course, it was. Shane had plenty of time to find my hiding spots.

But he didn't know all of them.

I went to the closet and opened up the ancient trunk that came with the house. Under the baby clothes I'd bought and winter sweaters, I found what I was looking for. Just wrapping my hands around the bat as I pulled it from the trunk made me feel in control. A calm settled over my shoulders.

Come get me, motherfucker.

I sat on the windowsill and waited like I had all the time in the world.

I could hear him roar up the stairs, rage personified. He burst into the room, gasping.

"You're fucking crazy," he said, looking unsure of himself for the first time ever.

"If I am, you made me this way." I stood up and braced myself. He had the knife, but I had the bat. He could take his shot, but I wasn't going down without a fight and I was determined to hurt him. Really bad.

"I hate you, you bitch."

"And I'm not scared of you, you tiny, weak little man. What a fucking embarrassment you are."

It looked as if he was given a push and he stumbled forward. His eyes were darting back and forth as he pawed at his back with a bloody hand. "I'm going to carve you up like the pig that you are. And after that, I'm going to find whoever keeps doing that and fuck them up, too."

"Tough talk. Here I am." I was amazed to see him still mumbling and fighting with something or someone who wasn't there. If I hadn't lived here for months, I would have thought he'd finally lost his mind. It looked like he was just realizing that I didn't live alone.

He finally fixed his stare back on me. I braced my grip on the bat, anxious to connect it with his head. I couldn't believe I was once scared of him. In his current state, he looked almost comical.

There was a painting of a bowl of lavender and peaches on the wall; without warning it flew through the air and hit him hard on the shoulder. Another one of a moonlight shipwreck tore off the wall and struck him in the temple next to his good eye, where he started to bleed. "Stop it," he screamed at me.

"I'm not doing it."

With a growl, he lunged at me and I dodged him, swinging the bat with everything I had. It connected with his back with a satisfying crack. He stumbled for a moment and turned back to me, his face a mask of hurt and surprise. He lunged again, and I sidestepped out of the way easily, this time bringing the bat down on his forearm. Shane howled.

He stood before the broken window, battered and bloody. Gasping for breath, he straightened up and lunged at me. Without warning, he pulled back. It was as though he was being dragged, until he flew back through the broken window and out of the house. The tarp made a ragged sound as it tore and I heard hard thumps and cracks then finally, silence.

When a few minutes passed and everything was still silent, I looked towards the ceiling. "Thank you," I whispered.

The shattered window opened up to a black velvet night. I looked down and saw Shane sprawled out in an impossible angle on the front lawn. I shuddered and choked back hot vomit.

I slid down the wall and sat there for a while, tears coursing down my cheeks. I'd always known deep down that Shane was the weak one and I was strong. It was my strength he was afraid of, that he wanted to take away from me. Not this time. Not ever. It was over.

Jake.

I bolted up, searching the room and my brain for the phone. It wasn't in my room or the bathroom, so I headed downstairs to find my purse. I prayed for the bes and tried to keep the panic at bay in case the news was bad.

I got to the bottom and gasped, falling back onto the stairs.

The shadow man was back, standing right on my doorstep.