By
Louise DragonWayne Michaels, murmured in his sleep. In his dreams, he again struck the fatal blow. He watched his wife tumble, in slow motion, down the stairs for the last time. Her mouth formed a round O of surprise; her reaching hands scrabbled for a hold.
While he slept, Wayne clutched his hands behind his back. Clutched them tightly as he had on that night as his wife bounced from wall to stairs. Each thump echoed in his brain.
He could have saved her!
If he had only reached out one hand instead of stubbornly hiding his palms like a bad boy caught in the cookie jar.
From his place at the top of the stairs Wayne heard her gasp out her last breath: saw her chest rise once before she lay motionless forever. Her once beautiful face locked into an angry mask of death so hideous Wayne looked away.
In his nightmare, Wayne's eyes moved from the fresh corpse to the window where the late afternoon sun swept golden rays across the carpet.
The day darkened abruptly.
Chills rippled through Wayne.
Thudding heartbeats gnashed and grated like machinery.
"I'm coming,” a tiny voice grated in his ear. "I'm coming for you, Wayne."
Wayne needed to wake up now. But as he turned toward the window again, a huge dark shadow swept by . . .
Jerked awake by something he couldn't quite remember, Wayne Michaels shivered in the cool night air. Harsh grinding sounds plagued his ears. It took him a moment realize that his teeth were grating against each other. While he slept, he had kicked off the quilt and could feel goose bumps bubbling on his naked flesh. Rubbing his aching jaw, Wayne reached about on the floor.
His hand encountered something soft just as a dark shadow blotted out what little light had been in the room. Shivering with fear that he couldn't explain Wayne snapped on the bedside lamp. Yanking the quilt from the floor, he wrapped his chilled body and huddled miserably in the big empty bed, still rubbing his jaw.
He hadn't had a problem with grinding his teeth at night since he had been a child. He really hated sleeping alone. Damn Elizabeth. Why did she have to be so weak?
He left the light on for the rest of the night.
Continued . . .
Link to Wrenge (1)
2 comments:
I'd leave the light on too!
The part near the end where he's curled up in the blanket says so much about his character. I like how you've developed him.
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