Her hands shook as she reached for her phone. She rubbed her scalp, whispering encouragement to herself in a bid to calm her ragged nerves. She jumped as she heard her husband, Richard bang the gate again. “Veronica, open the gate this minute or I’ll beat the demons holding your brain captive out of you.” As she heard the two girls with him giggle, she knew exactly what to do.
She began to dial on her phone. “9-1….” Her hands were shaking even harder now. She willed herself to continue, hating the fact that she had never been able to go through with this call since she started trying two months ago. Yes, two months ago when the police announced that a serial killer was on the prowl in their little town, killing young ladies.
She swallowed hard and entered the last number. Almost immediately, a voice chimed in from the other side: “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” Now that she had gone through with the call, she didn’t know what to say. Everything she planned to say, everything she rehearsed these past weeks had all flown out the window.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” The voice said again. And still she found herself tongue-tied, too scared to talk.
She knew she would have to talk eventually. She was tired of everything. Tired of her husband. Tired of him bringing girls to their home to make love on their matrimonial bed. Tired of him undermining her, beating her up and expecting her to say thank you for the beatings.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” The voice was still asking over the phone.
She sighed heavily and answered, her voice shaking: “The serial killer killing young ladies, I think I know who he is and I know exactly where he is.”
As she heard him bang the gate again, she shuddered. Soon the police would arrive and drag him away. They would discover the bloodied clothes of the murdered girls in their basement. They would see the murder weapon. They would see his boots, stained with dry mud, exactly the way the police described it. They would haul him off. What they would not and may never know is that he was not the serial killer, just a fool paying for his crimes against her.
Every time he beat her for complaining about him bringing random girls to their home, she marked the faces of the girls he brought home and went after them the next day. She would shoot them and return with their clothes, which she would dump in their basement.
She knew the day would come when he would push her too far that she would want him gone forever. Well, this was it. He would be halfway to the electric chair before he knew what hit him. Maybe if he returned in another life, he would remember to treat people with respect.