Page 45 of Redeem

When I finished, I moved in a daze as I rinsed out my mouth and then slid down the door until I rested on the floor.

It was original, solid wood to the core. Locked or not, though, it wouldn’t keep Ciprian out if he wanted in.

In an instant, my mind flashed back to that night, one I hadn’t allowed myself to think of in so many years.

That night was burned in my brain, was something I had no desire to revisit, but I did now.

My mind’s eye was so easily able to conjure the trepidation that had thrummed through me, making each sound that much louder, each breath that much harder to take. Could also conjure my husband lying there, the life bleeding out of him. The sound of my own screams begging him not to leave me.

The presence that I had sensed once he was gone.

I’d looked back, thought I’d seen something. Over the years I’d convinced myself it had been a shadow, some imaginary boogeyman to distract me from what I had lost.

I’d been half right.

There had been a boogeyman, but I hadn’t dreamed him.

He’d been real, and he’d killed my husband.

Now, all these years later, he was right outside my door.

What did he want? Had he come back to finish things?

My heart leaped, squeezed with fear, something I would have never associated with Ciprian just minutes ago. There’d been times, more than I dared count, that I thought I no longer cared. I realized now how wrong I had been.

I wanted to live. Ciprian had given me that, and now, he might be the one to take it away.

“Dana.”

I screamed at his low whisper, stood and stared at the door, remembered who was on the other side.

“What!” I called out, hoping that my voice sounded stern, that I wasn’t showing him the fear that gripped me.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Dana,” he said.

My attempt to hide my fear had apparently been unsuccessful. That didn’t necessarily surprise me. I’d been shaking, sick with the fear that had overtaken me. What did surprise me, disgust me, was the relief I felt at the sound of his soft voice, how I instantly believed him.

What was wrong with me?

Something very serious.

He had just confessed to murdering my husband, but hearing his voice had given me such extreme relief. The tears that had been welling in my eyes fell now. My emotions flowed as fast as my tears, my heart and mind racing as I tried to process what was happening.

Doing so seemed impossible, so I held tight to anger, the only feeling that was clear. “Get out! Get out and don’t come back,” I yelled.

“I can’t do that,” he said.

My heart thudded, my anger spiked, threaded through with a splash of fear. “Can’t leave until you finish me off?” I said, throwing the words at him like stones.

I heard a thump against the wood door, realized that he had placed his hand against it. “No,” he said, his whispered voice even quieter. “I just wanted to…”

He trailed off, his words ending on a sigh that sounded uncertain, pained, and instantly, I wanted to take that pain away.

There really was something wrong with me. I sagged, leaning against the bathroom vanity. “What did you want to do, Ciprian?” The fire from moments ago had been snuffed, so much so that I didn’t even care how obvious my weakness, my defeat was in my voice.

“I… I don’t know,” he said.

I sank back down again, the sound of his voice sapping what was left of my strength.