Page 164 of Into the Dark
The bile rises up from my stomach.
BRAVE, ALEX. A LOT FUCKING BRAVER THAN THIS. THE BRAVEST WOMAN HE KNOWS, ALEX. LIVE IT.
Edging myself away from him in small degrees, each breath a centimeter, I move across the bed so I can drop my head over the side, and as I do my heart sinks. No knife. No weapon at all. Nightstand. Book and lamp. Becomes: paper. And metal.
My body tilts and contorts, stretching far beyond what it should be able to do, my muscles elongating, my fingers lengthening. When they finally curl around the very end of slim metal lamp base, I almost cry with relief. It’s plugged into the wall, but it has a long cable, a weighty base of roughened black metal, and a frosted glass shade.
As Kevin lifts off me to yank me toward the edge of the bed, I turn my body and swing it as hard as I can over my head. The glass shatters and the metal connects hard with his already injured face, and he’s cursing loudly. I manage to release my foot enough to level it at his now exposed crotch. It’s not a direct hit, but it’s enough, and Kevin doubles over crying in pain. I throw myself off the bed once more and toward the bedroom door, tripping on the hall carpet just outside.
The ability to scream isn’t even there; it’s movement only. I miss the fourth to last step and skid down on the last few stairs, convinced my ankle is about to turn in on itself, but it holds me up. Above, I hear him stumbling about, shouting my name among threats and insults.
Phone. Kitchen. Back door. Run.
Phone. Kitchen. Back door. Run.
Phone. Kitchen. Back door. Run.
They’re the only five words I can process.
My hand shoots out to grab the cordless phone from the hallway table as I pass, and I’m in the kitchen slamming the door closed behind me. I’m almost at the back door when I hear him come down the stairs.
The kitchen is dark, but I know it well. I know every nook and cranny of this house, and the kitchen is no exception. I know the spot where Jake pleasured me with his mouth the morning after we were first together. I know where I was when I spat the words at him that broke my heart in two. I know where he stood as he told me I’m the woman he’s waited his whole life for.
I also know where my expensive butcher knives are kept.
The large walnut chest sits near the back door, and I slide open the slim drawer further to the right. Mainly for show, a housewarming gift from Rob, the knives gleam dangerously in the moonlight. In the dark, I feel along the handles for the largest one, remembering the description with a weird kind of detachment: The Global NI knives have a thicker 2.4mm blade with a razor-sharp finish. Their sleek, lightweight design means they’re perfectly balanced…
I lift the cook’s knife and slide the drawer closed and then move toward the back door. I’ve just unlocked it when I hear the kitchen door burst open, and I have it partially open when I feel him behind me. The phone crashes uselessly to the floor as he slams the door closed again and spins me around to face him, shoving his hand against my throat. I almost drop the knife too but manage to press it flat against my bare thigh until I can readjust it in my grip.
“Now what the fuck did you have to go and do that for?” he growls, face close to mine. His hold around my throat is tight for a moment before he loosens it. Tight again. Release. It would take nothing for him to choke the life from me, and he wants me to know that. A slight exertion of his strength and I’d be gone. My baby gone. Jake’s something good gone.
“Please don’t. Please don’t do this…” I shake my head. I was so close. I could have been in the garden. Screaming. But Ed and Betty are staying with their son this weekend, and the next house is Jenn and Chris, and they’re on the opposite side, and…
The way the moonlight spills in through the glass highlights Kevin’s face in a haunting mix of white, gray, and black. White skin marred by gray bruises around his eyes and nose, bleeding again thanks to my lamp. His eyes are still the same deep, inky black they were upstairs. He’s not an ugly man, not even close, but to me his nasty sneer and hatefulness has always made him repulsive.
He steps in closer and shoves my head back by the grip on my throat. “Always knew you were hard fucking work, doctor,” Kevin says, seething. “Maybe Jay will thank me in the end.” He squeezes harder again.
“I’m pregnant!” I cry from my closing throat.
A flicker of something moves over his face. Surprise, annoyance. I don’t know what it is, but his grip loosens. I take a deep breath.
“You lying fucking bitch.”
I manage to shake my head, tears springing up once more into my eyes. “I’m not lying.” My voice sounds odd in its desperate and restricted state.
He squeezes me tighter, fingers digging into the lip of my jawbone. Do it. Do it now. You can’t do it if you’re unconscious. Dead. Do it now. He doesn’t care if you’re pregnant—do it.
I squeeze my eyes shut and whisper, “Please,” once more.
Five seconds later—I count each one—his hold loosens all the way. The tears slip all the way out. His hand drops from my neck, but he brings his forehead close to mine, forcing my head back harder into the glass. His thick, muscled neck is open and vulnerable, and I can almost see the vein pulse under the skin.
“You tell him this ain’t done. Tell him we ain’t done. Tell him I let you walk, let his kid walk, but he ain’t walking.” He shakes his head, mouth twisted up in a snarl. “We ain’t done. Tell him he’s a fucking dead man. Tell him I’ll be wait—”
Whisper-quick. Spongey-soft. Hot flesh. Cold steel.
It sprays too. Warm, wet splatters on my face. The smell is always surprising. Salt and metal.
It takes a moment for him to realize what’s happened. His hand comes up to his neck a second later, and he takes a step back from me, eyes clouding with an almost childlike confusion. He doesn’t stagger, just walks slowly backward—small steps, huge, hulking form slow-moving. Blood squirts out through his fingers now. Dark, black, and deadly. It covers the light gray top he’s wearing quickly, and then it’s pouring like spilled milk onto the floor.