Paranoia

The man who had stalked him must be insane. That’s the only reasonable explanation for it.

Mark checked the locks twice, just to be sure. He looked out the window in his front door after he’d turned out all the lights.

He laughed at himself, “Mark, you’re being ridiculous. This isn’t a horror movie, it’s real life.” He took a deep breath and let it out, still feeling a bit shaky, even though he was almost convinced he’d just imagined it. No one had found them. It just wasn't possible. They'd completely covered their tracks.

The creepy homeless-looking guy had probably just been hoping for a handout. Maybe he thought Mark looked like the kind of guy who’d give him a twenty instead of a crumpled up dollar bill.

Turning all the lights on as he went, Mark made his way to the kitchen. His wife was going to laugh at him when he told her about his crazy reaction to being followed. He used to give her a hard time for being so easily spooked by things and here he was doing the same thing.

He opened the fridge to get some leftovers and heard a creak. Staying absolutely still, he strained his ears to listen for another sound. He felt a chill slide down his spine as he slowly closed the refrigerator door.

Sweat broke out across his forehead as he heard another sound. Footsteps.

Panicked, he looked around the kitchen.

A knife, he thought. I’ll grab a knife. He reached for the biggest knife in the big wooden block, thanking his lucky stars that his wife had started keeping the knives handy.

To think, he’d told her that it was a waste of money.

When she got home from her trip, he’d tell her that she was a genius.

Another creak, another step.

Then nothing.

Goosebumps spread across his body. A chill raced through him, causing him to shudder as he stood, holding the knife at his side.

Another sound, from the dark hallway this time. His eyes strained to see.

Suddenly his wife stepped into the light of the kitchen. The soft yellow casting shadows over her.

Mark didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. His wife. It was just his wife. He took a step forward as she moved closer.

That’s when he saw the hand around her waist.

She grew pale: her voice had a harsh note in it. "It was some money I lost under the bridge..."

She gasped and he saw the knife pressing into her neck. A trickle of blood slid down past her collarbone. Mark watched the trail of blood move as if it was in slow motion.

His fingers went numb and the knife slid from his grasp, clanging to the floor in the silence.

“I’m sorry, Mark. I went back, just to see if I could find it, but…”

“Honey, don’t blame yourself. What happened?”

She cried out, the knife digging deeper. Mark reached out a hand as if he could help her. As if he had any way of stopping the man who was holding her.

His mind raced, searching for a clue. Something, anything he could do to rescue her.

What the hell was going on? He thought. So she lost some money? What…

“MARK!” She screamed out, her legs buckling as the man behind her stumbled, struggling to keep her upright.

Mark lunged towards her, catching her before she hit the floor.

He heard the man stumbling through the house, heard the front door crash open as his footsteps faded into the night.

Mark held her tight, squeezing her with all of the pain and fear he’d had. It was so close. He could have lost her in a flash… all over what? Some money? It wasn’t worth it.

He brushed her hair back from her face, “It’s okay, honey. We’re safe. The money doesn’t matter.”

She didn’t answer. He tried to pull her into a sitting position, but his hand slipped.

Why was she so wet? Had she spilled something? He struggled to get a grip on her body, but she wasn’t helping. Wasn’t moving.

“Honey? Talk to me,” his voice was laced with an edge of panic. She wasn’t moving. She wasn’t moving at all. “Honey?”

His hand slid around her waist, his other hand brushing her long hair back off of her neck. It was sticky. Thick with…

With blood. It was her blood.

He felt it then, coating his hand, running down her arm. Why was she bleeding so much? Her head fell back and he saw it. The man had slit her throat before he threw her to floor so he could escape.

A cry, a primal scream burst out of him. He scrambled to get his phone from his pocket. His fingers wet with her blood, sliding over the screen.

He almost dropped it and realized that he was sobbing.

When the call finally went through, the 9-1-1 operator asked him for his address, he didn’t have the address. He didn’t know. They’d just moved here. He screamed. They were supposed to be safe here. No one was supposed to find them.

His broken sobs filled the air. It was too late. They had been found after all. His wife had messed up. Left the money somewhere that it could be found. He’d tried to warn her, but she was so carefree, so trusting.

And now it was all over.

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