Hell Hath no Fury
Slowly his consciousness surfaced from the bubbles of a champagne slumber. It took a few moments to realise that the insistent Whoop! Whoop! Whoop! was not part of his dream but a car alarm. Stuffing a pillow over his ears he tried drowning it out, but its banshee wail continued unabated.
Stupid dick-head neighbours! The damned thing was always hollering, he’d complained about it only the other day and was assured they would sort it. Well he’d bloody well sort them first thing tomorrow.
Pressing his face deeply into his pillows he inhaled the intoxicating perfume left behind from his latest conquest. The alarm was temporarily forgotten as he relived the last few hours of passion between the sheets. The wife was looking after her sick mother yet again, and he took advantage of it every time. He wondered why he bothered to hide it really. She knew as well as he did that he kept her around out of pity...and convenience of course. She did cook rather well and attended to his every need. But since he’d got promotion and rocketed up the ladder, over these past few years he’d outgrown her – left her at the bottom.
The banshee still drilled into his brain, so rubbing his eyes he dragged his hung-over body from bed to window. At first he imagined the dawn light deceived his eyes. The banshee wailed from his car, and the car appeared to be bleeding.
Taking the stairs three at a time he grabbed keys, flung open the door and ran onto the drive. His new silver soft-top Mercedes was coated head to toe with red paint. The empty can sat guiltily by the wheel. Pointing the keys he snapped off the alarm. Totally bewildered he knelt on the cool concrete, his ears ringing in the silence. It was then that he noticed the envelope.
Ripping it open he read:
Time you were taught a lesson - felt some pain. I thought the way to do this was to ruin your latest treasure. You wound me daily by the way you are indifferent to my love. This hurts much more than your infidelities. I won’t put up with it any more...I can’t put up with it anymore.
His wife’s pale face floated briefly - blue eyes pleading. Next time he saw her he’d add some black to them. He’d slapped her before, but this time she was really going to get a beating.
Marching back inside he was unnerved to see his wife standing behind the kitchen counter. Her eyes had turned from pleading blue to cold grey steel. He didn’t think he could reason with those eyes. He felt uncertain, but rage pushed him forward, fists clenched. How dare she just stand there after what she’d done!
The answer came in the shape of a shotgun raised and cocked in one fluid movement. The cold grey steel matched her eyes. There would definitely be no reasoning with that.
