A Slayer's Spirit

It was the happiest day of my life! My dreams were coming true, and for the first time, I understood what it meant to be happy. It was no easy feat getting my dream job. Amy and I struggled to get by for years. That was changing. I sat alone on that park bench, simmering in my joy, and I knew every battle and every scar was worth it. My life had finally arrived! Or so I thought…

Announcing my good news to Amy had to be as grand as the news itself. Still soaking up the sun, I called our favorite restaurant. It was on the books. Our regular table for two and a pre-ordered bottle of champagne! But that wasn’t enough. I had been out of a job for over a year. As it turned out, asking for what I was worth slowed the process. Before I was fired, I would have told myself to take any job, no matter how small I had to make myself. Then it occurred to me! There was a small boutique in Old Town where Amy fell in love with a scarf. A scarf I could now afford to buy. My blueprint for a magnificent evening was drawing up nicely.

On my way to the boutique, I stopped to grab a coffee. It was nice indulging in luxuries again. Having plenty of time before dinner, I ordered my coffee to stay. The barista chattered away as if we were lifelong friends. Finally receiving my latte, I found a seat outside. A gentle breeze cooled the warm air while I watched and sipped. Watched the dogs being walked, shoppers, and people at lunch. How lovely, I thought.

I must have slipped into a trance, for a strange man was standing over me when I came to. His hair was greasy and hung in his face. His eyes were black with old makeup, smeared this way and that. Dirt covered his hands and fingernails. The tattered black clothes he wore hung loosely on his body. A hole in his left sleeve peeked an intricate outline tattoo of a bull. The horns were bloody with red ink. At first, he just stood there awkwardly. Silent. Does he want money, I thought? Or food? I reached for my purse but was rendered motionless once he spoke.

“The Slayer’s Spirit has chosen you, Olivia.” His tone was soft yet sinister. How did he know my name? Chosen for what? Before I could utter a word, he ran down the sidewalk at full speed. I watched him as he became further and further away. For a moment after he disappeared, I sat there perplexed. What did he say? Did anyone else see that? Looking around, nobody seemed to notice my strange encounter. Convincing myself that it was nothing, I finished my coffee and got on with my day. After all, this was the happiest day of my life.

A short walk later, I was at the boutique. The scarf was more beautiful than I remember. I paid extra for a gift wrap. While I waited, I perused the classic collection of books. Each book was coated in dust and sat on a dustier shelf. Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Pride and Prejudice. What was this book? The hardcover was gilded antique, weathered, and scuffed. There were no titles. Intrigued, I cracked open the cover. A Slayer’s Spirit. That’s odd, I whispered to myself. The hair on my neck stood up. Suddenly, I felt like I was being watched. Startling me, the woman who wrapped my gift shouted my name! Time to pay. Snapping the book shut, I tucked it back into its dusty cocoon, my creepy feeling with it.

All I needed then was to buy Amy’s favorite flowers. The flower shop next door was the best in town. Walking back to the car, my nose couldn’t escape the glorious bouquet I picked. I knew she’d poke fun at me for buying flowers we grew on our back porch. But I didn’t care. Placing my things on the hood of the car, I rummaged through my purse, but no keys. I peered through the window. No keys in the ignition. Had I dropped them? Down on my hands and knees, I searched under the car. Still no keys. That’s when I saw the magnet box for the spare set stuck to the undercarriage. I took the extra keys and secured my presents in the car. Retracing my steps, no one had found them. It was getting late. I left my number with the café and decided to return the next day.

Turning on Clarkson Street, I realized how excited I was to surprise Amy with the evening I had planned. I parked the car in the first spot I could find and gathered my goodies. When I walked through the gate, I saw Amy. She was potting marigolds in the courtyard. Her gardening clothes were stained with dirt and sweat. For a moment, I just watched her. I’d always adored how she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. I could tell she had been gardening for hours.

Sneaking up behind her, I playfully dangled the bouquet in front of her. She sprung up excitedly, knowing I’d gotten the job I wanted. She tossed her gardening gloves to the ground and threw her arms around me. I knew the marigolds were lucky, she whispered in my ear. I pulled her in closer, never wanting to let go. We agreed to take them with us when we left -deeming marigolds our lucky flower. Superstitious? Maybe. If it made Amy happy, I’d carry marigolds with me everywhere.

Amy went to freshen up, so I poured a glass of wine while I waited. Thumbing through our record collection, I decided on a jazz album. The record player crackled as I dropped the needle. Sauntering back to the sofa, something stopped me dead in my tracks. There was a book on the coffee table that was never there before. Suddenly, it was hard to swallow. My heart pounded in my throat. Slowly, I walked over to the table. I set my wine down as I picked up the book. The hardcover was gilded antique, weathered, and scuffed. How did this get here? Just then, Amy emerged from the bedroom, ready to go. I would have complimented her scarf had I been paying attention.

Instead, I skeptically asked her where she got the book. She looked at me, confused. She told me it was on the coffee table when we got home. I thought it was yours, she explained. Growing angrier, I asked her again where she got the book. Amy tried calming me down, but it was no use. We began to fight. I recounted the events from the coffee shop aloud while she stared at me in disbelief.

A shudder ran through my body. The café. I set my keys down to look for my wallet. But how did he know where I lived? Scanning my memories of the afternoon, Amy’s voice sounded like a distant echo. My head became dizzy. The boutique. She asked if I wanted to be on the mailing list. The rest felt like slow motion. My grasp went limp, and the book fell, knocking over the wine. An explosion of red spattered the sofa. Crash! Glass and wine pooled on the floor. He’s in the house.

Amy put her hands on my shoulders, trying to get me to explain. That was when we heard it. Keys jingling in the door. Simultaneously, we looked over. The first lock turned. Then, the second. Spinning around, I ran for the kitchen to get a knife. Amy ran for the door, attempting to lock the chain, but it was too late. He stood in the doorway, a gun in one hand, my keys in the other.

He took a step towards Amy, whipping her with his gun. She stumbled backward, falling to the ground. Standing over her, he muttered incoherently as she begged for her life. Then, I heard the backdoor slide open. It was a woman’s voice. He instructed her to tie up Amy. His clunky shoes made their way towards the kitchen. With each thudding step, it became harder to breathe. Hiding on the kitchen floor, I held a knife, shaking in fear. Tauntingly, he called out my name. Olivia? Where are you hiding? He rounded the corner into the kitchen, where I held out my knife in vain as tears streamed down my face.

~ ~ ~

Whimpers from across the room woke me up. My head was splitting. There was a pain in my shoulder. Why can’t I move? What is that taste…is that…blood? Everything was blurry and dark. After a few minutes, my vision began to clear. My hands were tied to the chair behind my back. I tried to get loose. I wriggled and struggled, my panic increasing with every restricted move.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” It was the woman’s voice. A figure emerged from the dark. Her hair was wild and matted. The makeup around her eyes was dark and excessive. Her tank top was ratty and covered in dirt. High on her left shoulder was the same bloody bull tattoo the man had. She moved closer to me. An evil smirk appeared as she held out my knife, touching the cool steel to the bottom of my chin. She cocked her head to the side, her eyes wide. “He’ll be back soon; we want to be ready.”

Maniacally laughing, she violently whipped the knife away from my face. Plopping down on a chair, she kept her eyes on me. She smiled while she twirled the knife in her hand. Across the room, Amy was tied up in the same fashion. Her head hung; I could see her breathing was labored. Tears trickled through the blood on her face and onto her lap. Amy, I called out! When she didn’t answer, I knew defeat had taken her. My mind searched for a plan. There had to be a way out...a moment of weakness. Staying alert was becoming difficult, and my hope wavered that we would come out of this alive.

That’s when I saw it. My broken wine glass shards parading across the floor. I waited until the woman left the room again. No time to waste. This was going to hurt. I rocked my body from side to side until the chair tipped over, landing on a shard of glass. It lodged into my arm in profound pain! Not screaming seemed impossible. My body writhed in pain as I gritted my teeth in sheer agony. Focus. I could almost reach the shard with my hand. Scooting little by little, the fragment in my arm dug deeper. Each move was excruciating. I found a piece with my fingers! Gripping it, I felt warm liquid coating my palm and running through my fingers. More blood. Focus. I gripped harder, attempting to cut the rope. The glass dug deeper into my hand with each slice of the rope.

Got it! My arms were free. Without skipping a beat, I cut the rope from my feet. It was too late. The keys were turning the lock. He was back. Frantically, I searched the room for a weapon. A gun. I cocked it and aimed it at the door. The door opened, and I fired. Not once, but three times! He fell to his knees. It wasn’t the man. It was the super. We called him to fix the drain while we were out. As I stared at the body, the woman snuck around the corner and charged me. She had a sharpened bullhorn in her hand. I took my shot. Blood exploded across the wall.

There I stood on the best day of my life. A murderer.