RED

Her ledger was written in RED.

Abagail stuttered. Nothing had quieted the voices. Nothing had brought her freedom. Darkness had lied. And now her hands were stained with blood. Her hands burned as if the gun had blistered her palms.

She had been abandoned. Work had not helped, instead it had left her alone, secluded, and stuck while she fought with the darkness that was smothering her. She’d reached out to her doctor, to her therapist, to anyone who would listen, and no one had believed that she wanted…needed their help.

The old Civil War plantation house was still standing. The four columns roped off with yellow caution tape. The blood no longer smeared the bricks, instead it had rusted into the ground. She had loved the old house at first. The history of it, the grandeur of the house. The peace and majesty of it, until the darkness had emerged, and the demons had come out to play.

She had been loved once, had been cared about. But instead of help, her husband had given her silence. He had left her because she was combustible. Loving one moment and then screaming and throwing things the next. He had left her to drown in the madness.

It had been a fight that had charged him into leaving. She couldn’t remember what the fight had been about. She remembered pulling a knife form the wooden block. Everything about that day moved in flashes and images, but there was nothing solid and concrete. There had been blood.

Of course there had been blood. She was psychotic, he had screamed at her. She was the broken one. He hadn’t wanted to admit that he had been part of the problem. He wanted to blame her for the choices that had led to his leaving. Nothing was his fault. He hadn’t needed medication to function. He hadn’t needed a doctor or a therapist. His world wasn’t stained in red. He wasn’t the one to blame.

Fucking bastard, she thought. When she had needed his help, he had flaked.

“I don’t know how to help you.” His voice had sounded annoyed. “I don’t know how to deal with you.” And then he had walked away.

Abagail’s took a long and deep breathe. She felt like there was no way to end her pain, no one to save her.

We must have blood. The voices whispered. Give us the RED.

The weight of it felt familiar, the cold steel in her hand. There were no tears lingering in her eyes today. This day felt clearer, even though everything was still shrouded in shades of red and black.

Her house was a wreck. Books leaned on the bookshelf. Pages littered the floor near her chair. When had she ripped out the pages? What book had suffered the damages? She couldn’t remember the last time she had vacuumed or cleaned house. There were piles of clothes scattered around the house. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cared for herself.

Abagail, a single voice quickly reached out.

Her hand gripped the hilt, her left hand cupping the base of the right, as her arm moved up and around in a reflex towards where she thought the voice had come. Eyes wide, heart racing, she turned full circle, the gun pointed and ready to fire.

“Who’s there?” She tried to put strength into her voice, but her fingers were trembling even as she gripped the gun.

Abagail! The voice was quicker, shorter.

“What do you want from me?” She felt the warmth of a tear as it trickled down her cheek. Tension crept up the back of her neck. The pain beginning to feel crippling and intense. Her head felt fuzzy as a faint buzzing sound echoed in her ears.

“Abagail?” His voice…

Her finger lingered on the trigger. Blackness filled the edges of her vision. This was a nightmare becoming a reality. He wasn’t here. He couldn’t be. He had abandoned her.

“Abagail, put down the gun, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart, her mind laughed. I was never your sweetheart. Her lip twitched. Her mouth felt dry. She wanted to drop her arms, but she couldn’t.

“Abagail, please,” he raised his hands in surrender as he begged her to put the gun down.

“You’re not real.” She muttered.

He looked so confused, maybe even hurt. “Where’d the gun come from?” He pushed her for answers as he cautiously took a step closer to her. “Abagail, what have you done?”

What had she done? What had he done? He had been the one who had cheated. He had been the one who had lied so sweetly, letting her believe that everything was fine. Her breathe shuttered. Her body clenched with tension. He might look angelic, loving even, but on the inside, he was part of the problem. He was one with the demons.

The buzzing intensified. She closed her eyes at the onslaught of sounds. When she opened her eyes, he was closer…almost fast enough. Anger swelled inside of her. She shifted, her arms dropping down. He reached towards empty space. She pulled the trigger.

RED. It smeared against his jeans as his body crumpled to the floor. He screamed, his hands moving to cover the bullet wound just above his knee.

“What the fuck? You stupid bitch!”

“Maybe I am stupid.” She barely spoke the words. “Maybe I’m the psycho after all.”

“Abagail, please,” he raised his right hand. Blood covered his hand. “Call for an ambulance.” He begged, “I’ll explain it was all an accident.”

“An accident,” she chuckled. “Loving you was an accident. How could I have been so stupid? How did I not see the monster you really were? You broke my trust when you slept with Jessie.” Her fingers itched against the trigger.

“I swear to you, she meant nothing.” He argued.

Of course, Jessie had meant nothing. Just like she had meant nothing. They had been pawns to his chess game. Anger flared across his face as it reddened. Like the wolf within sheep’s skin, the demon emerged within his eyes. Blackness filled the whites. “Abagail, now I won’t tell you again.” His right arm started to lower, “put that damn gun down!”

Warmth swelled over her, a sickening settlement of mixed feelings and emotions. Watch out, the voices warned. His hand reached back towards the small of his back. Don’t trust him. Her gun was still pointed towards him. His left hand was pressed against the wound, the blood pooling beneath his leg.

How dare you, she thought. How could you claim to love me all this time? Was it all just a lie?

“I love you, Abagail,” his voice seemed weak, giving.

“What?” She focused on his face, the scene beginning to finally find focus again.

“I didn’t lie to you.”

His hand is still behind his back, Abagail, the voices argued. She tightened her grip. Her eyes focusing on his left hand over the wound, and then at his right arm. His hand curved around his body quickly.

Bang!

Pain erupted in her stomach; a fierce burning ripped through her gut. She pulled the trigger again and then again and then again.

Bang!

Like a slow-motion scene in a movie, the left hand that had been holding a gun released. The sound of the other gun slamming against the floor echoed. She sat down against the wooden floor amongst scattered laundry. Her left hand reached to her stomach, coming back bloodied. Her hand shook, the blood dripping down off her fingers.

She looked across the room. His body lay crumpled in the doorway, bent over backwards in an odd angle. His revolver just past his fingertips as a pool began to grow and spread beneath his body.

Pounding, the sound broke the silence surrounding her. The voices muted to her ears. The door slammed open. Armed officers filtered through the door. The red vision flared, blackening at the edges, as the darkness took over.