The Computer (title to change later)

He watched from the window, anticipating her arrival. He smiled coyly to himself. He told her never to leave him-told her what the consequences would be-but she didn’t listen. Well, now she would have to listen. He watched her get out of the car; grabbing her purse and computer bag. He hated the fact that she wrote books. He didn’t even think she was that good. Then a friend told him that she was getting published.
How could they say she had talent? He thought silently. His hands clenched into fists at his side. He watched a moment more, till she started towards the door. Now, it was his show time. Turning towards the computer, it glowed brightly in the dark. One word was typed, in all caps, on the screen. He smiled again. He felt better…better than he had in the last couple years. Walking with dignity, he entered the kitchen, hiding in the pantry closest.
***
Sandy pulled up into the driveway, killing the engine. She leaned her head back, thankful for another long day over. Sandy turned her gaze to the sky, black angry clouds were moving in, and she could faintly hear thunder booming in the distance, signaling that a storm was fast approaching. She loved storms, made writing easier for her. She stared at the black sky for a moment, thinking about its descriptions, how she could add that into her next book, and moved her eyes back towards her house. Her mind once again came back to thoughts of the days events: she met with her agent, signed the final papers on the contract for her book. After which, she and a couple of girlfriends met for some dinner to celebrate the sale of her first novel, “Against the Black Tide”. Now, it was time to get out of these despicable dress clothes, jump into some comfy ones, and work on her next book; untitled at the moment. Things were finally going her way, since her divorce three years ago. She couldn’t have enjoyed a decision more. Sighing, she got out of the car, oblivious to the movement of the curtain.
         She entered the living room, dropping her purse as she set the laptop down on the floor.  Rubbing the kink out of her shoulder, she strolled over to the desk; leaning over to turn on the lamp. Sandy hit the button on the computer, and the screen became bright and alive. A loud “beep” sounded and the computer came to life. Once the desktop came to view, she hit the icon for her word processor, then went to the bedroom to change.
***
         He watched from the pantry as she entered. He wanted to just jump out and kill her, but it would ruin his fun. He wanted to have fun. He watched her turn on the lights and the computer, fiddle with the mouse, then walk off into the bedroom. This gave him an idea. Stepping quietly out of the pantry, he snuck his way past her bedroom, towards the computer. He peeked in. She wasn’t anywhere that she could see into the living room.
         Good. He kept moving slowly, taking baby steps as he went. He came to stand in front of the computer, the word processor lighting up the screen; cursor blinking. Bringing his hands to the keyboard, he typed one word that he knew would get her wondering. Once he was satisfied with the word, he pulled something that looked like a newspaper clipping, and set it upon the keyboard. Once everything was in place, he made his way slowly back to the pantry. Her reactions to the word and the clipping would be his signal that it was time to make his move. About halfway towards the kitchen, a floorboard under his left foot creaked loudly, making him stand where he was. He could see her come to the door in the full length mirror, as she stared in the room for one split second. His heart skipped several beats in one second it seemed.
***
Sandy came out of the bedroom in a pair of sweat pants and a plain white tee-shirt. She felt more comfortable than she had all day. She was happy to meet with the agents. It had been ten years since she wrote the book; it was time to get the book published. She stopped trying to sell it only after a year of marriage to Bradley. He didn’t see any point in the, what did he call it, worthless career of sitting in front of a computer all day doing nothing. So she stopped writing, denied who she really was, and dealt with him for twenty years. He gave her two wonderful kids in between, in fact their daughter was also a writer, but couldn’t fully follow her dream till she left home. She didn’t divorce him till the children were in their 20’s. Sandy regretted that for her daughter… and for herself. She knew now she never should have quite writing. It was her life long dream… her passion… never should have given it up for a man. She shook her head and sat down at the computer… a picture of her daughter, Tiffany, and her son, Mitchell, sat by the monitor. She picked it up. They were the reasons she had stayed with Brad for so long. Now they were the ones she published the books for. Replacing the picture to its spot, she opened the file marked “Untitled novel” and began to type.
***
She paused mid way to the switch. Raising an eyebrow in thought, she couldn’t remember leaving the computer on. She stared at it for a few moments. Shrugging, she turned on the little lamp. Her eyes fell to the flat screen monitor. Typed on the screen was the word “DIE” in bold italics. She looked around her then, wondering if Bradley had broken into her house. His threats came flooding back to mind, and as quick as they came, she pushed them back where they came from. But the door had been locked when she came home. Curious, she walked over to the front windows, testing them. They were shut tight. She looked towards the kitchen, the only other entrance. She flipped on the kitchen light; everything looked to be in order. She walked cautiously, making her way to the kitchen door. Again, it was closed and locked. Shaking her head, walked back into the living room, and deleted the words off the screen.
***
         He heard the computer clicking away, and took that as he cue. But he didn’t just want to go in there and do the job. No. He wanted her to suffer; to be afraid. He wanted her to know what it felt to be alone, to be so utterly alone. She was his world. But, she left him. Not for another man… no… for this stupid career. He opened the pantry door, slowly, and exited the small, cramped area. He didn’t bother to close it, sneaking towards the corner to spy on her. She was intently staring at the screen, typing. Anger swept over him. He had to get her attention. Looking around the kitchen, he spotted the pots hanging above the island. They would be perfect.
***
         She hit the save button on the keyboard and sat back, reading what was placed on the screen. There were parts of the story that didn’t work well, but she could deal with the details in the revision process. For now, she loved the feeling she got from working on her passion. She thought about stopping to get a drink, but decided against it. It was only 9:30. She had a couple hours of writing she could do for bed. Besides, she wasn’t at all hungry. Opening another document in the word processor, she began to type up an idea for another part of the story.
A sudden metal on tile clattering shook her from her thoughts.
Spinning around in her chair, it squeaked beneath her weight.  Her heart raced. The sound had come from the kitchen. She felt old panic race down her spine as she went back and forth between the kitchen and the keyboard. Sandy thought about calling the cops, but quickly decided against it figuring she would feel so stupid she wouldn’t be able to go out of her house for weeks, maybe even months afterwards. Her palms began to sweat as she made her way into the kitchen. 
***
The kitchen was dark and dreadfully eerie. Flipping on the light, Sandy looked around the island in the middle of the kitchen. One pot lay flipped upside down in the sink, but nothing else seemed out of place. She walked around to pick it up, placing it back on its hook over the stove. She ran a trembling hand over her face, allowing her eyes to further investigate the area around her. Something, gold in color and shiny, caught her eye. It sat the end of the counter. Curious, she glided over to it, snatching it up into the tips of her fingers. She toyed with the object, reading the inscription over and over again. Inside were the initials: S.K. & B.C. Forever.  He hand began to quiver. There was no possible way he could have found her several states-several thousand miles-away from him… from his threats. Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, she enclosed the wedding band within her fist, squeezing as tight as she could. Tears soaked her cheeks, as fear washed over her.
This can’t be his ring. She opened up her hand again for a spilt second. I watched him throw it into the neighbor’s yard after our fight. She shivered despite the warmth of the house. Sliding the ring into her pocket, she made her way back into the living room, flipping off the light. Thunder crackled outside her window, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin… the hairs on her neck standing. Tonight wasn’t a good night for thunderstorms, and she walked back to the computer desk, reaching for the 22-caliber pistol she hide in the top right drawer. Bumping the mouse, the computer flared to life, but another document was opened. She sat down and read it, her eyes widening in terror.
“Local woman drowns. Police suspect it to be suicide.” The headline read. She looked at the picture below it, mouth gaping at what she saw. The woman, in the picture, was unmistakably her.
“But how?” Her voice screeched. “I’m not dead yet.” She jumped at the sound of yet another crackle of thunder, nearly dropping the gun. She managed to gain a better handle on the gun, before it hit the floor.  A severe storm moved in. She shifted frantically in her chair, stopping short at the site of a figure standing in the doorway.  She raised the gun just slightly, letting the figure know she was armed. She couldn’t see his face. The light that was given off by the lamp wasn’t enough to reach where the person was standing. But she didn’t need artificial light to see his face. Lightening flashed through the window, lighting up his face enough for her to see. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to choke out the words.
“Bradley? But how?” she stuttered. A chill ran down her spine. She didn’t like the look he had on his face, or the fact that he just stood there silently staring at her. With Brad, he was never quiet. He always gave some sort of opinion or answer.
She knew she was in trouble. Sandy watched as he moved a couple inches deeper into the living room. She got up off the chair to move back.
“Brad, can’t we just talk about this?” She began, but he cut her off before she could continue.
“I’m done talking you two timing tramp. All my life I worked, slaved, to provide for you and our two children and what the hell do you do? Leave me for some damn career. What did you do Sandy, screw the Editor?”
She noted the demand etched into his voice, but there was something else. Pain maybe, she wasn’t sure, but whatever it was he was masking it. Maybe, and she was going for a long shot on this one, maybe he still loved her. But as quick as she thought it, it was gone. There was no love between them left. He knew… she knew it. He just was upset he couldn’t control her anymore, and it was killing him. She thought about telling him this, knowing deep down it would only make the situation worse.
“What about the kids? You kill me, who will they have to turn to?” She hoped that using them to bargain with him would bring him to stop this insanity, but she was wrong. He was like a possessed man… nothing was going to stop him but her very death… or his own.
“What about the kids, Sandy? Huh? You didn’t think about them when you were leaving me? Why think of them now?” He barked at her.
She winced at the pain his words inflicted. She watched his slow advancements on her, stopping only when she rammed into the wall. She lifted the gun in front of her, hoping that the site of it would stop his advancements. The air felt thick and heavy around her. Her heart raced in her chest as she waited for him to come closer.
He continued his advancement on her, twisting the knife at his side around.
She slid over till she was pinned between the corner and the desk. Her heart beat increased more with each step he took. She had to get passed him. She watched him close the remaining distance between them, bringing up a butcher knife he had to have grabbed from the kitchen. She cocked the hammer back, stiffing her stance.
He stopped advancing her for the moment, just staring intently at her.
She moved along the side of the desk, reaching around and into the top desk drawer.
“I wouldn’t do that,” his voice boomed throughout the living room. As though commanded by him, the thunder roared, and the lightening lit up the night sky.
She jumped, not just at his voice, but at the thunderstorm raging outside. Ignoring his command, she whipped out the gun, cocking it, and pointed it at him.
“Just stay where you are. I swear you move one inch from that spot I’ll shoot.”
He exploded into laughter.
Her hands began to tremble, but she steadied them, not wanting to show here emotions.
“You think that threat’s going to work on me?”  He moved the inch, trying to call her bluff. “I don’t think you even know how to use a gun.”
Now it was her turn to laugh.
“One thing about getting a divorce from you, I’ve had time to do the things I’ve longed to do, like learn how to use this gun. Again, you move another inch and I…will…shoot.”
“Shoot me then,” he said, and charged at her.
As he neared the area she stood, she squeezed the trigger, aiming for his heart.
He fell to the floor with a loud thump to the floor, holding where the shot had gotten him.
“You bitch! You really did shoot me,” he said, his voice cracking in disbelief.
She began to slink along the desk, trying her best to get past him. She grabbed the paper weight again. This time, he wouldn’t be armed, if he was still alive. She wasn’t entirely sure that she got where she aimed, and didn’t want to take any chances. He seemed to be going in and out of consciousness, since he stopped yelling obscenities at her. Her breath caught with each passing step, and she quietly stepped over his two feet. Just as she was about to make step over his left foot, he sat bolt up right, grabbing her leg, preventing her from moving any further.
“Let me go,” she screamed, pulling frantically at her leg. His grip was too strong for her though.
“Why should I, Sandy? Oh Sandy,” he played with the words.
But she knew too well, and, taking the paper weight, she hit him in the head.
He let go of her leg, grabbing his head in agony.
“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, BITCH.”
She didn’t wait, but took off running. As she entered the kitchen, she grabbed a cast iron skillet her mother had given her before their marriage. After the skillet was in her hands, she took off for the back door. She fumbled with the door knob, looking behind her every second. He was now standing in the door, but it seem to take all his strength to get that far. The blade of the butcher knife he had held before, glimmered in the moonlight that shined in between the overcast clouds. She hadn’t noticed the storm had finally stopped. Finally, one thrust later, the door flew open, and she made her way to the shed. She didn’t think she’d be safe, but at least she would have more weapons to choose from. Plus, she would be able to call the police from there. She always kept a phone out in the shed for emergencies. She ran fast-hard-till she got to the shed door. Taking one look behind her, she didn’t seem him in the doorway.
“But that doesn’t mean he ain’t following,” she told herself. She opened the shed door, entering it quickly, then shutting it behind her. She leaned against it, trying to catch her breath; allowing her eyes time to adjust to the darkness. Once she could see, she made her way over to the phone, picking it up. Her eye widen in horror.
There was no dial tone.
Frantic and desperate, she to get the dial tone, but after the fifth time trying gave up. She realized then that he must have cut the main phone line to the house, thus ending her chances of getting help. She would have to make it to the neighbor’s house. Creeping towards the door, she felt her heart racing in her chest. Her breathing was haggard and she felt every inch of her trembling. She just wanted to live, to get this night over with. Slowly, she opened the shed door, inspecting the area around her. The coast seemed clear. She made her way out of the shed, tiptoeing towards the front of the house-if she could just make it…
Suddenly, she heard rustling in the bushes, and he jumped out onto her back, tackling her to the ground. They struggled together, rolling around. She tried to reach for the skillet that had flown out of her hand, but he pinned her hands beneath his knees. She saw him glaring at her, swallowing the lump that now formed in her throat. A low roar of thunder could be heard from a distance. Another storm was slowly moving in.
“Kill me then,” she told him, her voice barely auditable even to her own ears.
“Gladly,” he said, raising the knife above her head. As he lifted, his one knee came up, freeing her right hand.
She took her cue, and grabbed the skillet, swinging towards his head.
The skillet connected with a loud thud.
His head flew to the right side, and he fell, unconscious to the ground.
She let the skillet fall to the ground, and, with shaking hands, hoisted herself up. She stood over him, heavily breathing, trying to catch what breath she could. Bending down one inch at a time, she felt for a pulse. It was there, but just barely. She needed to get to the neighbor’s house now. She turned, one single tear falling. She never wanted them to be this bitter. She never wanted to have to battle him, possibly kill him. But he left her now choice. As she rounded the house, she looked behind her. He laid right where she left him. Shaking her head, she walked on, head bowed in defeat.
***
         Several months later, she closed the door to what was her house for the last time. After Brad had been taken away, she didn’t want to risk staying there. He knew where she lived, and if he ever did get out on parole, which she very much doubt he would, he would try to find her to finish what he had started out to do. She couldn’t take that chance. Once he had been sentenced, she asked her agent to change her name on the book, using a pen name she had come up with when she was a teenager. Then, she told those closest to her, they were never allowed to say who really wrote the books. Even her picture on the back cover wasn’t truly her. But if it kept her, and her children, safe from their father. As she stood by the car, she stared at the house she spent all her life saving for, then got in and sped off to her new, and fearless, life.