happened. Eddie had
spun around and punched Vickie in the face.
The little girl had crumbled to
the floor, as if she had fainted. The back of her head had slammed
against the cold, hard tile of the kitchen floor and bounced with a
sickening thud!
Dawn had seen a single droplet
of blood, a lone speck of red like an ink drop, sitting under her
daughter’s right nostril. From there on it had been simple.
Dawn had not tried to
rationalise her actions as she pulled open one of the cutlery
draws, tore out a long, sharp carving knife, and then plunged it
into Eddies back. She had struck with such force that the knife had
ripped through his chest, slicing his heart fatally. He fell to the
floor and died.
Cradling her daughter in her
arms, Dawn had rushed her to hospital. Eddie had remained there on
the kitchen floor. Vickie had woken in hospital with no memory of
the incident a few hours later, she must have been close to
sleepwalking, thought Dawn with relief, as she told the doctor
that Vickie had fallen downstairs.
The doctor had said that Vickie
had hit her forehead. She had a slight concussion, but nothing was
broken. He explained that concussion could be quite dangerous, so
he wanted to keep the little girl in overnight, just for
observation.
“If you rushed her here, you
might want to nip back home Mrs. Garcia. If you’ve not locked-up
properly or left a candle burning or something. We can watch her
for a little while.”
Dawn was about to say no ,
that she would stay. Then she remembered her dead husband lying on
the kitchen floor with a carving knife sticking out of his
back.
“I’ll be as quick as I can.” She
told the doctor, and then headed for the car.
On the drive home, she began to
panic. What if a concerned neighbour had called the police,
reporting a nasty sounding domestic argument? What if, as she
rounded the corner to their house, there were police cruisers
lights flashing and bouncing off the black-and-whites; armed police
officers with handcuffs ready for her arrest?
Then a stranger, deeper
fear.
What if he wasn’t dead? What if,
when she walked into the kitchen, the body wasn’t there anymore?
Was it possible that she had just injured him, and if she had, how
angry would he be then? What would he do to her? In the heat of the
moment she had acted, but if he was badly injured and not dead,
could she, ‘ finish him off ’?
Turning the corner, there were
no police cruisers parked outside her house.
When she stepped into the
kitchen, the body was still there – and it was a body,
because yes , Eddie was dead.
The thing that had surprised her
most on returning to the scene was that there was no blood. She had
expected the body to be lying in a pool of red, but the terracotta
kitchen tiles were unblemished. Unlike the man attending her
daughter at the hospital, Dawn was no doctor; so she could only
guess that she had done something to the heart when she pierced it
to stem the flow of blood.
The garden was a standard square
of sand, picketed by a weatherworn, sun bleached yellowish picket
fence which had once been bright white, when the house was new.
Apart from a few scattered cacti (some flowering pretty yellow and
purple buds, but not all), and a few stones, the yard was sparse.
Their garden did boast something different however, and it was this
that had saved Dawn having to dig a grave. The Garcia’s garden had
a huge, three feet hole dug in the middle of it.
“A pool?” she asked Eddie when
he had dug it.
“Yeah, just for paddling.
Nothing huge. Dig a hole, brick-up the base and sides and then fill
it with water. It will be nice and cool on really hot days, and
Vickie will love playing in it.”
That was the old Eddie speaking,
the one she had fallen in love with and married.
He had dug the hole, but nothing
had ever come of it. Not until now at least.
Grabbing the body by the wrists,
she dragged it along the kitchen floor, out the back door and into
the garden. Getting it across
spun around and punched Vickie in the face.
The little girl had crumbled to
the floor, as if she had fainted. The back of her head had slammed
against the cold, hard tile of the kitchen floor and bounced with a
sickening thud!
Dawn had seen a single droplet
of blood, a lone speck of red like an ink drop, sitting under her
daughter’s right nostril. From there on it had been simple.
Dawn had not tried to
rationalise her actions as she pulled open one of the cutlery
draws, tore out a long, sharp carving knife, and then plunged it
into Eddies back. She had struck with such force that the knife had
ripped through his chest, slicing his heart fatally. He fell to the
floor and died.
Cradling her daughter in her
arms, Dawn had rushed her to hospital. Eddie had remained there on
the kitchen floor. Vickie had woken in hospital with no memory of
the incident a few hours later, she must have been close to
sleepwalking, thought Dawn with relief, as she told the doctor
that Vickie had fallen downstairs.
The doctor had said that Vickie
had hit her forehead. She had a slight concussion, but nothing was
broken. He explained that concussion could be quite dangerous, so
he wanted to keep the little girl in overnight, just for
observation.
“If you rushed her here, you
might want to nip back home Mrs. Garcia. If you’ve not locked-up
properly or left a candle burning or something. We can watch her
for a little while.”
Dawn was about to say no ,
that she would stay. Then she remembered her dead husband lying on
the kitchen floor with a carving knife sticking out of his
back.
“I’ll be as quick as I can.” She
told the doctor, and then headed for the car.
On the drive home, she began to
panic. What if a concerned neighbour had called the police,
reporting a nasty sounding domestic argument? What if, as she
rounded the corner to their house, there were police cruisers
lights flashing and bouncing off the black-and-whites; armed police
officers with handcuffs ready for her arrest?
Then a stranger, deeper
fear.
What if he wasn’t dead? What if,
when she walked into the kitchen, the body wasn’t there anymore?
Was it possible that she had just injured him, and if she had, how
angry would he be then? What would he do to her? In the heat of the
moment she had acted, but if he was badly injured and not dead,
could she, ‘ finish him off ’?
Turning the corner, there were
no police cruisers parked outside her house.
When she stepped into the
kitchen, the body was still there – and it was a body,
because yes , Eddie was dead.
The thing that had surprised her
most on returning to the scene was that there was no blood. She had
expected the body to be lying in a pool of red, but the terracotta
kitchen tiles were unblemished. Unlike the man attending her
daughter at the hospital, Dawn was no doctor; so she could only
guess that she had done something to the heart when she pierced it
to stem the flow of blood.
The garden was a standard square
of sand, picketed by a weatherworn, sun bleached yellowish picket
fence which had once been bright white, when the house was new.
Apart from a few scattered cacti (some flowering pretty yellow and
purple buds, but not all), and a few stones, the yard was sparse.
Their garden did boast something different however, and it was this
that had saved Dawn having to dig a grave. The Garcia’s garden had
a huge, three feet hole dug in the middle of it.
“A pool?” she asked Eddie when
he had dug it.
“Yeah, just for paddling.
Nothing huge. Dig a hole, brick-up the base and sides and then fill
it with water. It will be nice and cool on really hot days, and
Vickie will love playing in it.”
That was the old Eddie speaking,
the one she had fallen in love with and married.
He had dug the hole, but nothing
had ever come of it. Not until now at least.
Grabbing the body by the wrists,
she dragged it along the kitchen floor, out the back door and into
the garden. Getting it across
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