Free Falling by Susan Kiernan-Lewis

designated the killing ground. Dierdre had told her it would all go much better if she was fast and sure about what she was doing. Assuming she’d already pretty much botched that tactic, Sarah took a moment to try to calm her nerves. The bag twitched and convulsed maniacally at the end of her arm.
    Zen, zen, ommmm, peace , she chanted inside her head. Be at peace now. There is nothing more intimate than the taking of a life for the purpose of sustenance. I am, in fact, freeing you. Oh, this is nonsense. She gripped at the chicken inside the bag, feeling for its scrawny little neck and hoping she didn’t mistake it for a leg. Within seconds she found the neck through the burlap bag and, with the adrenalin pumping through her, wrenched as hard as she could.
    The motion in the bag slowed and then stopped. Bright red blood began to seep out around her hands. Afraid for a moment that she’d literally torn the bird’s head off, Sarah dropped the bag in the snow, turned and retched up her morning tea. She sat down with a hard thump in the snow beside the now still bag and burst into tears.
     
    David examined the broken fence by the eastern pasture. The three cows grazed peacefully nearby. Seamus’ dog lay dead in the ditch.
    How did he miss this, this morning?  
    Had the fence been deliberately broken? And if they’d broken into the gate to steal a cow, why were they all there? It would’ve made sense to butcher the cow in the pasture rather than try to steal it on the hoof—considering the speed at which cows moved that would have been seriously counterproductive. The dog had its neck slit . Why would someone kill a dog? Were they trying to take out the couple’s alarm system? Was it just an act of senseless violence? David shook his head and looked at Seamus who stared peacefully out across the pasture.
    “Sorry about this, Seamus,” David said. “Did you hear him bark at all last night?”
    Seamus only smiled.
    David looked at the cows, then back at the dog. He hadn’t heard anything himself, but he had been so exhausted that his sleep had been more like a light coma than a slumber. The dog, if he had barked, would not have awakened him.
    “Dierdre will know,” the old man said.
    David nodded and turned to head back to the house.
    “I’ll get the shovel,” he said. It didn’t look like he would be going home early today after all. He felt a wave of weariness and disappointment.
     
    Sarah pulled the roast chicken out of the oven and set it on top of the cook stove. She had enough potatoes and garlic and wild rosemary to make a proper feast of the dish. She was out of yeast but David seemed to prefer the simple flour biscuits anyway. The aroma from the chicken dish nearly brought tears to her eyes. Never had she been more proud of a simple roast chicken.
    She looked out the kitchen window with the hope that she’d catch a glimpse of David coming down the main road on Rocky. She frowned. It was after three and she had expected him hours ago. Out in the courtyard, she watched John as he put his dogs through their paces. He made them both sit and stay and then released them with little bits of muffin he had saved from his lunch.
    She tapped on the window and he looked up.
    “Let me know when you see Dad, okay?” she shouted.
    He gave a thumbs up to indicate he understood and turned back to his training.
    Sarah sat down with a cup of tea. She noticed a single chicken feather wafting alone in the corner of the room. The plucking and gutting had been nearly as traumatic as the killing. But the thrill of her accomplishment blotted out the pain and horror of the day. She looked at her beautiful golden brown roast, shiny with herbs and basted with goat butter.
    A perfect, celebratory meal for the returning husband, she thought, her anticipation back. She stood up to look out the window again.
     
    Four hours later, she and John finished their dinner alone. The anxiety in the pit of her stomach had made it impossible