Home Sweet Home

September 15, 2012
By 1starlight1 BRONZE, Delhi, California
1starlight1 BRONZE, Delhi, California
4 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
\"People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.\"
Elizabeth Kubler Ross

Our small station wagon slowed to a stop. The intersection was desolate, not a soul was to be found besides min and Steven’s. The red light was converted to a bright green. The night was starless, and the sky was pitch-black. We sat in silence as we drove home. I stole a quick glance at Steven, his face was emotionless. Yet I know how he felt. His hazel eyes were fixed on his driving.
“I’m sorry, Steven,” I whispered.
But he never replied, ten minutes later we slowly pulled into our gravel drive way. He turned off the engine, and we both climbed out of the car. I slowly walked to the front door, and waited for him to come and unlock the door. Once we set our things down, I flopped onto the couch, and I watched Steven walk to the refrigerator.
“We’re out of milk,” he said; his voice was deep but it sounded smooth and gentle.
“It’s 11:45 p.m. I don’t think the store would be open,” I argued.
Steven closed the fridge and grabbed his set of keys, “I’ll be back.”
“Wait! Steven I can get milk tomorrow,” I offered.
“I’ll just get it now. I’ll be back soon,” he insisted as he stormed out the door.
I got up and I peeked out of the window, watching him back out of the drive way, and vanish into the darkness as he drove away. I quickly went around the house, locking all of the doors and windows that lead to the outside world. Then I slipped into my pajamas, turned off all the lights and laid in our bed.
About an hour later I woke up to the sound of a car driving up our drive way. I sprinted to the window to see if it was Steven in our old station wagon, but I was wrong. It was a police officer slowly walking up to our front door with his hand on his belt. I ran to grab my phone to call Steven.
“Hello,” Steven said.
“Steven there’s a cop here. Please come back, I don’t feel safe. What if something happened to Emma!” I whispered loudly into the phone.
“Alright, just calm down! I’m almost home,” he replied just before he hung up.
I set the phone down on the kitchen counter, just when there was a loud knock on the front door. My heart raced while I walked across the room to the door. I just hoped that Emma, our eight year old daughter, was alright. She was spending the night at a friend’s house, maybe something went wrong. I slowly opened the door to face an imposter.
“Who the hell are you?” I demanded.
The man said nothing in return. He just stared at me with his beady brown eyes. His posture was perfect, he had shaggy black hair that made me recall the ‘70s, and he looked about six feet tall. Long with that his muscles looked enormous, as if he could knock me down with one finger if he chose to. I tried to close the door, but his foot was in its path.
“I’m so sorry!” I cried as I opened the door, allowing him to remove his foot.
He rose his hand and struck my face with a great amount of force. I collapsed in shock and i clenched my face in pain. His hand grabbed my wrist and he squeezed the hell out of it as if he was trying to break my bones in half.
“Stop it!” I screeched in agony.
I raised my free hand to fight back, but he lunged at that wrist also. Left with no choice, I had to kick him in the groin. This made him release my hands and allowed me to escape to the bathroom, lock the door. I tried to open the bathroom window to escape, but sure enough the man followed me. BANG! The fake officer was trying to break down the bathroom door. I panicked and my body froze. Suddenly he broke down the door.
He grabbed my sandy brown hair and threw me against the shower, shattering the glass into millions of pieces. He dove for my ankles, but I moved too fast. I ran to the window, and I was halfway outside when he grabbed my legs and pulled me back inside. He pulled out a butterfly pocket knife and started playing with it, tricking my eyes. Then with a swift motion he sliced my wrist, I howled in terrible pain. He stabbed my stomach twice, leaped out of the window, and drove away quickly. I clutched my stomach on the bloody bathroom floor. Suddenly I hear the front door slam.
“Christine!” Steven yelled.
I tried to speak, but all that came out were cries of pain. Steven’s footsteps grew closer and closer to the bathroom until he eventually stood in the door way.
“Holy s***!” he cried while he rushed to aid me.
Steven picked me up carefully and sprinted to the car. As I laid in the back of the station wagon, Steven sped to the nearest emergency room. What seemed to be hours later, we arrived at a hospital. Steven left me in the car, leaving me helpless and scared.
“Look at me Christine! Stay with me!” Steven cried while he ran along the side of the gurney I rested in.
I received a great amount of medical attention. The doctors stitched up my stab wounds, and ordered me to stay on bed rest. Although two say later the doctor came into my hospital room and made a shocking announcement.
“I’m sorry we delayed this information so late, Mr. and Mrs. White, but our nurses failed to notice that Christine White was expecting a child. During your attack the fetus was destroyed,” Dr. Johnson reported.
“What?” I cried.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steven questioned.
“I didn’t know,” I replied still in shock.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but your wife was only two weeks into her pregnancy. There was probably no possibility of her knowing until her fourth or fifth week. I’ll leave you two to discuss this issue,” Dr. Johnson said before he left the room.
We didn’t say much after the physician left, the next day I was released from the hospital and was allowed to go home. The bathroom was spotless, but my memories still haunted my mind. About after ten minutes of being home, Emma walked through the front door back from school.
“Mommy!” she shrieked while she ran up to me and gave me a painful hug,
I winced in pain for a couple of seconds.
“What’s wrong momma?” she asked.
“Mommy had to get stitches for her tummy,” Steven said quickly.
“Why?” Emma was determined for a real answer.
“You’re too young to know why baby,” I replied.
“I’m too young to know everything! I know nothing!” Emma whined
I smiled, “Do you have any homework today?”
“Nope,” Emma mumbled while staring at the sandy brown carpet,
“Emma Marie White! Don’t you lie to your mother. Now go do your homework or you can’t watch t.v. later,” Steven threatened
“But!” Emma protested.
“No buts. Now go do your homework,” Steven said sternly.
After being home for three weeks I started feeling much better. Things were getting along great; Steven got a promotion at the office, Emma started getting higher grades, and I was becoming more mobile everyday.
On November 13, 2009 (Friday) everything was going smoothly. It was nine o’clock and Emma was sound asleep in her Hello Kitty themed room. Steven and I were watching the remake of Texas Chainsaw Massacre in our small living room. About an hour later the movie ended, but we fell asleep.
Tucked under a blanket, I slept like a rock. Although Steven must have woken up to put the movie away because later on that night I woke up and the television was turned off. I glanced at the white clock that hung on the wall, 12:17 it read. I yawned ferociously, and got up to use the bathroom. On my way back to the living room I quickly checked on Emma.
I quietly walked over to her bed, and I gently kissed her on the forehead. After that I joined Steven on the couch to fall back into a deep sleep. Although I couldn’t sleep well, so I just watched Steven rest. His wavy brown, shoulder length hair flowed around his face. Steven’s long eyelashes were curved up, like a woman’s eyelashes.
“You need to shave,” I mumbled under my breath while looking at his facial hair.
Just when I was starting to fall asleep, there was a knock on the door. Steven started to get up, but I stopped him.
“I’ll get it babe,” I whispered to him.
I slowly rose from the grey couch that my mother gave me, and opened the door. There in my doorway was the beady eyed, perfect posture, six foot tall man. Memories flooded my mind. My eyes grew, heart started racing, and my head started pounding.
“Did you miss me Christine?” he smirked.
“How do you know my name!?” I somehow managed to spit out.
“I think that is the least of your concerns right now. How’s your daughter, Christine. Have you…checked on her lately?” the man sneered.
“You wouldn’t” I cried.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” he chuckled.
I dashed into Emma’s room, and threw her covers onto the floor. I screamed in shock to find Emma’s moth covered with duct tape, and blood soiling the light blue bed sheets. Steven came running to see what was wrong, but before he could say anything the man snuck up behind Steven and stabbed him in his back. Poor Steven was instantly dead when his heart was punctured by the cold knife.
“You monster!” I screamed.
He moved closer to where I stood.

“Why,” I sobbed, “why us!”

“Because you were home,” he simply answered.

The man ventured forward, but I did not dare to run. If I ran, or attempted to run, it wouldn’t be long before he would capture me. So I just started at him, watching him take one step after another. Finally, he stood before me, a monster in disguise. He raised his knife to my face, but I still did not move an inch.

The cold blade touched my skin, and slid down my face. I raised my hand to strike him, but he stopped me from doing so by grabbing my wrist.

“Oh Christine,” he laughed, “when will you ever learn?”

“You sick bastard!” I yelled before I spat on his face and kicked him in the shin.

I saw his face flinch, and I saw my chance. I ran into the kitchen to find a knife. Rummaging through the drawers, I searched desperately.

“Whatcha lookin for? A knife?” the man smirked.

I stopped searching and I glanced up. He was cornering me in the small kitchen. Soon I had nowhere to go, I was trapped. Screwed. Nobody was here to save me. Tears streamed down my face, burning the cut that he had carved into my face.

“I hope you’re happy,” I mumbled.

He quickly drove his knife into my chest. I fell to my knees in horrifying pain.

“Welcome home,” he whispered into my ear.

That was the last thing I heard and saw before I died.

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