It was done. He’d never hurt her again.
The only problem was disposing of him-a gruesome but necessary task. One that would require several walks along the bridge.
She could’ve easily gotten help. The neighborhood remembered him well, hated him too. But, she told no one as it was her cross to bear, and needed no witnesses.
Funny how there was a code of honor among dealers, prostitutes and thieves, she thought.
There was a big difference between their crimes and his though. To them, he was an evil soul.
To her, he was dad…now, he’s just fish food.
For Friday Fictioneers.
Part 3 of an unfolding mini series.
Find Part 1 and Part 2 here.
Killing him at the river didn’t work. She moved to plan B. The house where he made her life hell was better anyway.
No one would hear him here, and if they did, it wouldn’t matter. Between the drug dealers and those who remembered him, the cops wouldn’t be called. “Hell, they might even help me.”
She took out her supplies: box cutter, bleach, cigarettes and his favorite, duct tape. Just everyday items, but to him, they were toys.
However, it was time for the shoe to be on the other foot. Time for him to taste his own medicine.
For Friday Fictioneers, with a twist. This is sequel to last Friday’s short fiction piece.
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Time heals all wounds. Not for her though. Years had passed, but she could still smell his breathe, hear his anger and feel his hate.
Time had healed nothing. In fact, time had only been lost to her. Time had only made her more afraid and allowed her captor to be freed for good behavior. The courts considered him healed, but she knew. She knew he was coming. Coming for her. He promised to return…for her.
She controlled her limited time now. He would never hurt her again. Never. She just needed the perfect place: peaceful, quiet, in the water…
For Friday Fictioneers.
Boat photo – © Jennifer Pendergast
She sat on steps of the truck-stop diner, crumpled over and crying. She was trying to hide it, but it was clear as day.
With the goal of helping, Mark went over and sat beside her.
“I thought I’d offer you an ear and a Kleenex.”
“That’s very sweet,” smiled Christina. “It’s kind of a long story.”
He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something pulling him to her. “Well, if you need a ride, I am all ears.”
“I could use one honestly.”
“Well, it’s deal. I’ll drive. You talk. I could use the company anyway.”
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