I’m filled with anger at my own regrets and my terrible death, and my anger gives me strength. Listening for the killer’s approach, I raise the pot and swing as hard as I can. Boom! Miraculously, my aim is dead on. The pot makes impact with the killer’s head with a loud gong, and he falls back, crashing to the floor. Bark stops barking.
I did it. I killed the chainsaw killer. I’m Sigourney Weaver in Alien. I’m Wonder Woman. I’m a kickass female, able to fell killers with a pot. “I did it, Bark,” I announce, triumphantly.
The storm seems worse now with the wind whipping through the house and the heavy rain testing Ruby’s old roof. The electricity is still off, and I’m debating what to do. Do I try to find my phone and call the police, or should I tie up the killer before he wakes up? Since finding my phone will take some time, I decide to tie up the killer with the kitchen curtain ties. After I collect the curtain ties from the kitchen, as quietly as I can, I kneel down next to him. He’s out cold and as big as a Mack truck. I can’t see much of him, but I get a good whiff of him.
He smells like liquid pheromones.
Uh oh.
I lean down and take another big sniff. Yep, there’s only one person I know who smells like hot, rapturous desire.
I’ve killed Stone Jenkins, the man I’ve loved my entire life.
CHAPTER 3
“Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.” I wring my hands. The idea of doing CPR on Stone makes me hyperventilate. I’ve always dreamed of putting my lips on his. “I’m going to pass out before I can save you,” I pant.
How did I do this? If I truly loved Stone, I should have detected his presence, like some psychic link. Soulmates don’t mistake each other for a chainsaw killer. Soulmates don’t kill each other with a pot. I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. My dreams of a life with Stone are dashed. Stone’s never going to love me now…especially because he’s dead.
Finally, a bit of common sense hits me, and I search for my cellphone, feeling around the back door, in order to call 911. After a few minutes, I find my phone and am relieved when its light illuminates the hallway. I punch in the numbers, but I get a recorded message, saying that cellphone coverage is unavailable. The storm must have knocked out the cell towers. Perfect. No 911. No emergency services coming to the rescue.
Even with all the doom and gloom, at least I have the cellphone light to guide me. I kneel by Stone’s side again and investigate how he’s doing. I feel a wave of relief to see his chest rise and fall normally. So, I haven’t killed him yet. That’s a definite plus. There’s a nasty bump on the side of his head, but someone somewhere once told me that bumps, like farts, are better outside than inside.
“Stone,” I whisper. “Are you awake?”
Of course he’s not awake. He’s out cold. But I never know what to say around him. Even unconscious, he makes me tongue-tied. At least he’s not looking at me, giving me convulsions. Bark sniffs him, and licks his cheek.
“Good, right?” I ask Bark. Lucky dog. I would pay to lick Stone. Bark licks him again. Stone moans and moves his head.
“What happened?” he croaks, regaining consciousness.
“You’re okay. You must have run into the wall,” I lie.
“It felt like someone sucker punched me.” He rubs his head and struggles to sit up. I want to help him, but I don’t dare touch him.
“No, I think you ran into the wall. Nobody else is here except for me and Bark,” I say. I’m so going to hell, but there’s no way I’m going to tell him that I almost killed him. I’m not an expert on romance, but I’m pretty sure that men are turned off by women who try to kill them.
“I ran into a wall? I can’t believe I ran into a wall.” He puts his head in his hands and takes a couple deep breaths.
“I know, right? What are the odds?”
“I saw the lights go out, so I just came inside.”
“Oh, well Ruby isn’t here. I’m dog sitting.”
Stone looks at me, and I gasp and drop the phone. He picks it up and gives it to me, letting his hand rest on mine. I feel a spastic freak out coming on, but I try to keep it together.
“I know that Ruby isn’t here,” he says, his voice deep and rough like his wind-hardened skin. “I came to see how you’re doing since you’re here alone and the storm is a doozy.”
“A doozy,” I breathe, repeating his word. “You came to see how I’m doing.”
“Yes,” he says, still holding my hand.
“Me.”
“Yes.”
“You came to see how I’m doing.”
