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It becomes a waiting game, but chess always was about patience. Having the ability to see ahead and predict how your opponent will move, so that you can time your most deadly strike just right.
I don’t have long to wait.
Soon, the heavy footsteps of The General sound on the stairs and all along the corridor. My heart is in my throat by the time he pushes the bedroom door open, and it hits the wall behind with a bang. A slurred curse falls from his lips and he stumbles across the room into the en suite. He pushes the door to but doesn’t close it, and the sudden beam of light in the darkness makes me squint. I gag when I hear him piss, relieved when he flushes and actually washes his filthy fucking hands. Not that it matters. No amount of soap will make him clean.
When he walks back into the bedroom he leaves the bathroom light on and the door open a crack. It illuminates the floor well enough for me to see that his feet and legs are bare. I pray that he’s wearing boxer shorts or something, but know that he’s most likely naked.
Bile hits the back of my throat, and it’s bitter and hard to swallow, burning on the way back down.
I wait.
He turns, and sits on the edge of the mattress, presenting me with the perfect opportunity.
Of course The General sleeps the furthest away from the bedroom door. I remember once reading about a couple who didn’t have set sides of the bed that they claimed for themselves. Every bed they slept in was different and they’d choose sides based on the circumstances of the room. It took a while for the woman to work out that her partner was always placing himself between the entrance and her, determined to keep her safe even in slumber.
It’s no wonder The General places himself furthest from the door; protecting himself from any perceived danger because he’s selfish and self-obsessed.
Silly man.
Didn’t anyone ever teach him to look for monsters under the bed? They rarely come blazing through the door because you’ve already invited them in, and they’ve made themselves at home in the dark corners of your world, long before you’re aware of any danger that’s going to come calling.
I grip the large hunting knife in my hand, ready to strike. I lash out, slicing hard against his Achilles tendons, tearing through the skin and muscle. The General’s scream is piercing and beautiful and it makes my heavy heart a little lighter.
He falls back on the bed, still screaming, and judging by the creaks and groans of the mattress, I’d say he’s thrashing around in agony.
With the knife still in hand, I shimmy out from under the bed, pulling my backpack of tools with me. I drop it on the bedside table but he’s making too much noise to notice. Even with the light from the bathroom behind me casting a shadow onto the bed, he doesn’t look up from his howling to see me.
Completely self obsessed, like I said.
Happy that he’s not going anywhere fast, I grab the wire from the rucksack. I need him unconscious to restrain him because I’m not strong enough to overpower him. Even hurt, I know he’ll put up a fight, and I can’t have that.
If the idea didn’t sicken me so much, I’d drug him. Give him a little taste of his own medicine. But the thought of him being aroused or getting enjoyment from what I’m about to do sickens me.
So the hard way it is.
He doesn’t even notice me climbing onto the bed and slipping the wire around his neck…not until I pull it tight and choke him.
It’s a beautiful sound that he makes. Tempting me, almost, to keep pulling and pulling until his life slips away like toxic chemicals poured down a drain.
But I want to enjoy this. Ideservemy fun with him. He certainly had enough with me.
I only wish I had longer to draw this out.
Once he gives up the rather feeble fight, turns limp and succumbs to the darkness, I release my grip on the wire. It remains in place, embedded into his thick skin in an angry purple line, but slackens enough that I know he’ll live.
For now.
Sighing, I glance at my watch. I have an hour. Tops. It’s not long enough, but it’ll have to do.
One hour in exchange for a lifetime of tormenting me.
Sixty minutes for months of painful abuse and rape.
Three thousand six hundred seconds to make him pay.
For me. For Rose. For the boys.
I’ll make every second count.
