Laura let the body go and it fell to the floor. “What?"

“The second time that is. The first time was the time I caught the bastard right in our own bed with that blonde slut, but this most recent time, he didn’t fuck her."

“The fuck you mean he didn't fuck her? Why the fuck did you kill him then?! You said you saw them together!" Laura’s heart constricted, hammering her chest in rapid, agonizing beats.  

“I did. He said he was meeting a friend from work. She was an old ex of his that just moved back and wanted to catch up. Apparently, her husband and two kids couldn't keep her occupied." Angry, bitter bile rose and stung Tory’s throat.

“But they didn't sleep together?" Laura felt panicked. This wasn't vengeance, it was cold slaughter.  

“No. But he lied to me. And that's just as bad, especially when he had a record."    

“No, no it isn't, Tory. Jesus Christ. I can't help you with this." Laura bolted from the basement and left the house. She heard Tory shouting after her the whole way to her car. She turned it on and hit the gas without looking back, sweat pouring down her face, mixing with the salty tears.  


*     *     *


Oh well, who needs her. Hard part's done. Not wiping her prints, though. Bitch better have a good lawyer. She managed to get the body into the freezer and shut it again. Hey, if the apocalypse happens, least I have meat. She went upstairs, brushing off tears of laughter and closing the basement door behind her. Her drunk was mostly gone and now she felt fuzzy, hungry, horny, and tired. Well, let’s solve three of these things.  

She took care of what she could and fell into bed, still wearing the sweaty, blood-speckled clothes. What a shame. I loved these sheets. She fell asleep smiling.  

Christ it's fucking cold. Tory woke up with every inch of blanket wrapped around her. Her skin was painfully cold, and she couldn't feel her feet. Damn wind stings. She bolted upright as she realized there was a strong torrent of frigid air blowing through her room. What in the holy fuck?

Her feet swung over the side and landed with a muffled thud into snow. Jesus, it’s snowing. Now she noticed heavy flakes drifting lazily downward in the early gloom. Her bed was dry and clear, but everywhere else was covered with a settled mound of white. A strong gust came through, biting harshly into her face. A faint slamming sound came from downstairs rhythmically.  

She trudged through the snow with several woolen socks on each foot. The blankets whipped around her as a patchwork cape. She had the hood of her thickest sweatshirt up and was putting her head against the wind as she took the snow-carpeted steps one at a time. The banging downstairs grew louder, happening like clockwork every few seconds.  

She got to the bottom of the stairs and saw the source of the banging. Of course it's the basement. The basement door was being blown back against its hinges and slamming shut, only to repeat the cycle. It flew open and she wedged herself between it and the doorway to stop it from slamming again. She reached out and flipped the switch. Huh, the lights work. Alleluia.  

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