Accused Criminal

In the morning, Howard’s side of the bed was chilled and Lana decided to stay in bed just a little longer. Her eyes drifted shut and the hollow pit in her stomach which was left over from the anger the night before lulled her back into sleep.

The next time her eyes opened, her joints ached and the sheet had slipped off of her body, exposing her to the winter chill that crept into the house. Howard was still missing from bed, his pillows neatly stacked and the comforter folded back.

When she checked the clock, noting it was nearly nine, she assumed he had already left for work. A groan passed her lips and she sat up, ready to start her day as well. Routine told her to head to the kitchen, start cooking up a breakfast and clean the mess before moving to vacuuming the living room and dusting the lamps and fans, but she pushed all those thoughts away and allowed anger to return as she recalled the piece of conversation from the night before.

Today would be different. Today was the start of a different life. Yesterday she had a husband and the comfort of home, safety and security within their love, but today she had none of that.

With a start, Lana jumped off of the bed. The phone rang, a harsh bell coming from the other side of the room. For a moment she stared at the rectangular black phone, the screen glowing.

Then Lana moved over to the table and checked the number.

To her surprise it was Denny, one of her few friends and an old college pal.

“Hi, Denny,” she smiled as she spoke.

“Lana!” the woman on the other line squealed like a little girl and they both laughed. “God, it is good to hear your voice. I’m coming over, okay? I just wanted to make sure you were up and Howard was off at work. You need a girls’ day.”

It wasn’t safe. Lana’s mind raced. Was she still in danger? It had sounded like her husband was in cahoots with the people that had taken her and they may still be after her.

“Lana?” Her friend’s voice broke her thought.

“Yea.” A lump rose in her throat and she placed a hand over her racing heart. “Come on over.” She would be safer with someone else around, right? If Howard had anything to do with her kidnapping, he had made sure that no one had been with her, and he certainly would not risk their home becoming a crime scene.

The house was safe, she tried to convince herself.

“See you soon, Lana.” The phone clicked as the call ended.
She stood in the bedroom, phone in hand, breathing faintly. Had she done the right thing? Her own physical and emotional pain was one thing, but if Lana was putting her friend in danger, she may break, her actual being becoming nothing more than a shell.

No. A breath flew over her lips and Lana inhaled deeply. She wasn’t sure what the connection was between her husband and what had happened to her. Her mind was traveling down all sorts of paths, imagination claiming her and the nightmare filling her to the brim with terror, but she was safe in the house. Denny would be fine. Her muscles loosened and joints gave way to movement. Slowly, she moved to the dresser, removing a pair of sweatpants and a warm sweater.

The clothes were placed gently on the unmade bed, and she moved to the bathroom to collect hydrogen peroxide, gauze and the other items necessary for tending her injuries. Her fingernails, or lack thereof, were the worst because while she cleaned the scabs on her arms and heels, the hydrogen peroxide bit at her finger tips, seeping into the open cuts and burning the exposed, bloody skin that had yet to heal. She hissed and yelped as her skin absorbed the liquid.

Dressing caused stress on her body, but it was less painful than covering the injuries and the warmth from the soft fabric was soothing. Her booted foot caused some difficulty in slipping on pants, but she finally found a pair loose enough that she could wiggle into them.

When the doorbell sounded, Lana was half way down the stairs. Her steps were slow but steady, calves protesting and pain flared with each step. The boot on her leg dropped onto the stairs with a thud. Finishing her descent, Lana twisted the door handle and swung back the wooden slab, almost afraid of what awaited her on the other side.

She half expected a large man with meaty hands to pull her out and toss her roughly into an open van that would hurtle down the street and drag her into another hell hole. Of course it wasn’t a man there to kidnap her; it was Denny. Her dark red hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. The six foot two inches tall woman beamed; gold eye shadow highlighted the almond color of her eyes and perfectly applied eyeliner created the illusion that they were wider than they actually were.

Without invitation, Denny stepped inside, closed the door, and began removing her scarf. “Lana,” she spoke as the black leather gloves were pulled from slender fingers, “where is Howard? Oh never mind. That man is always at work. Even when his wife is hurt and probably scared, he is at work.”

“Hi to you too Denny. Howard is working on my case.”

“Your case! There is no case! They can’t possibly have anything on you. I’ve seen what they say on the news and in the papers. Bull shit. It is all bull shit. There isn’t any proof. Nothing to stand up in court. The police and lawyers are going to look like idiots if they take you to trial. You’re the most devoted wife I’ve ever see, and you have never been violent.”

Lana began shaking as the image of the man she had killed crawled into her mind. Tears welled in her eyes. His eyes had popped from their sockets, opening wells of blood, and she could still remember the catch of removing the nails from their beds. Running him through with the hot poker had been easy, like his body had met her attack with no resistance.

Denny’s arms were wrapped around her as Lana cried. She didn’t know how long her friend had been holding her, but her body ached and it felt like she had been crying for hours.