Squinting through the tears and pain he noticed just how confident she looked. She was scowling with narrowed eyes. Fresh pain washed over him like a tsunami of new fear.
‘Mona, I was going to tell you…’
He lay on his side and gripped his belly to remind him of the pain.
‘My mother always told me not to trust men like you.’ She crossed the room.
Most of his day was usually spent on a quiet street. All the neighbours would be at work.
‘My wife, Sarah, she’ll be home soon.’ He could barely speak.
‘Wrong! Your wife has been avoiding paying me for weeks now, and probably at the shops as we speak.’
His mind told him to try and reason with her. His body screamed RUN!
‘Maybe I’ll kill them too. Maybe I ought to wait here, watch you die, and wait for Mrs Watson and your kids to come home…’
The previous day, he was an unhappily married man with two very demanding children. The time he’d spent at home was scant. Most of that time would be spent asleep. Scurrying home at the end of a long day only to rest and eat. Then back to work. Life was boring until he’d met Mona.
‘Why, so many photos of you with your family?’ Mona scanned the room.
‘Mona please, I need help. I’m bleeding to death.’
Mona had come to the door of Mrs Sarah Watson with the intention of supplying the beauty products ordered by the householder. She had hoped to catch Mrs Watson in, if lucky she would be able to collect the money owed from her last order. Instead, quite cruelly, fate had presented her with the truth. A truth she hadn’t expected to deal with in such a manner, not today. Not whilst out on her rounds in middle-class suburbia.
The bleeding man lay still, whimpering pathetically.
‘If I’d known, David, that you were married I would not have slept with you. Did you know I was selling beauty products to your wife? Is that why you pursued me?’ She knew, from earlier this morning, that she was going to have a bad day, she didn’t know that she was going to be responsible for the death of another individual before lunchtime. She would have to cover her tracks. Get rid of his body.
‘I am sorry… I should have told you…’ David Watson lay leaking blood across the kitchen floor. His cheap crumpled suit made him look even more pathetic.
An hour ago she was knocking on a customer’s door, forty minutes ago she was confronting her boyfriend about being married, and less than fifteen minutes ago she had plunged a knife into her lover’s gut. The argument had been loud and heated, the neighbours must have heard something.
She had waited. It seemed like hours had passed. Washing and wiping the knife had been a good idea. Placing it back in the block was genius, she had thought to her self, whilst cleaning up any traces of her visit. She went to the door.
‘Shit!’ A car had pulled up the drive, right up to the front door. The woman getting out of the car was Sarah Watson. Mona ran back to the kitchen, sliding across the tiles in her bare feet, and grabbing the same knife from the wooden block, hurtling fast, back to the front door.
She stood, waiting. The door swung open and Sarah Watson, laden down with shopping bags, stepped across the threshold without looking up, until Mona spoke. Holding the knife behind her back, Mona smiled.
‘Hi Sarah, your husband let me in.’