A Story of Ten Seconds

Austin's au gratin potato salad and sauteed green beans couldn't be more perfect. The rose and candlelight set up on the dining room table couldn't be more perfect. The moonlight that peers through the windows couldn't be more perfect. That's when the front door flies off the hinges coupled with our screams and a handgun and a bullet for two bodies. This happens in ten seconds time and all I wish for is a fresh ten seconds. 

Austin's au gratin potato salad and sauteed green beans appear starched to perfection. The rose and candlelight set up on the dining room table come across as an immaculate movie-set. The moonlight that peers through the windows feels artificial. Then the front door explodes off the hinges and I catch a pair of bloodshot eyes before the screams and the inevitable bullet. I wish for a fresh ten seconds for a larger picture. 

I scan the room for possible weapons for defense- a fireplace poker, the butter knife on the dining room table, one of the forks or plates- and don't touch the potato salad or green beans. I don't bother when the end of my ten seconds flashes without a warning; without a care about the rose, candlelight setup, or moonlight. I hear “Dianne, you didn't touch your food” but killers don't express or entertain that concern as they barge into your humble abode, remorseless. I make a dash for the corner with the butter knife as the door bangs open and the bloodshot killer shoots Austin and I pounce with a powerful arm stab but in a refreshed ten seconds, the situation can turn in my favor. 

“Austin, a killer is gonna burst through that door any second now,” I toss him a fork in a harried tone and scramble for the door. 

He sits confused and understandable enough, prepared to sob. He stands over a stove for a while to craft this flawless food only for his significant other to ignore it and ramble on about a murderer that has yet to be seen. 

“Dianne, I worked for hours on dinner and you come to me with this junk about-”

A killer with bloodshot eyes shoots Austin in his gaping mouth. And the most I can manage is another pre-emptive arm stab. Here's to a more impactful new ten seconds. 

I shovel the food in my mouth like a child and one with a ravenous appetite at that. It tastes divine but you know what doesn't? The bullet with our names on it. Gotta angle the knife for his eyes or something. And warn Austin somehow. 

“Austin…” 

“It’s rude to speak with your mouth full, Dianne.” 

He is impossible and I'm back in the corner behind the door because the front door swings open and Austin takes another bullet to the face. I stab the bloodshot killer in one of his eyes this time. Deal with my “rudeness” or catch another bullet in the next ten seconds, Austin. 

Based on the last run, I can't plow through my meal and choose to take tiny mouthfuls instead. 

“Austin, aren't you worried a killer is gonna barge through our door one of these days?” 

He squints at the door and notices two loose hinges. It's enough of an issue for him to glide toward the door while I sprint with the butter knife and suffer the bullet although the killer yells from a stab to the back of his hand. My hope is that neither of us is shot in any ten-second revision. 

“Two of the door hinges are loose, Austin,” I utter and watch him tighten them with a nearby screwdriver. 

The butter knife has been a constant help but what if I switch off to a fork? Metal prongs could inflict some severe damage to a killer’s skin. And lucky for me, I have the chance to test them when the door bumps open enough for me to launch the fork in the killer’s hand. Austin doesn't fare as well when bullet sails through his brain. I can fix the hinges next time and he can stay put and stare at me funny when the new ten seconds loop back.

I excuse myself from the table after a tiny bite to tighten the door hinges and stand poised to attack. Austin, who stares at me from his dinner plate, must assume I don't want what he served. He wouldn't believe me if I yell “there's a killer on the loose with bloodshot eyes” because that could translate to “this is a poor excuse Dianne uses to wiggle out of eating my food”. That is until the raven-haired, bloodshot killer barges in and shoots whoever he spots first but not before another stab in his eye. How do I save Austin in the next ten-second loop if he doesn't realize there is one in the first place? 

It benefits us both if I snatch up the butter knife and march toward the opposite side of the door. 

“What the heck are you doing, Dianne?” 

I'm doing us a service, Austin. I'm gonna save our lives once and for all. I'm… gonna sell you a blatant lie to keep you clueless and concerned. 

“There's this game called ten seconds and every ten seconds, the same thing happens in a loop and you have to survive the ten seconds to win.” 

Good thing Austin jots down everything from rules to recipes onto napkins and that's when the lightbulb goes off for me. 

“Hand me the napkin, Austin. Hurry.” 

Right as Austin jogs for the door, the killer enters and I stab him in the shoulder while he maneuvers around with the gun. He shoots us as I collapse on him, as Austin falls back against the lampstand and that's another ten seconds spent but I have the napkin. I have our key out of the loop. 

“Austin, do you have a pen?” 

He buries in his pocket and hands me one which I use to jot down “the killer will come through our door with bloodshot eyes and raven hair”. Once I slide the napkin over with a quick mental prayer, I tuck and roll for the fireplace poker. Thank goodness too that Austin reads notes aloud. 

“There’s this game called ten seconds and every ten seconds, the same thing happens in a loop and you have to survive to win. The killer will come through our door with bloodshot eyes and raven hair. Dianne, this doesn't make any sense. Especially the killer part because the only person I know with bloodshot eyes and raven hair is-”

-Dad?

I rush for the door, swing it open, and smack him unconscious with the poker. The mask covers up the rest of his face but once it's off, there's no doubt that's him from the gray all over and the new scar on his head from yours truly. A note that sticks out of his pocket could explain everything. Austin scurries over to swipe the note and read it. 

“Dear Allen, if you don't go to 3526 Myrtle Street at 6 pm tonight and murder the couple there, you will never see your wife again.” 

We check our watches and sure enough, it is a little past 6 pm. And this is 3526 Myrtle Street but who would want us dead? Why was Dad the one chosen for the job and who scared him into this anyway? Then another thought pops up beside the fact that Austin's perfect food is cold now. 

“Isn't your Mom dead, Dianne?”

“Yeah, it'll be twenty years tomorrow.” 

When Dad wakes up, we'll have our fair share of questions for him.