47 comments

American Suspense Contemporary

Trigger warning: abuse

 

“Where do you think you're gonna go?” her husband sputters, blindsided by his wife’s packed bags at the bottom of the stairs.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replies, dead-eyed and somber. She puts on her coat, the black one, the one for special occasions. 

“The kids—”

“The kids are thirty,” she says, turning away from him to gather her things. “They have their lives. Now you have yours.”

Flummoxed, her husband racks his bourbon-soaked brain for anything—anything to stop this thing he cannot control. This is so unlike her, always dependable, always reliable, always there.

“So where do you think you’re gonna go?” he asks again, arms akimbo. 

“I’m going to go away,” she says and closes the door.

 

She’s just taken her clothing. A few books. Nothing else. 

She’s set up a bank account, pilfering funds over the past year as best she could. She’s tutored students after school for extra money. Babysat on weekends. Cleaned houses. Anything to get a small stake to make her claim. Actually, to reclaim her life. 

Reclaim my life, she thinks, involuntarily smiling as the miles roll by. 

Her car is paid for. A late model Toyota, it will last until she gets back on her feet. Driving at dusk, it is an ominous time to start her new life. But the month of June feels right. School is out. Summer feels like it has endless possibilities. She has months to worry about finding a job before the school year starts in the fall. And what school district doesn’t need a good English teacher? 

As she approaches the freeway, she sees all sorts of exit signs. Again, endless possibilities. South? East? West? Anything but north. She never wants to be that far north again. 

Without much thought, she takes an exit and it just feels right. The distance between her and the north grows, and she cannot help now but smile from ear to ear. 

She drives through the night until her eyes burn with grit. She nibbles on an apple for dinner. She fiddles with the radio. She settles the dial on an old Billy Joel song.

The cold hands 

The sad eyes 

The dark Irish silence 

It’s so late

But I’ll wait

Through the long night with you

 

By mid-morning she decides she needs to rest. Finding a cheap hotel off the interstate, she registers using her maiden name and pays in cash. She notices the free continental breakfast is still being served. 

She enters the small dining area, children drowning their Fruit Loops in whole milk while their parents drink coffee and watch Fox News. Famished, she toasts two sad looking bagels and devours a couple of hard boiled eggs while waiting for the bagels to brown. Adding a cherry danish and sliced cantaloupe to her plate, she feasts. A meal fit for a queen! 

Taking the elevator to her floor, she calculates her finances. There will be enough, she thinks. Later, she plans to use the computer in the hotel’s business office to research school districts. Actually, she’ll research towns and cities, too, because she is not entirely sure where she will eventually stop. This thought thrills her. The endless possibilities, she thinks, hugging herself. Her fatigue feels so deeply satisfying, as she crawls into the hotel bed. She hums the Billy Joel song. 

The warm tears

The bad dreams

The soft trembling shoulders

The old fears

But I’m here

Through the long night with you

Sleep is elusive. She stares at the ceiling, sunshine peeking through the curtains. She stretchesenjoying the feeling of being sated from her large breakfast and the feeling of her body under the cool sheets in a whole big bed, all to herself. Just the laziness of being in bed at midday feels luxurious. 

She pulls out her beloved dog-eared copy of Othello from her bag and re-reads her favorite parts. The paperback is heavily marked with her annotations from over the years, making it one of her favorite treasures. Shakespeare’s words are like gold in her mouth. She reads evil Iago’s lines aloud: “O, beware, my lord, of jealousy: / It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock / The meat it feeds on.”

She feels brave enough to pull out her cell phone from her old brown purse. Cautiously, she turns it on. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she counts 37 voice messages. Almost against her own wishes, she plays them all, one after another. All angry. All from her husband. All increasingly antagonistic. 

. . . what makes you think you can just walk out . . .

. . . you are no longer a wife or a mother—you aren’t even a woman . . . 

. . . when I come for you . . . 

She throws her cell phone across the hotel room. She burrows under the covers and weeps. Exhaustion finally consumes her as she falls into a rich, dark, black slumber. Deep in the abyss, the Billy Joel song plays somewhere in the back of her mind.

All your past sins

Are since past

You should be sleeping

It’s all right

Sleep tight

Through the long night with me

 

She awakens when the hotel door opens, slamming against the wall. She briefly has time to calculate all of her mistakes. She had parked the Toyota out in front of the hotel. Although she had paid in cash, she used a credit card for a security deposit. She did not turn off her cell phone when she threw it across the hotel room, and her location was shared with her husband on her cell phone—for her safety. 

But she is only an English teacher, not Iago, with all of his treacherous planning and cunning stratagems. And she is as innocent and naive as Desdemona, yet just as terrified as a similarly enraged husband comes to her bed. And like Desdemona, she is caustically upbraided by a husband, so out of control and blinded by an alleged jealousy, he will not listen. She tries to explain, but taking his cues from Othello, a play he will never read, her husband follows in Othello’s footsteps and picks up a pillow from the bed to quiet a wife. 

She panics as he is too strong to fend off, her body pinned and thrashing under his. She hears him cursing her, feels him holding the pillow more tightly against her face. 

He was always going to kill me, she thinks. There has been enough foreshadowing in this play. And for the first time that day, her possibilities do not seem endless.

As her body struggles to breathe, she returns to the highway, turns up the car’s radio, and plays the last stanza of Billy Joel’s song in her final thoughts:

No, I didn’t start it

You’re broken hearted

From a long, long time ago

Oh, the way you hold me

Is all that I need to know

And it’s so late

But I’ll wait

Through the long night with you

 

October 31, 2020 22:59

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47 comments

Tom .
12:54 Nov 01, 2020

"Hello Darkness, my old friend..." Thumbs up, I really liked it. The only edit I would consider is deleting 'but takes herself back to her car', these six words out of the last paragraph. Make her final journey down the highways a little more etheral...

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13:05 Nov 01, 2020

I know, right? 🥳 I cleaned 🧹 up the final paragraph per your suggestion. Thoughts? Too gutted?

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Tom .
14:01 Nov 01, 2020

That works.... GOOD JOB

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14:33 Nov 01, 2020

Thanks for the critique 🤓 Always appreciate the second set of eyes.

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Zilla Babbitt
23:12 Oct 31, 2020

Othello! Another show stopper from you. I love the inclusion of the lyrics, that's one of my favorite things in a story. This "on the road" story is GOOD because it captures that sense of terrified, cold, beautiful freedom that you get, like when you stand outside in the middle of an empty road on a winter night. Again, I think adding some more dialogue would add another layer. Maybe she could talk to the person behind the hotel counter - maybe she hesitates giving her name, changes her mind, and gives her maiden name. Also, if you put in...

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23:16 Oct 31, 2020

All great ideas from ZB -- long may she reign! I'm always up for a road trip, preferably one that doesn't end in my own murder. :)

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Zilla Babbitt
23:23 Oct 31, 2020

I doubt anyone would willingly go on a trip that ends in their death! I was just reading a few stories under the "On the Road" contest, if you need a few ideas - I think my next story will be a road one.

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Lucas Zhou
09:40 Dec 03, 2020

wut can i say, its so good!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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12:04 Dec 03, 2020

Thanks for the exclamation marks :)

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Rayhan Hidayat
12:28 Nov 04, 2020

“ She parks the Toyota out in front of the hotel. Although she pays in cash, she uses a credit card for a security deposit. She does not turn off her cell phone when she throws it across the hotel room, and her location is shared with her husband on her cell phone—for her safety.” I was a little confused here at first because it’s events in the past but it’s written in present tense, but maybe that’s just me 🙃 Wonderfully grim, anyway. Love any story with meaningful song lyrics woven through. Abusive husband kills wife is a classic and...

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14:04 Nov 04, 2020

I'll try the present perfect tense. Hold up.

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14:08 Nov 04, 2020

All right, Ray Ban. I think I conquered the offending paragraph with its perplexing verb tense dilemma. I do like present tense with this action (less reflective) stories, but I always get hung up with flashbacks. Thanks for spotting the confusion :) Appreciate you so much!

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Rayhan Hidayat
15:08 Nov 04, 2020

I like what I’m seeing 😙 Glad I could help—maybe it’s just my nitpicky brain, but I’d hate to stop by without leaving a suggestion

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Elle Clark
22:38 Nov 01, 2020

Yet another excellent story from you. Loved the interplay between Othello and Billy Joel and how they were both integral to the structure of the story. The only thing to be aware of is that because Billy Joel’s lyrics are still in copyright, this is likely to be a dismissed story. Just wanted to give you a heads up. Loved the simplicity of this plot. Woman leaves husband and life, enjoys 24 hours of freedom, gets murdered. Such a simple premise yet lots going on under the surface. A thoroughly enjoyable, if sad, read.

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22:53 Nov 01, 2020

Dismiss away, O Reedsy judges! In the words of rapper Lil Uzi Vert in his seminal "Do What I Want": Everybody know I'm better, ayy (Yeah), yeah, I'm better, ayy (Yeah) It don't matter, ayy (What?), pockets fatter, ayy (Ayy) Nowadays I'm on, my haters, they got sadder, ayy (What?) That's money longer, ayy (Yeah), different song, bruh, ayy (Yeah) I actually have no idea what any of that means. But I get the whole "copyright" law situation. Still, can't resist the Othello/Joel mashup. "Then must you speak Of one that loved no...

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Elle Clark
22:58 Nov 01, 2020

I assumed you’d be cool with it - just wanted you to know! I’m glad you’re not changing it though as it’s perfect the way it is. Like you!

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23:19 Nov 01, 2020

I write for me. End stop :) Eh . . . not totally true. And that sounded horribly arrogant. I write for the people I love, which are very far and few between. So far, Manchester, Johannesburg, Virginia, and I think St. Louis...? (And my work colleague Bill, who is my exact male doppelganger.)

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L.A. Nolan
06:24 Nov 01, 2020

I don't think I've ever been "Flummoxed"....but the word hooked me from the start. Poignant tale Deidra, the weaving of Shakespeare and Billy to graphically illustrate the characters present situation was well done and inspired. I do so enjoy reading your work. I would deeply appreciate it if you could give one of my latest submissions, Sabbat Of The Kali Daayan a read. Your thoughts and critique would be very much welcomed.

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06:29 Nov 01, 2020

I’ve been wanting to mash up Billy Joel and Shakespeare for a while, both great balladeers. Heading over to read your stuff ❤️

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L.A. Nolan
06:41 Nov 01, 2020

..and baldy dears.....

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D Kase
02:14 Dec 11, 2020

Oh my... just... YES! Thoroughly enjoyed this one. On a side note, I swear I'm not stalking you! I'm going through all of your stories. Just taking my time in between life and such. :P

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03:08 Dec 11, 2020

Love that you are doing that! 😎 Thanks for your support.

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William Liu
03:36 Nov 25, 2020

This makes me hungry

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Sam S.
12:48 Nov 10, 2020

hey..this was a fabulous story...I like your writing style and have always wanted to write like that....wanna check out my stories Deidra? Thanks!

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15:54 Nov 10, 2020

Angelina -- Thanks for your comment. I'm glad to read your stories. Which one should I start with?

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N. N.
06:22 Nov 10, 2020

Hey Deidra! Lovely story!!! I love how all the emotions are portrayed throughout the story, and the concluding verses are just... Perfect. I've seen that almost everyone has commented about the Othello-Joel mashup... But I guess it's hard not to! It shines too brightly in the story to be left out of a single comment. Looking forward to more of your works!!

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07:24 Nov 10, 2020

Thanks Neha 😀 Always appreciate the moral support. Shakespeare mashes up nicely with everything — even KFC (in my “The Play’s the Thing”)

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Carol Namorato
15:28 Nov 07, 2020

My heart is broken. What a short but yet touching story! It really kept me on the edge of my seat! Also, love the play on words you´ve done to create the title. Good job!

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15:32 Nov 07, 2020

Thanks, Carol. It's all right. I have a wife murdering her husband a few stories back. See? The universe balances itself in the end. :)

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Carol Namorato
15:36 Nov 07, 2020

Hahah, I´ll definitely check that out!! :)

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Bianka Nova
22:39 Nov 06, 2020

I knew this was going to be good from the first sentence. Also, it is Lovegren(R). And, oh my, your stories get darker and darker. I'm afraid this one might even use a trigger warning. Makes me wonder - you had the one where the wife killed the husband; now you had another one that goes the other way. Should we expect The War of the Roses kind of story next? 😉

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23:49 Nov 06, 2020

That's a great idea. I'm stealing it.

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Bianka Nova
09:01 Nov 07, 2020

No need, I give it to you all for free and looking forward to reading the result 😉

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Len Mooring
20:35 Nov 01, 2020

You walk on water, Deidra. You broke my heart also. Beautiful writing.

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20:59 Nov 01, 2020

No, Len! Say it ain’t soooooo

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21:11 Nov 01, 2020

John Keats, the greatest of all British Romantic poets in my book, merely wanted this line inscribed on his tombstone as his epitaph: "Here lies one whose name was writ in water." Poor bugger was 25. At least I lapped him 😉

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21:18 Nov 01, 2020

May as well quote Keats since I’ve decided I’m him today: When I have fears that I may cease to be / Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain. A thing of beauty is a joy forever. Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul? I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination (See how you Brits are with the lingua franca? All bards. Every last one of you!)

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Crows_ Garden
03:29 Mar 15, 2022

A good cry before beds always good.

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Mohammed Nahir
10:48 Jan 16, 2021

enjoy reading the story. I love both Shakespeare and Billy Joel. Was it the song or Othello who inspired the story?

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12:04 Jan 16, 2021

Thanks! Both are great Bards. Billy Joel provided the inspiration for this, though.

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02:17 Nov 01, 2020

Nice work! Love the dark, cold storyline, subtle character, and Shakespearean feel! The writing is excellent as well. It was smooth enough that I only remember the story in my head, and not the actual words used to create the story. This is officially one of my favs on Reedsy... I have no real critiques. Maybe a little bit longer, a little bit more time to savor the agony would give us an even deeper understanding of this shadowed tale. :) I reiterate Zilla's suggestion of more dialogue. More pain! Give us more! Keep on writing!

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06:24 Nov 01, 2020

Savor the agony? I guess it is Halloween 🎃

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13:48 Nov 01, 2020

Hmm, I might've been grasping for words a little bit...XD

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06:26 Nov 01, 2020

I really liked your complimentary phrasing: “smooth enough that I only remember the story in my head, and not the actual words used to create the story.” Lyrically stated. ❤️ A high bar to meet 😃

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13:49 Nov 01, 2020

We are writers. Should it not be natural for all of our written work to reflect our talents? ;)

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14:31 Nov 01, 2020

Reflect away, Greer.

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14:33 Nov 01, 2020

Lol.

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