A Novel Idea

Trigger Warning-this story touches on topics of domestic abuse, violence and death.

Sunday Afternoon

Dee could barely keep her eyes open. They had officially reached the sandpaper phase where just simply opening them felt like a million little needles being lodged in each one. The tiny blue office felt too cramped suddenly and the tick tock of the broken cuckoo clock was starting to drive Dee mad. Finishing a novel always drove her to the edge. This one was more important than the twelve she had published already. This was her final goodbye. A memoir where she was able to make her words come to life, both figuratively and literally.

She re-read a few paragraphs that were plaguing her.

“Smiling back at her was an ashen face, obviously dead. The eerie look in his blank stare shook her to the core. Eliza ran into the bathroom and heaved, all of her stomach contents emptying into the toilet. Then she smiled, finally free.”

Something felt off. Maybe it was the terminology she had used. Heaved? Should she change that word? Shook her? That definitely sounded wrong. She wanted to get it perfect this time.  

“Ugh, why can’t I make this work?” Dee yelled to the world around her. Still silent. “Just breathe girl. This is the ending you have been waiting for. And it’s done.”

Dee realized she was talking to herself again. A sign of exhaustion. She was ready to close up. She quickly packed away her laptop and checked her phone messages one last time. Twenty missed calls. Colin was getting louder and louder with each voicemail. Good, I needed him angry for this plan. 

She scooped up her bag and carried her keys in her hand. Flipping the light off, she slowly closed the door and locked it behind her. The office building was empty on the weekend. She glanced at her watch, one-thirty. Enough time to get this book sent out in the mail to her publisher, cook dinner, shower and get dressed.

Dee hardly remembered driving home. Or opening her front door and throwing down her bags. She was exhausted. Her whole body felt heavy. What she was about to do was either insane or brilliant. It didn’t matter much to her, as long as it was final. She had typed “The End” on her memoir and sent it out. Now she would make her story sing.

Four Weeks Earlier

“Dee, baby, I’m home. I brought you some beer. I’ll just put it in your fridge.” Colin yelled from the hallway.

“Colin, what are you doing? You said you had to work late tonight. I wasn’t expecting you,” Dee said, emerging from her office.

“Babe, I texted you like an hour ago. I got off early and wanted to see you. I asked you to make some dinner. Let me guess, you were in crazy land,” he said sarcastically. Colin hated everything about Dee’s work, except her income. He enjoyed her advances and all of her royalties, and spent it.

“Stop, don’t start tonight. I was working. You were working. I will cook up something quick for us.”

“Dee, shit. I am hungry. I came over for dinner and company, if you know what I mean. I guess we can work on “company” first,” he said, stroking her arm a little too tightly.

“I am tired. Why don’t you go home tonight and we can plan on dinner tomorrow? I’ll cook up my lasagna and wear that red dress you like,” Dee stated, removing his fingers from around her arm. Looking down she noticed the red marks already forming.

“That sounds nice Dee, but not quite enough. Tomorrow dinner. Tonight I need you. So why don’t you go back into your room and get into something more comfy. I’m going to get a beer and follow.”

“Colin, I said not tonight. I’m tired. My head is throbbing. I finally got to a good spot in my story. My main character found the love of her life in the library. Reading Jane Austen. It was so romantic.”

“Dee, I said go get in something more comfortable. I don’t really care about your characters or your story. Or your romance,” Colin said, pushing her back into her bedroom door. He must have shoved too hard because she fell forward and hit her head on the molding. The room went dark for a moment.

“Dee, what the hell? Get up. Bitch, I asked you nicely more than I should. Get up. Forget the pretty clothes, I can be quick.” He reached his hand up and grabbed around her neck. Tight. Dee knew this would leave marks tomorrow. It wouldn’t be the first time she wore a turtleneck in summer.

“Colin, you promised no more of this. I can’t keep doing this. It’s too hard. I want out. Get out,” she said, twisting her body from his grip. It only made him squeeze tighter. 

“Let’s see how long you can go with my fingers wrapped around you. Will it hurt the more you struggle? Will you stay strong or pass out? This little game might be more fun than the other.”

“Colin, shit, stop it. What are you doing?” Dee was flailing her body. Pushing back against him. Her fingers weren't long enough to reach his eyes. No matter how much she was trying.

“Bitch!” he yelled, knocking her hard to the ground. She hit her head and instantly tasted blood in her mouth. Then the lights went out.

When she awoke, he was gone. The egg on her head and the bruises on her neck and arms, one reminder that he had been there. The other was her torn jeans lying on the floor next to her. Dee crumpled into a ball and cried until she fell asleep.

Around midnight Dee woke. She dragged herself to her cell phone and texted, “Colin, that was it. No more forgiving you. Do not come near me again or I will call the cops, again.” That night Dee began her next novel. An abusive man and a heroic woman. Bastard Brad as she liked to refer to him.

Two Weeks Earlier

“Dee, how have you been? I hear you typing until late in the night. Must be a good story this time,” Elena says, standing in Dee’s office doorway. 

“It is awful, actually painful for me to type. The characters are so familiar this time. Maybe I shouldn’t have started this one so soon.”

“Dee, this will be good for you. It is well past time for you to put a close to your Colin saga. That man has been terrorizing you for years. Let him go. Write the bastard dead.”

“Oh my, that’s it. I need him to die. My character, my Brad,” Dee said.

“Dee, are you sure? I was only kidding. You usually write romance novels.”

“Elena, I have been fake writing happy moments for years. Romantic dates with wine and roses. Things I had always hoped for. And nothing ever came true. No romantic moments, just horror stories. It is time I write about my truth. And kill the bastard off.”

“In your book, of course.”

“Of course,” Dee said, smiling, a plan formulating in her head. This book would be the first time she told her story. Her real story. Of her and Colin. 

One Week Earlier

Dee looked down at her phone again. She was giddy inside. He had taken the bait. She knew he would. Colin could never resist make-up sex. Especially when he was the one who had been wrong. 

“Name the day. I will be there. It is so good you have come around Dee. I knew we could work through this. You love me too much to let me go over some silly mistake.”

That made Dee laugh. A mistake. That was what Colin called every bruise he had ever given her. A mistake.

“Sunday at 5. I will make the lasagna I promised you.”

“Good, I’ve been dreaming of that for weeks.”

“Me too,” Dee said, nightmares.

Sunday Night

Colin will be here soon. The lasagna was in the oven-she had to keep up the facade at least. She had been typing for hours. Finishing her novel in her office. One paragraph had been plaguing her. Other than that, it was ready. Instead of dwelling on it like she normally would, she put it in an envelope and sent it off, too late to worry now. It was the fastest she had ever written a novel. Hopefully it made an impact in someone’s life. 

As she waited for Colin to arrive, she began to read her last pages…

Eliza invited Brad for dinner. She wore his favorite dress and cooked his favorite food. She needed him satisfied in all ways for this to work.

He arrived right on time. If nothing else, he was prompt. He didn’t ring the doorbell. Just barged right in.

“Eliza, it is about time you came to your senses. What was it, four weeks? Longest you have ever left me hanging. Time to make it up to me.”

“Damn right,” Eliza says, pulling a small handgun from her back. “Well past time I made you apologize. Oh what’s the matter Brad, you look scared.” Eliza laughed maniacally.

“Liza baby, don’t do this.”

“Brad, I need you to do something for me. I need you to write me a small note. Start with, dear Eliza, I could not live with myself for the abuse I have caused to you. My life no longer seems worth living.” Eliza said as she slid a pen and paper to Brad.

“Liza, stop. You don’t know what you are saying. We can work this out. I’ll go to therapy. I’ll change.”

“I’m sorry Brad. I really am. I loved you. And then I loathed you. And sometimes I was entranced by you. Now mostly I despise you. And everything you have done to me. I hate you. And I need you dead to make me happy. Now write me my note.”

Eliza stood above Brad holding the gun to his forehead. She waited patiently as he recorded all of the words she dictated to him. When he put his signature on the bottom, she lifted his fingers into the gun and slowly turned the device.

“I only wish for you to have peace finally. Hopefully this will help me find mine.” And she pulled the trigger.

Smiling back at her was an ashen face, obviously dead. The eerie look in his blank stare shook her to the core. Eliza ran into the bathroom and heaved, all of her stomach contents emptying into the toilet. Then she smiled, finally free.

Monday Morning

The police made their way into the house. Guns drawn as they scoured each room searching. 

“Tell me again what the caller said?” Officer Ray asked dispatch.

“It was a dead call. Silence on the other end. No speaking at all.”

“Have we been to this address before?”

“Yes, about six months ago. The owner was beaten pretty badly. Wouldn’t say who the attacker was. We always assumed it was domestic, but without her cooperation, we were left with nothing.”

“Living room clear. Hallway clear.”

“Office clear, although the computer screen is lit up, as if someone was recently in here.”

“Bathroom clear. Bedroom…shit. Call for an ambulance. Two people down. Gunshot wound to one. Not sure about the other one. Shit there’s so much blood. Medic needed. Coroner too.”

“What the hell happened in this room?”

“A nightmare. It looks like a nightmare.”

Dee smiled as she watched the scene from up above. Well the scene didn’t come to life quite how she imagined, but it was damn close. A story that became reality one word at a time. Only difference was Eliza gets to walk free and find peace. Dee should have made sure her story would live on. Instead she was beaten to death, but not before she got one shot to his head. She may never find peace, neither will Colin.

Dee only hoped that when her memoir was released, people read it. And loved it. And maybe asked some questions. Like did her story come true? Had she created a man out of her character and made him live in her reality? Or was the man in her reality a monster that she turned into a character? The world may never know…