Blood Orange short fiction, Part 2 (conclusion)

After 30 minutes Russell came to the table and sat down heavily. Kate hurried to pass him his dinner, "It’s steak, just the way you like it -- with garlic and mushroom gravy; and the sorbet to follow." She was desperate to appease him.

Russell picked up a fork and jabbed at the steak.

Nothing could have prepared his wife for what happened next.

An ex-boxer with muscled arms, a huge frame, and a three day growth of stubbly black whiskers, Russell jumped to his feet. Grabbing the plate of food and swinging it wildly he brought it crashing against her face. She felt the sting of the hot gravy and the pain of a bruised jaw. She staggered, and suddenly he was beside her, clutching her by the arm and flinging her onto the tiled floor.

She laid still, the back of her head hurting terribly and her eyes fogging with black shadows.

"You're useless! You’re a nothing! You can't even cook steak!" He screamed at her. "Get up and get into the bedroom! And try to be of some use to me there!“ he yelled maniacally, "I shouldn't have to put up with a bitch who looks like a drought-ridden cow!"

Kate opened her eyes wider as the room tilted above her. "Russell, please -- I can't... "

A moment later he was over her -- dragging her to her feet and frogmarching her to the bedroom.

For a long time after she heard the front door slam, her thighs hurt from his rough thrusting anger, and her head ached, but most of all she hurt inside. The shuddering doorframe at his retreat had shaken her little English China jug, given to her by her grandmother when she was ten, straight off the shadow box in the foyer. She heard the shattering, and saw herself breaking.

She tried to clear her foggy brain, whispering to herself, "I'll ring Jenny."

It would, she guessed, be some hours before Russell returned, alcoholic fumes humming from his breath.

'Just a small bag of clothes -- that's what they said to bring -- I'll be safe at the shelter; he won't find me there,' she consoled herself resignedly,

It could have been an hour, or it could have been two, that she stayed there, not moving. When she heard the front door open and close quietly, her heart sank. Tears flowed unchecked. "No! No!” she cried out, "no! I can't take any more. Why Russell? What have I done to you? I've tried so hard. I can't take it any longer!"

Rolling off the edge of the bed she spied her dressmaking scissors lying forgotten on the bedside table and clutched at them with trembling fingers. She stood up shakily. Hearing the footsteps treading quietly down the hallway, she screamed out in anger, "Why are you creeping, you coward? Maybe you think I'm dead!"

When the huge man entered the bedroom, his staring eyes locked with hers, boring straight into her. She returned his stare defiantly, her right hand held tightly behind her back, until she felt his hands on her shoulders as he forced her back down onto the bed.

Kate screamed, "No! you’re not..."She tried to ward him off with her left hand pushing against his face, and the sharp stubbly whiskers sent shivers up her back.

She hesitated, but as his hand gathered a bunch of her skirt, Kate's face screwed into a snarling, manic mask. With all the strength left in her body she forced her right hand forward wildly, into the side of his neck. The scissors plunged deep; from somewhere she heard a bloodcurdling scream; but she could not stop her desperate defence, lashing out with the scissors again and again.

When the suffocating weight on her body ceased to writhe, she groaned and dropped her arms. Then wildly, she started to push at the weight.
Gasping and choking with huge hiccoughing sobs, she pushed until the heavy frame rolled onto the floor with a flat thump.

She looked at her wet sticky hands. Orange juice?

It was spilling down her arms onto the bed covers. It saturated her clothes, dripping onto the bedroom floor, lapping over the carpet and drowning the still form on the floor.

Robotically, she reached over and picked up the phone, pressing the speed dial for Jenny’s number.

"The orange -- I can't stop the juice Jenny! I can't stop it! Come quick! He's drowning!"

Jenny gasped when she heard the manic cries for help. "Things are bad Mal," she said to her husband,

"Leave now, leave now Kate! just walk out, you've got to get out, you've got to go, Kate!"

"But what will I do about the juice, Jen? How will I stop the juice? " Kate insisted.

"No no, the juice doesn't matter love… but leave now… just run out of the house Kate. I'm coming to meet you."


                                                                          --0--

 The street light at the corner shone down on a lonely figure, standing...helpless When Jenny reached her friend she was shocked "Holy Mother of God!! Come on! I'm getting you to my place!" She dragged Kate along and the two ran, stumbling, the rest of the block to her house.

Mal opened the door to usher them in. Usually a religious man, but shocked by what he saw, he burst out, "Jesus Mary and Joseph!"

"See nothing!" said Jenny sternly. "Quick! Go over to Kate's place -- Russell probably needs the ambulance."

She pulled Kate into the shower.

"Aren't you supposed to preserve the evidence?" asked Mal with a worried frown.

"Not this time!" Jenny assured him.

Kate was still clutching the scissors. Jenny wrapped them in the bloodied clothes and pushed them into a garbage bag. She left Kate under the shower.

Then the phone rang. As Mal opened the door to leave he heard his wife answer, "Russell? Russell? Are you okay? You're not hurt? Where are you?" Jenny sounded incredulous.

Mal closed the door again. "No," he heard, "She didn't tell me where she was going. No, no idea I'm afraid… sorry."

Jenny hung up the phone and spoke to Mal, "God! That man’s tough!"

Next morning Kate sat in the lounge room of the shelter, miserable in Jenny's old too-long jeans and faded blouse. Forlornly, she waited for the social worker to arrive.

A young woman entered the room and asked, "Would you like to read the paper, Hon?"

"Thanks", Kate replied, giving the stranger a weak smile.

She stared down at the headlines, 'Murdered Body in house may be Serial Rapist'.

Then she read on, 'Police believe the body found at the home of Russell Meuner maybe that of the district's serial rapist. It appears the man must have stumbled to the house for help as he bled copiously from wounds to head and chest. Extensive bloodstains in the house were found to be that of the dead man. Mr Muener found the body when he returned home during the evening. Police believe Mr Muener's wife had earlier left the premises, forgetting to lock the door. Though the police are still uncertain and reluctant to comment, it is believed the man may have been killed by an intended victim.'

THE END