A Slippery Slope of Murder by Summer Prescott

Author:Summer Prescott [Prescott, Summer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Summer Prescott Books
Published: 2018-11-19T20:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

“Juss lookit you…comin’ home all pale and smelling like hooch,” Darla slurred, ironically.

Dean hadn’t wanted to go home to her, feeling as lousy as he did. He’d wanted to go to the lodge and apologize to Sunny for passing out in her restaurant, but his dad had put the kibosh on that idea, and had driven him home, dropping him at his doorstep and pulling away from the drive before Dean could change his mind. Before he’d even gotten the key in the lock of the front door, Darla had snatched it open, glaring at him with drunken accusation.

“Just leave me alone,” Dean said quietly, brushing past her, headed for the bathroom. “For once.”

“Where the heck have you been? Guess I doan even hafta ask, now do I? You disappear overnight right after that sunset chick comes back to town, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out where you were,” her voice was shrill and thick with the crocodile tears that she’d begun to shed, as she followed him into the bathroom. “I waited up all night for you. Did you even call? No, you couldn’t be bothered with your wife anymore. What a lousy husband you are. You ain’t even a man to me now,” she babbled, only semi-coherent.

Dean pressed his palms against his throbbing temples and took a deep breath before responding.

“I’d like some privacy please,” he said calmly, teeth clenched.

“I just bet you would. What is it you doan want me to see, huh?” Darla shrieked, striking him in the back with a balled up fist.

She wound up for another punch and Dean whirled around, catching her by the wrist before she dealt him another blow. Holding it as gently as possible while she struggled, he led her back to the bathroom door, nudged her as gently as possible out into the hall, and shut the door behind her, locking it as she twisted the knob back and forth, trying to get in.

“Shure, go ‘head, juss shut me out,” she sobbed.

Dean heard her slide down the door, collapsing on the floor, where she brayed out her despair in deep, gulping, ugly sounds. He relieved himself, knowing what was coming, and dreading it. Sure enough, she started gagging, and shortly thereafter, he heard the telltale spatter of vomit on the laminate flooring outside the bathroom. The sound and accompanying stench had him turning green around the gills and he splashed icy water from the tap on his face as a distraction.

Drying off with a towel which smelled of mildew, he caught sight of his own face in the mirror, and was transfixed.

“How did I get so old?” he murmured, taking in the creases at the corners of his eyes, the sallow color of his skin, and hollows in his cheeks. “What is she doing to me?” he whispered, horrified.

“Dean,” Darla moaned, thunking her head repeatedly on the bathroom door. “Help me. I need clothes, I’m messy and cold,” she whined.

He continued staring at his reflection, then got hit by a wave of the smell coming in under the door and gagged.

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