How to Kill Your Wife by James Hockings

Author:James Hockings [Hockings, James]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: James Hockings, publishing
Published: 2011-08-18T04:30:00+00:00

Chapter 35

Arriving at Frannie’s hospital room, Peter stated, “You look worse than I’ve ever seen you, and you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, Peter, you’re so sweet. Put those flowers on my bed so I can smell them. I’ll call the nurse for a vase.”

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“I was driving a friend’s car in town and all of a sudden it swerved into oncoming traffic and that’s all I remember. The cop who was here told me that I might not be charged, since they’re pretty sure that it was some kind of mechanical problem, the steering thingy - whatever. They aren’t done with the investigation yet. Thank heavens no one else was hurt.”

Peter blurted out, “Oh shit, I’m sorry.” His voice was so loud that it startled him. His hallucination about killing Kathryn in her car had come back in a blinding flash and forced the shouted words of apology from his throat.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too. I wrecked my friend’s Mercedes.”

“No, Frannie, I mean it - I’m sorry. I did it!” Peter shouted again. His eyes started rapidly scanning the room as though there were menaces lurking in all the corners.

“Did what, Peter? You’re not making any sense. Why are you shouting? You look crazy.”

“I caused the accident. I dreamed about killing Kathryn in a car accident and you got hurt instead.”

“You’re not making any sense, Peter. How could imagining something break the steering thingy in a car I was borrowing?”

“Frannie, you don’t understand. I’ve been hurting all my friends. I killed one of them. I killed my dog. I killed another dog, too. I’ve got to get out of here!” Peter ran from the room and didn’t slow down until he got to the parking garage.

He got up on the roof of his car and bent over. He banged his forehead against the cool metal. His eyes were wide with fear. “This is not a dream. This is not a dream. I’m awake.” He could smell the oily metallic smell of the parking garage. Tears that didn’t make it as far as his eyes rolled down the back of his throat and the salt gagged him. He could hear the sound of traffic on the nearby street. He banged on the roof with his fists.

Peter screamed inside his head “No, no, no, it can’t be me! I couldn’t do this! I love Frannie. I love Rex. I love Dudley. Marty was my friend. She did this. Kathryn’s the pus bucket, full of hate. She hates dogs and Frannie and me. She’s the one who believes in all this supernatural crap. She’s the one who killed my babies with spray paint and a knife. She’s trying to kill me! I’ve gotta quit writing about killing her and kill the witch for real. This shit’s gotta stop. Hurting Frannie’s the last fucking straw. I’m gonna stop that cunt. Dead …”

Peter’s phone buzzed and it snapped him out of his grief and anger. He looked at the caller ID.

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