Dying To Be With You Page 2

  Clark sat upright. He threw his sheets to the side. He stood, pressing his back to the wall, and inched his way over to the window. He approached on the side where the curtains were bunched together, careful to stay hidden from sight. No sense in giving the intruder a heads up.

  He peered through a gap in the fabric, parting the blinds with his fingers. A figure stood on the lawn, rail thin and stock-still, a lanky silhouette against the starlit sky. Clark snorted - a bitter laugh that held a hint of madness - and shook his head as he scowled at the figure.

  Was this the man of Shelly's dreams? Her Prince charming? Her Don Juan? He looked like a skinny punk, with his meager build and ratty jeans, a black hood pulled over his face.

  He spotted Shelly on the patio stairs. Her breasts jiggled as she made her way down the steps, nipples barely hidden by a thin pajama top. She made no effort to cover herself as a gust of wind exposed her midriff to the awaiting visitor. What a slut! Clark's blood pressure soared to new heights as he watched her slowly cross the grassy yard.

  Heartbeat pounding in his throat, Clark gritted his teeth. Soon they would embrace, right here on his property, and sneak away into the night together. No! Hell no! Clark wouldn't stand for this! He'd be damned if this would happen on his turf!

  Nicholas, he thought, you're fucking with the wrong guy!

  Shelly followed Nicholas's gaze, from her face, to their hands as they locked together, to the weapon she held at her side. His withered eyelids disappeared into his cadaverous skull, exposing too much of his murky, dead eyes. His gray lips hung open, yet he didn't say a word. She noticed the crimson stains on his teeth and smelled the tang of blood on his breath. What have I done, she repeated in her mind.

  “It's not for you,” she blurted out. “I could never do that." She gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze and looked into his eyes as if nothing had changed. As if he wasn't a monster that reeked of death and decay. But he couldn't stop glancing at the gun.

  She let go of his hand and reached out, gripping his chin between her thumb and index finger. She forced his eyes to lock with hers by gently nudging his head. "It's for me.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I can't do this anymore...” She sighed through quivering lips and raised the gun to cradle it in both hands.

  “Shelly, no-” he began, but was silenced by her finger.

  “I hope that when I'm gone, you will be freed from this curse. If not, you can join me. I only need one of these bullets.” She pressed the barrel underneath her chin. “Forgive me, my love.”

  “Nooooo!!” Nicholas screamed and reached for the gun. He snatched the weapon in a blur. A gunshot rang out behind them. The top of his skull exploded as he freed the weapon from her grip, little pieces of brain matter flying through the air. Nicholas hit the ground. The hole in his head leaked viscous fluids onto the lawn. His eyes rolled back, showing nothing but white. Spasms shook his body. A dry choking sound filled the night.

  Shelly spun around to see Clark eying her down the barrel of a much larger gun. “Two timing-”

  BANG! Clark's insult was interrupted by a bullet to the chest. It ripped through his flesh, spurting blood in its wake. Shelly looked to where Nicholas had fallen in the grass to see him pointing the gun in Clark's direction.

  Clark staggered, steadying his aim. Blood ran down his chin as he coughed, a menacing smile on his lips. “Dirty whore...”

  A second blast crippled his knee. He squeezed the trigger as he fell. A bullet whizzed through the air, so close to its target that Shelly felt the wind as it passed. She screamed, ducking as a fourth shot rang out. But it came from the gun in Nicholas's hands. It caught Clark in the torso. The impact sent him backwards. He hit the ground in a crumpled heap.

  A few seconds passed as Shelly watched Clark's body, looking for signs of life. When she was satisfied he wasn't moving, Shelly dropped to her knees and crawled to where Nicholas lay.

  “Nicholas,” she said, slapping his face. His eyes rolled forward. She saw a hint of silver-blue beneath the grime. He was struggling to stay with her, eyes threatening to roll back again. “Nicholas, you saved my life...”

  “Promise....” he wheezed. “Promise me one thing.”

  She nodded.

  His voice was barely a whisper, but he managed to say: “Live...”

  Tears blurred her vision as she stroked his rotted cheek. A few drops fell to mix with his brain tissue in the grass. “I will.” She placed a kiss on his cold, dead lips. But this kiss held no magic, only love.

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