The flash I published yesterday was pretty much standalone, but I couldn’t help but pen a second part. This one is a bit shorter, at 6-7 minutes.

Part One

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“Who the fuck can that be?” Kyle lifted his head, startled by the heavy knock at the door.

“Don’t you dare stop.” Sandra pushed his head back into her crotch. She was too close, now, to let it go. “You’re gonna make me come in a minute, leave the freakin’ door.” She felt his tongue down there once more.

But the caller was undeterred, and a few seconds later came more raps. Kyle raised his head again. His face issued an apology.

“Let me just get rid of them, hon”. He gave her pussy a kiss. But compared to his earlier veracity, this was a mere peck. À bientôt. He rose to retrieve a dressing gown from the door, before turning back to her prostate form and promising, “I’ll be right back. Keep the engine running for me”.

As Kyle slid on some worn moccasins, the dissatisfied Sandra slapped her legs together, before pulling a pillow from behind her head. But Kyle was on the landing even before it harmlessly smacked the door, bounding down the stairs just in time to catch a third knock.

“Who is it?”, shouted Kyle as he drew his gown.

No answer.

Never mind, he thought, as, unsuspecting, he opened the door a crack.

*

Kyle’s last emotion was shock, as the heavy front door smashed forcefully into his nose, breaking it instantly and knocking him backwards. Off balance, he crashed into an antique crystal vase of red roses. He had no chance even to react, as the blow was swiftly followed by the two-hundred-pound Chuck, blade in hand. There was surprisingly little blood as the knife instantly pierced Kyle’s heart.

The sound of the breaking vase alerted Sandra, who was waiting impatiently upstairs. Either that, or the almost-simultaneous clatter as Kyle slumped heavily to the floor. Whichever, the sound was disturbing enough for her to leap naked from the bed, and peep her head around the door.

“Kyle?” Her voice raised in panic. “KYLE? WHAT’S WRONG?” She froze when she heard a familiar voice.

“Fuck my wife, would you?”, Chuck panted, frenzied, repeatedly stabbing the corpse. “Well, fuck you, you sack of shit!”

“CHUCK! NO!”

Sandra rushed into the bedroom too soon to see the man rise, though she heard the chill of his voice from downstairs.

“Oh, Sandy? Sandy? I’m coming for you. You think you can cheat on me again and get away with it? Not this time, Sandy. ‘Til death do us part, remember? Ain’t no cops gonna save you now.”

Chuck meant business. He approached the stairs, the bloodstained knife in hand. Two steps at once, he leapt, reaching the landing just as the bedroom door slammed shut.

Again, Sandra was lucky. Or smart. Or both. For the ageing house had sturdy doors, and Sandra had the presence of mind to turn the key. The frustrated Chuck cursed when the door would not budge in his hand.

The locked door bought Sandra a few precious seconds. While Chuck readied himself to barge, Sandra flung open the window.

A naked woman dropping down onto the almost-flat roof of the woodstore. That sight would certainly have caused neighbourhood comment, had there been any neighbours. But there weren’t, and furthermore Sandra did not care, on hearing the crash of the bedroom door. By the time she was ten yards from the house, Chuck’s pumped-up frame appeared at the bedroom window.

“Say your prayers, bitch.”

A few things helped Sandra that day. Not least was the direction in which she ran. Straight toward the carport. Though she didn’t have any keys, she had enough of a start to be able to pick up the shovel – heavy, It might do the trick – and to hide behind the new auto. Barely a handful of seconds passed before she heard Chuck’s footsteps, and she swung with all her might.

For a small woman, it was a powerful blow. Catching Chuck in his midriff, it left him bent double, and the knife span from his hand. Sandra hastily repeated, this time catching Chuck’s shoulder and sending him dazed to the ground. Dropping the shovel, she began to run again across the wet leaves of the lawn, towards a patch of undergrowth in the middle of the garden. Though there was shelter closer, Sandra was mindful of her bare feet. Panting already, she wanted to use as much of the grass as she could.

The dazed Chuck recovered in a matter of seconds, and retrieving the knife, he glimpsed Sandra disappearing into some bushes. Noting the spot, he resumed the chase, and though unsteady, he gained with each stride. In the undergrowth, she got lucky, for it was less than six feet deep, and Sandra was able to leap the dirt almost in one bound to find more lawn. And not a moment too soon. Almost as she hit this fresh patch, Chuck reached the bushes. Nearly onto her. Still dizzy, though, he half-slipped on some leaves, gifting Sandra another half-second.

But hearing Chuck’s “FUCK!” behind her was as much as Sandra knew. For she was already scanning the grassy bank to her right. In the now-murky light, she thought she recognised something. Something man-made. It couldn’t be?

If only I can reach it, before…

Sandra changed course.

Just ten feet away, Chuck almost had her. With nowhere to run, he gained every moment, the bloodstained knife in search of the day’s second victim. Chuck raised it over his head, and two steps later, he jerked the blade down.

The pain seared through her buttock, but Sandra was so close to the bank that her momentum kept her moving forward, collapsing as she hurtled into it. She snatched the object.

Had there been time, she might have thanked Chuck for teaching her to handle it so well.

But as it was, with her ex-husband only feet away, it was all instinct. She grasped the Huntsman. In a single, fluid movement, one hand flicked the safety while the other found the trigger.

Thank God he’d left one in the chamber.