Behind the Glass

I turn the lights out. I'm exhausted; I've been working at the factory all day and the only thing my aching body desires is sleep. I just want to wrap myself in the covers and pass out. However, the cold sweat sticking to my skin won't allow that.

If I go to sleep, I'm going to die.

I look out the window repeatedly. I can barely see a thing in this snowstorm but as far as I can tell, the minivan that I'm dreading the arrival of still hasn't revealed itself. I know that Bryan's coming, though. He meant it when he said he was coming to tear my throat out.

A dog barks in the distance. A cold winter breeze escapes through the window. I hate the fact that I'm so new to this small town. There's nowhere I can hide and as a former teenage runaway, I've had too much bad luck with cops to consider the idea of calling them.

Bryan's a tall, thin type, with gangly limbs and deep cheekbones underneath his thick, bristly black beard. I knew from the first day I moved here and saw that crazy glare behind his wire rimmed glasses that something was wrong with him. Maybe I should have thought twice before I dated his ex-girlfriend Melissa, though. Even so, it wasn't my fault that she came on to me, it wasn't my fault she was so beautiful, so interesting, so unavoidable. Was it?

I look out the window again. A small car drives past slowly, sliding a bit in the snow. My heart skips a beat but it's not Bryan. I slump into my recliner and breathe heavily. I attempt to relax my chest. Suddenly, the entire room lights up. My body shakes uncontrollably, like a man on death row. I peer outside.

Headlights.

I run to my front door and lock it. Then, I leap to my recliner and with strength I never knew I had, I shove it in front of the door. Outside, I hear the slam of a car door. It suddenly occurs to me that the back door is unlocked. I run for it, trip over my own feet and fall flat on my face.

"TRAVIS!" Bryan's nasally voice screams venomously.

I speed to my back door and lock it.

"I'M COMING, TRAVIS!"

My door handle turns; he must know it's locked, yet he turns it anyway. There's a brief pause. Through the thin, wooden door, each of us listens to the other breathing.

SLAM.

Bryan beats against the door. It sounds to me a lot like he's using an aluminum baseball bat but I'm not sure.

SLAM.

He hits it again. I run around the room but this time, it's with a purpose. From the corner of my eye, I see the tool chest.

"You'll never have Melissa, Travis! If I can't have her, no one can! YOU HEAR ME?!"

SLAM.

SLAM.

The beating stops. This only makes things more unsettling; he's thinking of another way in. With shaking hands, I latch onto the rusty old hatchet inside my tool chest.

The window shatters as Bryan slams his baseball bat against it. His palms clutch onto the exterior shards of glass and he hoists himself inside. Dark red blood from his hands oozes down the surface of the glass. I raise my hatchet into the air.

"I've got you now, motherfucker!" he screams.

Bryan climbs through the window and leaps at me. I close my eyes, swing my hatchet in front of me and drive it inside him.

I open my eyes. Our gaze meets, one final time. Behind those wire rimmed glasses, Bryan's eyes are drenched in tears. His dying battle cry sputters out weakly. As he slumps down, I realize that it's not a lion I've just killed but a loyal, whimpering, abandoned puppy with rabies.

I yank the hatchet from his chest and collapse onto the ground, head in hands.