Shotgun Opera

Maybe. ?Hungry??

?Yes.?

They went to the kitchen. Genoa salami, Swiss cheese, brown mustard, lettuce, and tomato. Two bottles of beer. They chewed and drank in silence.

Lizzy said, ?You should tell your friend she has company.?

Andrew sighed. ?Let me finish my sandwich.?

* * *

Linda?s face itched. She knew it was psychological, her hands taped to the arms of the chair. She would have given every cent she had to be able to scratch her nose. She was so uncomfortable, feet going numb. The duct tape around her ankles was tight.

She realized in some distant way that focusing on her minor discomforts kept her from thinking about the fate in her near future.

She was going to be robbed and raped and killed.

Now she thought about it, couldn?t stop herself. Mars would rape her in the cruelest way possible, revenge for the axe-handle clubbing. And he wouldn?t want to leave a witness behind, so she was as good as dead. Linda?s too- vivid imagination twisted her guts. Nausea swept through her. She panicked briefly, thinking she might vomit with the tape sealing her mouth shut. Would choking and dying on her own puke be any worse than what Mars had planned for her? Again, she felt the tears coming.

No! She would not cry, could not allow herself to give in to despair. Her husband had been a good cop. She knew what he would say. Keep your head. No matter what happened, the first step was to keep calm and think straight; otherwise, it was all over.

She still held the nail file, her fist aching from the tight grip. All she needed was a chance. The waiting was the worst. Mars had only been napping maybe thirty minutes, but to Linda it seemed like an eternity.

Please just let this end. Even if I?m murdered, just let it end.

Be patient, her husband would say. Keep your head.

Right. No vomiting. No crying. Stay calm and be patient.

* * *

Andrew put the plates in the sink. ?One more beer.?

?I feel weird being in somebody?s house and not telling them,? Lizzy said. ?It?s not courteous.?

?After this beer.?

?I don?t want her to walk downstairs and just see me.? She grabbed Andrew?s arm.

He pulled away. Reflex. The beer bottle slipped out of his hand, broke open with a loud pop on the kitchen floor. Foam and glass across the tile.

?Shit!? Andrew squatted, picked up the larger pieces of glass.

Lizzy giggled. ?Klutz.?

* * *

Linda started at the noise. Somebody was downstairs. Andrew was home. Oh, please please please. If only she could scream. She worked her mouth and jaw, tried anything to dislodge the strip of duct tape. But would she scream for help or for Andrew to run?

It didn?t matter. She was stuck.

Mars stirred, shifted in the bed, and Linda went cold. He grunted, and she heard him mumble something in Spanish. He was waking up. Maybe he had also heard the noise from downstairs. Linda gripped the nail file even tighter. One chance. That?s all. Just give me one shot.