There were still plenty of boxes to unpack but Sasha decided to brew herself a cup of coffee instead. While it brewed, she browsed over the furnishings in the cottage. Each piece looked more like it belonged in a museum than someone’s home. But that didn’t bother her. In fact, Sasha loved antiques. There was a certain excitement in never knowing what could be found while searching for antiques.
The coffee maker gurgled and made noise but had yet to dispense coffee. Sasha missed her Keurig. While she waited, she continued to explore the living room. The blue couch stood in the center of the room with a pink floral pattern draped across it. Wooden legs extended from the bottom and curled up like toes on the rug below. On either side of the couch stood an identical, rosewood end table. In several spots, especially on the drawers, there were chips of wood missing. Sasha thought it gave them character.
Sliding open one of the drawers, she found a bible tucked away. She shrugged it off and closed the drawer. Belief had never been a huge concern of hers. Too many terrible things happened around the world for her to accept a loving creator in the sky. Plus, her own life had been littered with misery and despair. She had heard a lot of people suffering from depression turned to faith. For her, it only pushed her farther away.
In the next drawer, she found a wax candle. The wick was slightly singed, signifying it had been lit perhaps once. She pulled it from the drawer and held it in her hands. It was the most peculiar candle she had ever seen. It was about the size of a mason jar and made entirely out of a solid piece of black wax. It hardly made any sense to stash a candle away in a drawer. What was the use of having a candle if it never got lit? Shrugging, she placed it on top of the end table and sat down on the couch.
If she were being honest with herself, she missed her television. There was nothing quite like sitting down in the early morning with a nice cup of coffee and a mindless talk show. Then, of course, at night it was always fun to binge watch her favorite Netflix show. Not having her TV would take some getting used to but she was certain she would. It might just take a while.
An aroma of coffee sprang through the home and Sasha stood up. As she poured herself a cup, she spotted a truck drive past the house. It was black with white doors and she was almost certain the words Carlisle Sheriff had been scrawled on the side. Judging by the dust cloud left in its wake, she assumed there was some sort of emergency. The notion nearly made her laugh. An emergency, out here? Did someone’s chickens get loose? She could only assume the people out here had no clue what an emergency was. She, on the other hand, knew all too well.
It had been a rainy day, the first time she had called the police on her husband. She could recall the memory clearly, like most of the traumatic experiences in her life. Her husband, Brent, had been drinking. This time, like many times before, he had one too many. He was the kind of man who was fun to be around while drinking. As long as you didn’t get him upset. Unfortunately, he was easily triggered when inebriated. And when you pissed him off while drunk, you might as well have tried to punch him in the face.
Tara, then only a six-year-old girl, was fast asleep in bed. Sasha wanted to keep it that way but Brent was having too much fun. He cranked the music on the disc player and started dancing around the living room like a buffoon. Sasha rolled her eyes and turned the music down.
“Tara’s trying to sleep,” she said.
“She’ll be fine.” Brent turned it back up.
Sasha wanted to unplug the damn thing and toss it out into the rain but remained silent. She tried to reason with him once more but he only shook his head and waved his butt in her face. When they were younger she would have found it funny, maybe even arousing. But all his years of drinking and verbal abuse had given her a disdain for him, though she was hard-pressed to admit it. Instead, she buried the emotion deep down inside herself like so many other emotions. She lied to herself, saying she still loved her husband. Tara needed them to stay together. Growing up in an unhappy marriage was better than a broken home. At least, that’s what Sasha told herself.
Brent had sat on Sasha’s knee and started singing along to the blaring music. He was only inches from her face and she could smell the disgusting scent of beer. He pretended to be a burlesque dancer and swayed on her knees, caressing her face with his hand. It annoyed her to her very core. “Please knock it off, you look ridiculous.” She said and knew it had been a mistake before she had finished the sentence.
Instantly, his face turned an unnatural shade of red. To this day, she was almost convinced she saw smoke billow out of his ears like an old cartoon. His head vibrated with the tell-tale sign of gritted teeth. Sitting there on her knee, he raised a hand and slapped her hard across the face. The force had been enough to topple her to the floor, but her husband’s weight across her lap kept her still.
She could feel the red mark left behind by his palm. It stung like a swarm of a thousand bees. Tears instinctively rolled down her face. Brent began
