~ Killer On The Key ~

by

E. B. Loan

Maggie was being a brat, no doubt about it. All Chris had done was question why she wanted the dresser. It was a perfectly reasonable thing to ask. The question grated on her nerves. She felt raw. Stalking back to the cottage she grabbed her suit.

What are you doing? Why are you so mad?

She was tired of the whole damn thing. Everything in their lives had gone off the track and she wanted her half of it back. They lost a baby, it happened to people every day. She had to give birth to a child she knew would never take a breath or blink—it was hard. She did her part, now she wanted to be herself again. Maggie Shoals Troost. Interior designer. Fighter. Art lover. Independent. She wanted to want a dresser without having her husband question why. It was a dresser, she wanted it; no more, no less. No deeper issue, just a simple desire.

Stripping, she threw her clothes at the wall. She was crying. And no more guilt. She was going swimming.

But you know what the doctor said.

I don't care.

The suit was still tight, but she got it on. She grabbed a towel threw on her flip flops and headed out the door. Crossing the street she avoided looking at the cottage to see if he had followed her out.

Maggie reached the sand, kicked off her shoes, and headed for the water.

My God it's hot. I forgot what the sand can be like in the middle of the day.

Running now, she could hear the waves crashing on the sand.

A few more steps Maggie, then you'll be free.

Five.

Free from what?

Four.

Everything; the nightmares, the loneliness, the agony.

Three.

You forget the most important thing.

Two.

What's that?

One.

The lies, Maggie, you need to free yourself from the lies.

Shit.

Her feet hit the water and she stopped.

“Goddamn it!” she screamed at the sky, “Stop torturing me!”

She was out of control. The wind whipped her hair. The surf crashed drowning the words that raged in her ears.

You're a liar, Maggie, a fake. Nothing good can ever come from you.

The world in front of her began to swim.

You are going to pass out, right here in the water.

I don't care.

You'll die here, alone on this beach, drowned in the water you were too afraid to swim in.

She wanted to die. It would serve her right. She felt herself falling. Then there were the arms. They wrapped around her pulling her from the edge. The bones felt frail, but they had amazing strength in them. She blacked out.

Things started to come into focus. Red hair. Scratch that, gray hair with red streaks hung in her face. Lizzie. The sun was still high in the sky making her facial expressions hard to read. Maggie sat up.

“I'm sorry, I...” She had no idea what to say.

Lizzie pulled her hair back into a bun and wrapped a beach towel around Maggie's shoulders. She sat crouched in front of her for a moment. Standing she held out her hand for Maggie. “We need a drink.”

“I should stop and tell Chris. He'll be worried.”

“I'll call Charlotte. She can tell Chris.”

Maggie took the older woman's hand. Lizzie pulled her to her feet with ease.

God, she's so strong.

Maggie looked at her bathing suit stretched over her puffy stomach. “Where...?”

“The Hilton, down the beach,” taking the towel from Maggie's shoulders Lizzie wrapped it around her waist like a sarong. “There, now no one will look.”

Maggie felt tears of gratitude spring up behind her lids.

Thank you, Lizzie, thank you, thank you, thank you.