Sex and Murder Magazine

By W. N. Dayley

Listening to the ice maker hum through yet another cycle, I decided it was pointless to continue deluding myself: there was no way I was going to fall asleep. I glanced at the alarm clock glowing dully on my nightstand but without my glasses its face was a neon blur. Reaching out to retrieve my glasses, a jolt of searing pain shot through my injured shoulder, cascading down my arm and into my hand. Twisting away from the pain, I elbowed my wife in the breast.

Diana cried out, clutching her chest, and slapped my arm. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Sorry.”

She laid a hand on my undamaged shoulder, kissing it. “Can’t sleep?” Her voice was drowsy.

“It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

She patted my chest before snuggling down into the covers. A few seconds later she was snoring again.

I kissed the top of her head and sat up. I grabbed my glasses and the effort pulled at the puckered edges of my wound. I gritted my teeth. Luckily, the knife had been a common kitchen knife, used by professionals and housewives alike; had it been serrated, it would have torn the muscles beyond repair. Instead, I endured a regimen of painful physical therapy in order to regain its full use.

Fortunately Diana received only minor wounds that night, escaping with lacerations to her right leg and arm. For her, the end of the ordeal came not when our attacker was led away in handcuffs but when the wounds had been cleaned and bandaged, when the nurses declared her no worse for wear. . .considering. I envied her strength. For me, the ordeal continued. Every night, I checked the doors, windows and the reassuring green light on the new security system.

Then there were the nightmares. Not frequent, they were nonetheless vivid and traumatic, and frequently ended with Diana covered in blood and dying in my arms. I’d awaken in a cold sweat, clutching at the empty space my bleeding dream-wife occupied seconds prior.

The alarm clock read: 3:34.

Crossing the few steps to the bathroom, I found my way to the toilet by the dim blue glow of the night light. I needed to quit drinking coffee before bedtime. My bladder emptied, I pulled my robe on, watching the clock’s electronic glow cast eerie green highlights across Diana’s delicate features. Her eyes appeared sunken, her hair, normally a rich auburn, appeared aged and brassy.

I told myself to stop, that I was jumping at my own shadow, but the image unsettled me.

Snatching my cigarettes and lighter off the dresser, I left the bedroom. A short corridor led through the center of the house, past the main bathroom and the kitchen of our modest rancher. It took me a minute to unlock the front door in the dark. Outside a brick stoop welcomed visitors, sheltered on two sides by a vine-covered trellis. In the early-morning moonlight, the vines climbing the latticework appeared pale, as if the night had sucked the color out of their red blooms.

I lit a cigarette and slowly blew the smoke into the chill air, wondering if it was possible for darkness to rob objects of their vitality. An involuntary shudder passed through me as I considered, for the first time in my life, the moonlight as a menacing entity.

The cigarette’s smoke, rich and smooth when I first lit it, tasted acrid and stale.

I gave up, crushed it out and went back inside.

I locked all four locks then pulled on the knob just to be sure. I did my usual check of the windows and back door.

Perimeter secure, I returned to the bedroom.

Diana was sitting up in the bed, her back pressed to the headboard, the covers crumpled around her waist. “Hi, lover,” she purred.

Hi, lover? At this hour? “Go back to sleep.”

“Don’t you wanna fool around?” She ran her hands over her breasts, over her stomach, then lower until they disappeared under the covers.

“You okay, hon?” I enquired.

She didn’t respond. Her hands remained beneath the blankets, her breathing becoming ragged.

Who was I to argue?

I lay down beside Diana, slid my hand under the covers and began rubbing her leg. She shifted closer to me and opened her eyes. They were half-open, dreamy, and I wondered if she was nearing climax. Should I interrupt her and finish the job myself, or let her finish on her own? When she inhaled a deep shuddering breath and her eyes flew open, I felt certain the question had been answered for me.

She looked at me and started screaming. Seizing my throat in her delicate hands, she squeezed with more strength than I would have believed her capable.

“Diana, stop!” I yelled.

I pulled her hands from my throat.

“Jesus, Diana. What the fuck?”

She pulled her right hand free and punched my wounded shoulder.

“Fuck!” The pain jolted across my chest, down my arm and into my fingers as if I’d grabbed an electric fence. In reflex, I lashed out with my open palm. She turned her head at the last minute, and I caught my wife square in the nose. I heard a crunch, and blood burst from her nostrils, splattering my hand and forearm.

“I’m going to kill you, you fuck!” she screamed and went for my throat again.

I grabbed her wrists again and held them. I looked into the face of a woman who, at the moment, was a total stranger.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yelled over her screaming. “Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

“I don’t need help. I need to kill you!” Diana crashed her knees into my chest, landing solidly on my sore shoulder. Again the bolt of pain flared. I flung her off me. She landed awkwardly on the edge of the bed but didn’t fall off.

I gotta get away from this crazy bitch.

I scrambled to my feet. I raised my hand in a warding gesture. “Stop! Just fucking stop!”

She screamed and leapt across the bed. The impact carried us both to the floor. She landed with her knee in my stomach. The air went out of me. Diana straddled my stomach and started flinging her fists wildly into my chest and shoulders. “You won’t get away this time, Johnny-boy. Fuck if you will. You’re mine. All mine.”

“Stop it!” I shouted. “This isn’t funny, Diana!”

I rolled over, carrying her with me, pinning her to the floor with my forearm.

She thrashed and kicked.

What the Hell was wrong with her?

“You’re coming with me.” Grabbing her wrists, I stood, spinning her around so her legs were away from me and started toward the door. The coat closet near the kitchen was large enough and nothing was stored in it she could use as a weapon against me.

Realizing what I was doing, Diana pulled against my grip, kicking and screaming, cursing me and the woman who brought me into this world. I shoved her in, quickly closing the door, sliding the lock into place. Diana hammered the pressed wood and screamed.

Crossing the hall, I entered the kitchen and plucked the phone from its base on the wall. When I pushed the TALK button, nothing, no dial tone. I dialed 9-1-1 anyway. Still nothing. Hanging up, I punched the TALK button again. Still no tone.

“Damn it!”

A brief moment of panic flooded though me. The last time the phones hadn’t been working was. . .I pushed the thought away, unwilling to go there when Diana needed medical attention. This was no time to lose it. Besides, that was over. He was gone.

My cell! The revelation pushed these unpleasant thoughts away. I’d plugged it into the wall charger in the study before I went to bed.

Within the confines of the closet, Diana alternated between throwing herself against the door and wrenching the handle back and forth violently.

“Just hang tight, honey,” I told her, exiting the kitchen. “I’m calling for help.”

Wham! The door rattled. Wham! Was she throwing herself against it? WHAM!

I stopped, afraid she might actually succeed in breaking through. I heard a dull thump from within the closet.

“Diana?”

*****

“John! John? Get me out of here!”

I reached up to slide the lock back but stopped with my fingers resting against the cool metal. Was this a ruse? Was she trying to trick me into thinking she was fine? For a moment, I wondered if this wasn’t a dream, another terrible nightmare, from which I would awaken and find Diana asleep beside me.

“John? What’s going on? Open the door.”

Relief filled me. Whatever it was had passed.

“Hold on, Di. I’m going to call from my cell. Help should be here soon.”

“Let me out, John. Please. I’m scared.”

You and me both, baby. For a moment I was tempted to let her out, despite the fact that she might be playing me. But I stayed firm. “No. Diana, I’m sorry but I can’t do that. You need help and I’m not gonna let you out until it gets here.

“Just a while longer. You’ll be okay for a while longer.”

The door began to vibrate; bouncing in its frame to the point that I thought the hinge pins would pop out. “Let me the fuck outta here, Johnny-boy, or I swear I’ll kill this little bitch!”

Diana’s voice had changed, becoming deeper, more guttural. Had she become schizophrenic? Split personality? Was she gonna kill herself if I didn’t open the door? She wouldn’t do that, would she?

“I mean it, Johnny-boy. Let me the fuck out or the wifey gets it!”

Wifey? Did she call herself wifey?

“Diana, don’t do anything stupid, okay? Just let me call for help.”

“You call anyone, and the wifey will die a painful, messy death. Her blood will be on your hands, Johnny-boy.”

Johnny-boy? Nobody had called me that since the attack.

This twist unsettled me. Was my wife coming unhinged? Had she developed multiple personalities? If so, where was the personality I knew as Diana? Where was my wife in the hierarchy of her cracked mind? “Diana? Can you hear me?”

“She hears you, Johnny-boy. She can’t talk right now but she’s here.” Her tone was changing, becoming deeper, each time she spoke. “And she’ll be suffering if you don’t let us out right now.”

It was time I admitted that I was no longer certain who or what I was dealing with.

“Who are you?”

“Oh, come on, Johnny-boy,” the voice behind the door said. “Don’t be so naïve. You know who I am. You’re just afraid to admit it.”

I did know the cadence of the voice—that slight Southern drawl. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. Who are you?”

“Let me out and you’ll see.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Don’t play games with me, Johnny-boy. Just let me the fuck out of here.” All traces of the feminine lilt that had been Diana’s voice disappeared. Whoever or whatever was speaking, definitely was not Diana.

What the Hell was happening?

“So if you’re not Diana, who are you? And why are you here? What do you want from me?”

“We have unfinished business, you and me. Last time I visited I told you I needed something you had. I told you I had to have it to complete my work. But you wouldn’t give it to me. You had to be stubborn, to resist. And you almost got away from me. Almost.” Dropping to barely above a whisper, the speaker behind the door continued. “You won’t get away this time, Johnny-boy. I promise.”

My mind whirled, attempting to seize something concrete, something to anchor myself. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s impossible.”

Laughter came from behind the door. “Oh, it’s possible, all right. It’s possible if you believe, if you’re willing to make sacrifices. If you don’t let the small people with their small ideas tell you what’s possible and what’s not.”

“But you’re dead.” I placed my back against the opposite wall, needing the support. “You’re dead.”

“Death is a relative term, Johnny-boy. Nothing ever truly dies, ya know? It just transforms into something else.

“What do you suppose Diana will transform into?”

“What?” I didn’t understand.

“Do you think Diana will transform into a butterfly, or a penguin? Maybe a carnation or a dandelion? Let me out of here, or you’re gonna find out sooner rather than later?”

I heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by a strangled noise.

I flew to the door, pressing the side of my face against it. “Diana!” I yelled. “What are you doing?”

Someone beat on the door from the inside, and I took a step back.

“What’s going on? Diana? Can you hear me?”

A choked cry.

“Diana?”

No response.

My heart beat a tattoo inside my chest. A cold sweat slicked my skin and my head pounded.

I unlocked the door and threw it open. Diana she stood on the threshold, hands on the jamb, staring at me with an expression of annoyed amusement etched across her features.

“Now that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” she asked. Her glazed eyes bore a hole through my skull.

I backed away from the door until my back was pressed against the opposite wall.

“Don’t go gettin’ all funny on me now, Johnny-boy. I told you we have unfinished business, you and me.” Diana stepped out of the closet. In the dim light, I could tell these were not Diana’s eyes. The same shade of green, the same long lashes, but there was something hard in them, something that spoke of mysteries and atrocities.

I looked away.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you love me any more, sweetheart?” Diana cooed, running her hands over my chest and abdomen.

“What do you want?” I asked, grabbing her wrists before she could go any lower. I met her gaze but couldn’t hold it for more than a few seconds.

“I want you to die, Johnny-boy. . .like you were supposed to the first time.”

“First,” Diana’s voice cut through my rising hysteria, “you have a purpose to serve. That ‘unfinished business’ I was talking about.

“So get up. And get moving.”

“Why should I?”

“Why? Because if you don’t, I’ll kill the wifey here instead. She’s not who I’m after but I’ll take her as a consolation prize. Is that what you want?”

“Where are you taking us?”

Pittman snorted. “Disney World! What difference does it make? Get up or I’ll make this pretty body suffer before I kill it.”

The glint in Diana’s eyes chilled me. I knew those eyes.

I knew Pittman was capable of any sort of brutality. He’d left plenty of evidence of that. The television was thick with grisly images of the atrocities Pittman had committed. His home had been a treasure trove of incriminating evidence: candles made of human blood and fat; a crude altar made of bones interlaced with hair; occult materials, including The Satanic Bible and the Necronomicon, as well as the works of Aleister Crowley. In the basement, he had a torture chamber, complete with human remains stuffed in a freezer, like left over meatloaf in Ziploc baggies, preserved in blood. Tupperware containers held human organs. He had one of each, minus a brain.

‘What do you want from us?”

“Let’s just say I like the way your mind works, Johnny-boy, and leave it at that.”

“My mind?”

“Yes.

“Now get your ass up. Enough talk. Get your ass off the floor, Johnny-boy. We’re going for a walk, Johnny-boy.”

My legs refused to move.

“I guess a demonstration is in order,” Pittman said and Diana began to scream. Clasping her hands to the sides of her head, she doubled over and staggered back into the closet door. I watched in terror a she writhed, twisting her torso and head back and forth in her agony.

“Okay!” I yelled. Enough!”

Diana’s scream continued for several more seconds then cut of abruptly. She straightened, smoothed her hair back from her face and approached me. “You get my point?” Pittman asked.

I nodded.

“Next time,” Pittman began, his voice resuming control, “it won’t be a demonstration.

“Now move.” Diana pushed me into the kitchen.

I stumbled, unprepared or the force of the shove.

“Where are we going?”

“Outside.”

The last thing I wanted was to go anywhere with Pittman, and especially away from the house. The house was girded by acres of woods and the nearest neighbors were a miles away.

I headed toward the deck doors and my fate.

As I reached for the knob, Pittman stopped me. I turned to see why and watched as he stepped over to the granite countertop. With Diana’s eyes, he examined the wooden block that held our kitchen knives, selecting the largest. He slid it out and the stovetop light glinted coldly off the flawless, stainless blade.

Diana looked at me and, with a glint in her eyes that weren’t her own, smiled. “Just in case you try anything smart, Johnny-boy.”

With the knife, Diana indicated that I should continue.

Outside, the patio furniture, neglected for months, appeared as blanched as the flowers on the front stoop, as if the moon’s rays refused to illuminate the slumbering world, electing instead to leech whatever life remained from it, leaving behind their skeletons.

Pittman directed me toward a break in the trees where a path—barely more than a deer trail—provided access to the woods.

My mind was reeling. How could I save Diana? If I knocked out the physical form, would Pittman flee?

I steered toward the dark aperture looming before me like the gaping maw of some immense, hungry beast.

I glanced back at Diana. She wore only the nightshirt and panties she’d slept in, and the chill air raised gooseflesh on her arms and legs. The knife, held low but ready, reflected the moon’s silvery light, practically glowing in her hand.

We passed into the wood and the moonlight abruptly disappeared behind the canopy of the interlaced branches. Infrequent shafts of silver filtered to the ground but scarcely illuminated more than the minute patch of ground on which it was focused.

In among the trees, the temperature was at least five degrees cooler than in the open but I barely noticed.

I looked back but it was too dark and I couldn’t make out Diana’s features.

Was there anything she could do from the inside? Could she overpower Pittman’s will and free herself? I didn’t know, couldn’t know. I couldn’t count on her being able to do anything against Pittman.

I wouldn’t let him kill her.

One way or another Diana would survive, I vowed, even if it meant my life.

We walked for several more minutes along the dark path before rounding a bend that skirted a boulder eight feet high and at least as wide. A clearing lay on the opposite side. The moon’s feeble rays lit a roughly rectangular patch of lush grass.

I scanned the area for possible escape routes. A fire pit lay in the northernmost corner, the interior stones charred black. In the low light, faint gray highlights playing over their uneven surfaces, they resembled skulls.

We approached the fire pit. Filled with ashes, the unmistakable pale of a shattered bone caught the moon’s light.

“I guess my secret’s out, huh?” Pittman drew closer, knife at his side.

My mind was numb. This was all so surreal, so grisly it defied reason. People didn’t return from the dead.

And yet, the sensation of blades of grass beneath my feet was real.

This clearing with its burned bones was real.

*****

Diana approached the fire. She knelt beside the stones and picked out the bone. “Hey, Johnny, get that wood over there.” She pointed with the knife toward the western end of the clearing where a small pile of brush and twigs lay. “We’ll need to make a fire.”

I gathered the wood and dropped it beside the pit.

“Now,” Pittman said, “go over to that tree,” he indicated a medium size conifer on the southern end of the clearing, “and put your back to it.”

Diana put the knife to her throat. “Move or I’ll slice her open right now,” Pittman threatened.

Taking one step in their direction, I stopped as the blade was pressed harder against her skin. A thin line of blood appeared and a trickle of ruby fluid traveled down her throat.

“All right,” I said, holding my hands out.

The bark pricked at my back.

Pittman lowered the knife.

Diana pulled my robe’s sash free of its loops. Testing its strength, she passed behind the tree. Grabbing my wrists, she wrapped the material around first one wrist then the other before tying a double knot on the inside, away from my fingers. When she was done, she tugged on my wrists, testing her handiwork.

“Now, about that fire,” Pittman said.

Despite the buzzing inside my head, I tested my bonds, attempting to gage how well Diana had secured me. The cloth held my wrists fast: Pittman must have been a scout.

Maybe there was still a way.

Having built the fire, Diana returned.

“Let her go, Pittman. You have me where you want me now: you don’t need her.” Even to my ears my pleading sounded pitiful, the desperate attempt of a desperate man.

“What’re you gonna do, Johnny-boy? As you say, I have you where I want you.” Pittman taunted.

“You’re fucked!” Diana waved the knife in my face. “You thought I was history, that you were safe and warm in your cozy house with the wifey here. That was your mistake.” Diana spun away, arms raised, knife glinting.

“I never give up, Johnny-boy. Ever.”

Diana spun back to me, vehemence glowing in her usurped eyes. “I’m gonna make you watch as I kill the little Missus here.”

“You said you’d let her go!”

“Did I? I might have. So what? You surprised a serial murderer back from the dead can’t be trusted? Shocker! You must be devastated.” He laughed with Diana’s mouth. “I have a plan, Johnny-boy. You’ll get to see every second of her torment this time, and you know what I’m gonna do then? Do you?” He paused, as if genuinely expecting an answer.

I said nothing, not trusting my voice, a queasy sensation in my stomach.

“Whatever I want, that’s what. Whatever. . .I. . .want. You’ve lost this time.”

“Fuck you, Pittman! They killed you once; it can happen again.”

“Just shut the Hell up!” Diana raged, rushing forward her face flushed, eyes bulging. She brandished the knife in my face, making slow circles in front of my eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! No idea what it’s like to know your body is dying but your mind—your soul—will live on. The fear and elation, the tremendous sense of loss, and incredible freedom: all these sensations crash in on you at one time. Then. . .” She hesitated.

Diana’s eyes cleared, and for a brief moment her face registered shock and fear. I knew I was seeing my wife, not Pittman in that moment. Then they changed back, clouding.

Diana stepped closer. Her face bore an expression bordering on rapture. “Then the pain starts. The cold fire in your veins, surging through you,” she looked down at her unblemished arm, but where the executioner’s needle had pierced Pittman’s skin. “The fingers of fire creep into your brain, waking every impulse at the same time. The agony is exquisite. . .and maddening.”

I hadn’t realized, despite all I’d heard and learned about Pittman after his incarceration, just how bat-shit crazy he was. Listening to Pittman rave about the pleasures of execution, I felt a cold despair come over me. I remembered the news reports. One spoke of Pittman being convicted for the rape and murder of a widow named Claire Barrow. During the trial, the prosecutor had asked Pittman why he’d chosen her as his victim. Pittman replied that she’d reminded him of his mother. Found incompetent to stand trial, he was remanded to the St. Maritius Institution for psychiatric treatment.

Less than a week after being declared fit to return to society, Pittman broke into our home and attempted to murder us as we slept.

An idea struck me just then, as I worked feverishly to loosen my bonds.

“Hey, Pittman, why didn’t you try possessing me? You too much of a pussy to take on someone your own size? You have to attack a woman?” The sash gave a little more, allowing me more room to maneuver.

“Shut up, Johnny-boy. Or she’ll regret it.”

“I regret it, Pittman. I regret that I didn’t kill you when I had the chance. I wouldn’t have to deal with your bitch ass again. But, I should have expected as much from someone like you.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Pittman flared, raising the knife toward me.

I didn’t answer. I looked away, at the fire.

Diana came closer, holding the knife close enough for me to see my own reflection in its stainless blade. “Tell me!” Pittman insisted.

I stared at the blade, not wanting to make eye contact with Diana. The sight of her features distorted by the malevolence inhabiting her body hurt me.

“Someone who rapes and murders old women. Someone with mommy issues who, deep down inside, wanted to be his mommy.”

“You shut the fuck up!”

“What kind of fucked up bitch could raise a piece of shit like you?” I could feel the bonds slacken around my wrists, losing enough tension to allow me to slip free, and I went for the slam dunk.

“She was a whore, wasn’t she, Pittman? She fucked for money, didn’t she? But I bet she saved the best for you?”

Diana screamed and lunged at me. I slipped my bonds and ducked to the side. The knife sliced into my shoulder just above the biceps. If there was pain, at that moment, I was too flushed with adrenalin to notice.

I slammed into Pittman with my good shoulder, driving him to the ground then scrambled atop him, seizing the knife and wrenching it out of his hand. I tossed it toward the edge of the clearing but couldn’t watch where it landed. It was no use to me.

I seized her throat and began to squeeze. Diana thrashed beneath me, clawing at my arms and chest. Her nails left red grooves in my skin that soon began to ooze. I maintained my grip, clamping down tighter. Despite the cold, I began to perspire.

Pittman’s struggles slowed then ceased all together. He began to laugh.

“Shut up!” I screamed. I didn’t know what else to do. I thought if I strangled her just long enough to make her pass out maybe. . .but it wasn’t working. I was afraid of killing her.

“Diana, if you can hear me: fight him! Fight with everything you’ve got!”

Diana’s laugh sent chills through me. “She can’t fight me. She’s weak and vulnerable. And now, thanks to you, she’s going to die.”

“You’re gonna kill us both anyway!” I punched Diana full in the face. Her eyes grew wide, and for a second, I thought I saw the real Diana in them. Then she passed out, her eyes closing as unconsciousness claimed her.

It worked! “Oh, shit. What do I do now?” My breath came in ragged gasps. My unconscious wife lay beneath me and I had no idea if the possessing spirit was unconscious as well. I assumed so. And if I was going to save her, now was my best chance.

Placing a hand on either side of her face, I brought my face closer to hers. “I know you’re in there, honey. Try to push him out, Diana! It’s your body; take it back! Listen to the sound of my voice and remember who you are. Remember our life together, and how much I love you.”

I had no idea if this was going to work, but I didn’t see any other options.

“Diana, you have to fight, you have to help me!”

She lay still as death, and there were no indications whether she heard my pleas. Frustrated, I shook her head gently, hoping to rouse my wife and not rouse Pittman’s spirit.

“Come on, Diana.”

Diana’s eyes flew open. She stared at me with clear green eyes and I knew it was she, not the other, looking at me. Her brow furrowed as she glanced around.

“John, where am I? What’s happened?”

Tears prevented me from answering; my voice wouldn’t obey me. Instead, I pulled Diana into a seated position and hugged her to me.

She returned the embrace, though I could sense her tentativeness, her confusion, weighing on her.

“Are you okay, John? What’s happened?” Fear had crept into her voice.

“I’m fine,” I croaked. I cleared my throat before I spoke again. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Why are we outside? And where are my clothes?” She pulled back from me and looked into my eyes. Why are we out here? I’m freezing.”

“Yeah, we’ll go inside. Can you stand?”

Diana nodded but when she tried to rise to her feet, she swooned and nearly fell over. I grabbed her around the waist and eased her back down. She leaned against me, her breathing ragged, obviously taxed by her ordeal with Pittman.

“No hurry, hon. Take your time.” I reassured her. My trepidation was fading the longer I interacted with her and found her responses familiar. I couldn’t believe Pittman was gone so easily. I needed to get her back to the house, back to familiar surroundings.

“Ready to try again?”

Diana’s hand shot out and seized me by the throat. “Sure, Johnny-boy. Let’s try again.” Her voice had altered again, blending the husky, raw tone of Pittman with her own melodic voice..

“No, please,” I begged, half to whatever higher power claimed responsibility for this world and half to Pittman. “Diana.”

“Diana’s not here at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?” Pittman laughed.

I knew Diana was there, I’d spoken to her less than a minute prior. She was there and she was intact. I had to think of a way to bring her out, to let her rise to the surface and reclaim herself. To return the light to her eyes.

The edges of my vision were getting fuzzy, Diana’s face, twisted into a rictus of malevolent intent, began to fray at the edges. I had to think fast.

With my remaining strength, I grasped the back of Diana’s head, pulling her toward me as I leaned forward, and kissed her pale lips. The entity within her struggled briefly but I maintained my grip, keeping her lips pressed to mine. After a moment, her struggles ceased, her hands loosening their hold on my throat, and she was returning my kiss eagerly. Her tongue darted out to separate my lips and she probed my tongue teasingly. This was Diana. I was as familiar with her kisses as I was with my own reflection. This was my wife.

The next instant, Diana broke our kiss. Panting and obviously disoriented, she sat back on her heels. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she toppled backward.

I rushed to her, more afraid than at any other point during this surreal morning. “Diana?” I cradled her head with one hand while checking her pulse with the other. “Honey, can you hear me?”

She started screaming and thrashing around on the ground. Her eyes rolled back in her head until only the whites were visible.

I held her as tightly as I could but she bucked within my arms, threatening to break free. Afraid she would hurt herself I squeezed with all my strength, hoping it would be enough.

Her screams rose in pitch, all the anguish she was experiencing being funneled through her larynx. My ears began to ring but I didn’t dare release her to cover them. I weathered the auditory assault as best I could until her wail abruptly ceased. Her eyes opened, wide with shock and pain. They darted about, searching for I knew not what, before lighting on me. Recognition sparked within those limpid green pools. My heart soared as I believed Diana had come back to me. My elation was crushed in the next moment, however; her body grew rigid and her eyes snapped shut once again.

“Diana?” I brought my hand up to her cheek, stroking the smooth skin. “Can you hear me?”

She opened her mouth as if intending to speak. I didn’t care what she said—professions of love, condemnation for past sins or recriminations for being a damned fool—so long as her voice was her own again. Instead of words a thick stream of viscous liquid ebon and oily in the pale moonlight, spewed forth. It coiled in the air above our heads, reflecting the stars and the moon in silver streaks and splashes. As it ascended, it spread, each loop growing larger than the previous one, until it had reached the treetops. The last of it came free of Diana and her body crumpled, going limp in my arms.

I checked her pulse—thin and erratic but present—before returning my attention to the spiral looming over me. If this was all that remained of Pittman, I was counting myself lucky.

The stream hovered, spinning crazily above Diana and me for a moment longer before contracting into a single, thick column, black as the abyss, and speeding earthward. I scrambled backward, afraid it intended to repossess Diana, and threw myself over her prone form. I would not let him have access to her again.

The essence of Pittman, the dark, vile core of the executed murderer, apparently had other designs, however. The viscous column streaked down, banking to the left approximately ten feet above the ground. It climbed higher again before rolling over and descending again. This time, its trajectory was focused away from us, and it landed fifteen feet from where I hunched over Diana. I watched in weary fascination as it compressed upon impacting the grass-covered clearing, seeming to disappear into the earth itself. A moment later, the fluid began to rise from the earth. At first a bubble appeared, then swiftly grew to a column. The column expanded, warping as projections sprouted from right and left. These projections elongated, taking on form and, to my eyes, function: even in the gloom I could see they were arms and legs.

My God! I thought. It can’t be.

As the column expanded, it grew thicker through the trunk, and the appendages solidified. Black as the night surrounding it, a fully human form stood before me. I watched in fascinated horror as it turned its head to stare at me.

My bowels turned to ice water as the figure spoke, its voice hollow and watery, but clearly Pittman’s. “Hello, Johnny-boy.”

“No.” I slowly shook my head in disbelief. “No.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, indeed,” Pittman said. “I don’t need your little bitch any more. I’m free, free and ready to finish this.” The form rushed forward and seized my throat with both hands, lifting me easily off the ground. I clawed at the hand holding me but Pittman’s grip was preternaturally strong.

“Bye-bye, Johnny-boy.”

I could feel my windpipe collapsing in his grip. Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult and my jaw ached where his thumb dug into the muscle beneath the soft flesh. I tried to say something, to protest but all that came out was a gurgling croak.

I didn’t want to die. And I certainly didn’t want to die like this.

Ignoring the pain in my throat, I began beating at his arms with my fists. If I could get him to loosen his grip even a fraction, I might be able to get some air into my lungs, hold out a bit longer.

My efforts were futile. Whatever substance made up Pittman’s new form was pliant. It gave beneath my blows, absorbing the impact with ease. Despite this fact, his grip was like a vice. There was no give to be had, I realized. And my oxygen-depleted mind began to rail against the injustice of my impending death. My body was failing me. I had no strength left to fight back.

As dense fog encroached at the edges of my vision, an arc of flame flashed across that tunnel, connecting with the back of Pittman’s skull. The area burst into flames. He screamed, releasing my throat, and began swatting frantically at the flames as I toppled to the ground, coughing and gasping for air.

A second arc swung in from the right and landed solidly on his shoulder. Flames leaped from this second site and Pittman writhed as they began to consume him.

My air returned, and with it my vision. I glanced at Pittman’s blazing form and felt a sudden rush of hope as another arc crossed my vision, setting Pittman’s back aflame. In its wake I saw my savior.

Armed with a firebrand, Diana continued to swing at Pittman, lighting him up each time her torch made contact. She didn’t speak, didn’t utter a word, just pressed on with grim determination until every inch of Pittman was burning. Motes of fire swirled around him as the substance of which he was formed began to disintegrate. After a moment, he fell silent, toppling to the ground at the base of the tree where I had been secured.

Diana watched her handiwork for a moment before dropping her weapon and coming to my side.

I reached out to her, placed my hand on her shoulder, and looked into her eyes. How I loved this woman!

“Can you walk? she asked.

I nodded.

I let Diana slip an arm around my chest, beneath my arms, and help me to my feet. As I rose up to my full height, I saw the flaming form of Rob Pittman rushing towards us. He was dripping fire from his limbs, his face and hands were melting, oozing down his frame and dropping to the ground as he advanced. Diana released me. Suddenly under my own power, my legs wouldn’t hold me. I dropped to one knee.

From the ground, I watched Diana dash over and snatch up the discarded torch and wheel to face Pittman. He closed the space between them rapidly, and Diana let fly with a mighty swing, connecting with his flaming torso. Spheres of molten matter flew in all directions, spattering the surrounding trees, as Pittman exploded.

The trees began to burn where the material contacted. Soon the clearing was ablaze, the red-orange glow illuminating the space, throwing gyrating highlights across Diana’s tired features. She pulled me to my feet.

As we made our way out of the clearing, I could feel the heat on my face, pulling the skin taut. Diana held my hand and I could feel the blisters raising the soft skin of her palm from where she’d gripped the firebrand.

I looked first at our entwined hands then at her face.

“That was close,” she admitted. “I almost didn’t make it.”

“But you did. You beat him.”

“If it hadn’t been for you. . .” she trailed off, her head dipping.

“Hey,” I lifted her chin and smiled. “I love you.”

She smiled back. “I know. Believe me, I know.”