Janice

Janice

Alan stood in the bedroom doorway determining if anyone was there. He’d been in the business long enough to navigate a bedroom with an occupant, better without, but not a deal breaker. This bedroom had one. He could see a woman in the bed, lit slightly by the moonlight.

A shock went through him as he realized she looked like Janice. Janice who had crushed his life so long ago. Seeing her blonde waves spread across the pillow, he unconsciously walked closer. Removing a glove, he almost touched her face, suddenly realizing, this actually was Janice.

Memories, long suppressed, flooded back. They were young, they had planned the perfect life together, jobs, house, kids, the whole enchilada. But somehow Janice had let Alan slip out of her plan. Devastated, Alan had run, taking up with the wrong people, learning some useful, if not legal skills, and beginning this dark, secret, albeit lucrative life. This must be her perfect life.

Then he noticed the knot on her forehead. Bending, he could see blood had leaked back away from it onto the pillow. And there, on the bed, a bloody hammer. Alan’s heart started pounding wildly, panic took hold. Reflexively, he picked up the hammer, tossing it away from this woman, this woman who had once meant so much to him. Janice was dead, Janice was dead.

He stood looking at her, thinking about what might have been. This could be his house, his life, his wife. Suddenly he realized he liked the life he had more. His own boss, travel, women, excitement. Finally, he was able to let go of what he thought he’d lost so long ago. Finally, he was free. He turned away from Janice, just as the blue flashing lights surrounded the house.

Janice strikes, one last time.