Death Comes a Ringin'

“You son of a bitch!”

A flying plate missed Sammy’s balding head, crashing along the beige wall in an array of tomato sauce and noodles.

“Get the hell out of here!” The enraged woman snatched a poker beside the fireplace.

Sammy gripped the cushion of the couch, “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong!?” She laughed in absurdity, “Oh... a hell of a world of trouble after I’m done with you!”

“What happened?”

“As if you didn’t know...” She whipped out a picture from her pocket. A picture of Sammy standing next to a green-eyed woman at a resort. “This happened!” She turned the Polaroid around, reading aloud the damning, red-hot confession aloud, “Oh Sammy... Vacation was a blast! Hope we can do it again...” She raised a brow, “Sometime soon...” She glared at him with striking eyes. “Love, Daphne!” She let out a laugh more out of disbelief than anything, “Well, I hope you did have a ‘blast’ because that was surely your final vacation...”

“Wait... Let me explain...” Sammy dove across the room, nearly missing the iron rod that crashed through a vase.

“Oh, I hope you would...” She panted. “What is it? Am I not attractive as this... Daphne... It’s my voice, ain’t it... Brooklyn just don’t do for ya what it did three years ago?”

“Your voice...” He was confused. What stood before him was a woman he did not come to love when they first married, but a fiery entity full of contained rage. Most of it might have probably been his fault, but ever since he was found cheating with a nurse two years ago, she still had never really gained his trust. “Paula... Daphne is just a client who was at the end of an abusive relationship... She needed a way to escape from all the hardships, and I provided her with a small rendezvous where she could find herself.”

“Find herself...” Paula’s eyes narrowed.

“It was completely plutonic.”

“Oh! It was plutonic!” Paula said theatrically, waving the poker about as if it were a harmless wand. “Well, I guess that makes everything all-fucking-right!” She dropped the poker which clanged and rolled away. “You got until the count of ten to pack up and leave.”

Sammy had either the ignorance or audacity to ask, “Until what?”

She flashed him a deathly glare, “Until I remove you of your anatomy so that your cheating ass can live the rest of your pitiful life without pleasure!”

“Can’t we just talk about it?”

Paula began the countdown. “One...”

“You’re being irrational!”

Her voice deepened in timbre, “Two...”

“Really, Paula.”

“Three...”

He went for his keys.

“Four...”

“I swear to god...”

“Five...”

“...you’re acting like...”

“Six...”

“...a child!”

“Seven...”

“Paula...”

“Eight...”

“Baby...”

“Nine...”

“I love you, hun.”

“Ten... You stupid motherfucker...” Like a beast let out of a cage, Paula stormed to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and chased Sammy.

Sammy bolted for the door and fled down the hall.

“You come back, and I’ll have your head on a plate!” Paula shouted down the apartment hallway. Neighbors poked their heads outside of doors cracked open. Sammy ran to the stairwell and vanished. After the heat went down, everyone returned to their business. They were used to the Matthews couple. It was something as common as the vermin that crawled through their homes.

“Stupid son of a bitch...” Paula went to the counter, took a cigarette and lit it. “The fucking nerve... A vacation... Plutonic... Such a fucking creep... I wish he’d get what was coming to him...”


Knock...

“Sammy, if that’s you coming back to apologize, you’d might as well sign your death certificate...”

....Knock...

...Knock.

Paula eyed the door, red cinders of the cigarette elongating. She flicked a couple of ashes in the sink.

Gripping the knife handle, dead set to make Sammy a distant memory, Paula inched toward the door.

A ruffling sound emitted beyond the metal. Licking her lips, she looked through the peephole.

Not a soul in sight.

She unbolted the door, swung it open.

Knife raised overhead, she yelled, “I’m gonna kill you!” The blade swung through empty air, glistening in an arc.

The hall was empty.

“Playing tricks, Sammy?” Paula turned and noticed something at her feet. A package wrapped in hearts, ready to be open, an envelope was propped before it. XOXO was written in bold red ink.

“Forgiveness package?” She hefted it up, and studied it. “Cheap move, even for you Sammy...” She closed the door behind her. “It could from be that bitch, Daphne, too...” She set the package on the counter, and yanked the envelope off.

She removed a note.

For your darkest wishes to come true, call 666-2772!

You have been especially selected by Dark Wishes to have this care package sent. Simply open it up, rub it 6 times, stirring up your simple wish.

Give us a call, and we’ll rush to have your darkest wish come true!

“Just what I need... a scam...”

She studied the lumpy package in inquiry and sighed, tearing the wrapping paper apart to reveal a three-dimensional triangle, inscribed with twirling golden filigree. In the triangle’s center, an open window showed a foggy dome, struck the familiarity of a Magic 8-ball filled with smoke.

Paula placed the flat palm of her left hand on the triangular box. Almost instantly, she closed her eyes and her arms began to magically dance around, as if possessed. Her motions impulsively followed a pattern as if set to auto-drive. She more so felt than imagined the doors in her mind opening in succession, as some force drove deeper into the pit of her soul.

There... in the blackest abyss of her own heart... it found what it was looking for.

By the end of the sixth circuit, Paula’s eyes opened up.

In a trance, she approached the telephone hung on the wall beside the microwave, unlatched the receiver, and spun the dial.

6...6...6...2...7...7...2.

The phone rung three times. A guttural voice that was neither male nor female spoke as the air in a hollow breeze. “Thank you for calling, Paula Matthews. I am more than pleased to do business with you. Vengeance boils in your blood. Your Darkest Wish is fulfilled. Be my carrier, and you will be well rewarded.” The phone went dead.

“Hello?” Paula asked.

Paula’s left shoulder tightened from a sharp pinch. Quivering, she looked over to see a skeletal hand. She choked a gasp at the sight of a hooded skull, shrouded in black, hunched over her shoulder. A macabre grin stretched from cheek to bony cheek.

The Reaper vaporized.

Shaking her head, Paula blinked twice. She noticed the clock above the fridge read 9:15 pm. Was she really out for three hours... No time to kill.

Paula pursed her lips, and made a call. “Rebecca, Sammy home? I’d like to have a word with him.” Footsteps stamped off in the distance.

“What?” Sammy huffed with a mixture of exhaustion and annoyance.

“Hello, honey-bunch. I just wanted to let you know I am truly sorry for how I acted earlier.”

“Your sorry?” Sammy found it odd that Paula would cave in so easy. For as long as he knew Paula, she was never of the apologetic mixture. She always stood tall. There must be something brewing. “Uh, babe, you all right?”

“Right as rain!” Paula smiled, patted the back of her neck, rubbed it circularly. “I just felt that, in light of our little spat earlier, that we can get together engage ourselves in a little intervention?”

“Intervention?” Sammy nodded, he was right. Paula was plotting something rather disconcerting. “And what type of intervention do you have in mind?”

“I was grieve stricken when you were gone.” Sammy pulled back the receiver, looking at it as if he heard right. “I was looking for a little distraction to take my mind off of everything. Channel surfed! As they say... And well...” She began to pace, “I found this show called Caught Dead! It’s not as grim as it sounds. It’s about couples.”

“Couples?”

“People who have experienced similar dilemmas... as us... You see, it’s a two-parter. The first half of the show, there’s a cameraman and a P.I. who collects all the info and then hunts for the two-timers. The second half is, under the agreement of the couple, an intervention. Now during this intervention, every party member is brought together in a quiet room called ‘The Tank’ to talk things out. There is no moderator. Sometimes things get pretty hairy.” Sammy doesn’t like where the conversation was headed. “There are positive moments they call ‘Little Miracles’ where everybody acts mature enough to actually hear all sides of the party, and then they shake hands and everything is wrapped up in a nice conclusion.” Paula clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “Now... Sammy... I am pretty confident we would fall in that second category. We are mature adults, after all.”

Sammy rolled his eyes on that one. “Yeah... I see where you are heading. Even though I did nothing at all, if it will make you feel better then we could do a get together. Where are you planning to do this? Is Morning Café good? Or how about that one sandwich shop we like so much?”

“No... no... The show says that public places are toxic for interventions. I was thinking a more personal setting...”

“More personal?”

“Our place.”

Anger boiled up Sammy, “Are you nuts!?”

“Now, Sammy, I am approaching this as best as I could. All I ask is that you be supportive.”

A ten second pause hung over the phone. Sammy muttered, “Alright.”

“That’s better.” Paula replied, hopeful.

“What time do you want me around?”

“I was planning on cooking a meal for the three of us.” She heard him clear his throat. He didn’t like this one bit. She was glad. “So, six should do.”

“Six? Fine.” Sammy looked back at his mom hunched back on a chair, pretending to knit, but he knew she was listening in. He resented having to tell her such a whopper. Sammy turned his back on his mom and asked, “You want me to call her?”

“You left your cell phone here. Lucky enough you had her on your favorites list, and above my name, too...”

“Paula, you know the favorite’s list runs alphabetically.” He closed his eyes, it wasn’t helping him.

“It’ll be fun! I’ll surprise her! She may very well fall to pieces. Ta-ta!”

The line went dead.

“Damn it!” Sammy scratched at his head. His mom laid the bait, “Is everything all right?”

Paula rubbed the slender side of the red phone, toiling away a delicious plot. The diabolical scheme was enough to let her burst out in raucous laughter. Her inner sides began to hurt.

* * *

Sammy departed the elevator, holding a bouquet of roses. Paula’s fave... Figured he could lay down the cement with something that would melt her heart. Even though he swore up-and-down he did nothing. Would take it to the grave. Despite what Paula claimed, he knew the intervention would go down bloody. Too bad he kept his piece at his mom’s. Not that he’d use it on her in a cold-hearted sentiment. Only if matters became life or death. He figured that was typical with any relationship.

He checked his watch. Twenty ‘til. Enough time to forgive and forget, maybe even snatch some makeup sex before Daphne rolled around.

Sammy whistled his way down the hall and rapped three times on the door.

The door instantly drew back to expose Paula, donning an apron. “You’re early.”

“Like always.” Sammy smiled, “You know what they say. Early bird catches the worm.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one whose supposed to say that? Come in. Dinner’s not yet served.”

Sammy looked at her, something seemed off. She spoke more eloquently than usual, and her Brooklyn accent was diminished. “You okay? Don’t seem yourself.”

Paula approached him slowly, raised a brow. “That’s because I’m very...” She grabbed his hand “very...” and slapped it on her nude rump, “hungry.” She drew in on him and devoured him.

“Wait...” He tried to pull back, but she drew him closer. “The intervention...”

Paula drew back, looked into his eyes, “We have ample time. I wanna take you in...” She went for his belt, guided him to the couch.

After a heated fifteen minutes of some of the best sex Sammy ever had with Paula–she became quite the beast–they laid back, regaining breath.

“Wow... Where’d that come from?” Sammy said.

“You tell me...” She grinned.

“If I knew accusations would get me this, maybe I should make it a hobby...” Sammy knew he screwed up after a third the way through the sentence that stormed out of his mouth like a derailed locomotive he couldn’t bring to a stop.

Paula’s face flushed in the wreckage of his coy remark. She huffed, trotted to her apron lain by the front door, and said, “Dinner will be ready soon. Do what you always do. Entertain yourself.” She stormed off, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

“Shit...” Sammy hunched forward, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He definitely dug his own grave with that remark. Didn’t even know what made him say it. It was like something made him say that. Made him say that... He laughed at the ridiculousness of the possibility.

Ten minutes progressed before Paula announced rather cheerily, “Dinner’s ready!”

“That was fast.” Sammy said, standing. He saw Paula was fully clothed now.

Her face beamed, “Yes. It was quite a sweat gathering everything together. So come on, Sammy.” She drew a chair and patted the cushion. “Sit.”

Sammy wobbled across the room, body still recovering from the makeup-turned-disaster sex session.

He planted himself into the chair and scooted up.

Paula switched on the stereo.

“Hey,” Sammy said, “Will you look at that? It’s our song...”

She nodded, bouncing hip-to-hip, “The one that played on our very first date.”

“What a night that was...” He snickered, “We were like two hot cats in a warm summer night... Even had the law on our tails... Remember spending the night in the can...”

“Indecent exposure...”

“Those were the days.” He reached over for one of the dishes.

“Nuh-uh.” She smacked his hand playfully. “Not yet. Everything has to be special.” She clicked a lighter and lit two candles, then waltzed over to the bar and took out a glass of wine. Sammy watched her return to him and fill his glass. “I must confess, we are still a little early. The main course is not yet done.”

Paula noticed Sammy already downing the wine and sighed, “Not too much, dear. You know what they say about wine on an empty stomach.”

“Right...” Sammy set aside the crystal wineglass.

She lifted a covered dish. Steam rolled out to show orange baby carrots. “I will fill your plate for you.”

“Don’t you find this a bit fancy for an intervention?”

“Not in the least...” Paula asserted, “It is actually the perfect setting for complete closure. Frankly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She reached over to another dish chock-full of stuffing. She slapped a scoop of the breadcrumbs on his plate, and reached over for a final side. Spinach.

Sammy couldn’t deny the fact that the hearty meal smelled rather invigorating. “I must mean a lot to you to go through so much trouble.”

The timer dinged. Paula strolled to the kitchen. “Oh!” She turned toward him, “You do,” sliding her long fingers along the threshold.

He licked his lips like a hog ready to dive into a slop. He reached for the gravy bowl.

Paula returned to the room, carrying a huge turkey-sized tray.

Sammy went to stand, “Let me help you with that.”

Paula glided. “Do not be silly. Sit yourself down, right this instant.” She noticed him spooning the gravy. “You can start eating. I need to finish prepping the main dish.”

Sammy shrugged, laying gravy over the spinach and stuffing. How much Paula normally loathed those who would ruin a meal somebody worked so hard on with supplemental flavorings. Paula, however, was different that evening.

He sucked up a mouthful of the stuffing, which melted in his mouth. “Oh my god...” He went toward the spinach and said, “Holy shit... This stuff is great! You never cooked this good. What gives?”

“I added a little something... But you wouldn’t want me boring you with trivial housewife stuff...”

“I oblige!”

He began to poke at the carrots, stirring them around. She said naturally, “Well you see for the spinach I added tongue...” Sammy scooped a clump of carrots in his mouth. “For the stuffing I added heart...” He looked over to the gravy. “To the gravy, I added eyeballs...” Green eyes emerged from the bracken murk, looking at Sammy in accusation. His teeth crunched on something. “And for the carrots, I added...” He spit out the carrots, and in grim discovery found severed, “...fingers.”

She lifted the turkey dish, “Bon Apetit, Dearest! Dinner is served!” to reveal the eyeless, tongueless head of Daphne, in a frozen state of absolute terror.

Sammy jumped back, but his legs locked. His heart churned harder by each beat. He gripped the edge of the table and shuddered. Paula tapped her chin, “I don’t know... It still looks like it’s lacking something... Is it undercooked? No, the direction said a head in the oven set at 350 for three-and-a-half hours should do...” Bubbles rose out of Sammy’s mouth as his throat shriveled.

“What am I lacking!?” Paula asked.

Sammy fell sideways in a loud crash.

“Oh yes! It calls for a male counterparts!”

She slapped her forehead, “Duh! Paula!” She shook her head in silliness. “No wonder why Sammy’s so hard on you! You don’t use your noggin’ quite enough!”

She reached for a bloodied cleaver hidden on her chair, and went to her hubby, hacking away through the night.