Daddy’s Little Girl,

Daddy’s Little Girl By Jonathan Carter Copyright 2013 Jonathan Carter Published on Smashwords by Imagine That! Studios The strike against the door was hard enough to make the wood splinter. It was also hard enough to make the shotgun in Reggie’s hand jump. He splayed his fingers on the fore-end, and that was when he noticed how sweaty his hands had become. With one shell at the ready, another already in the chamber, it was time to implement Plan B. The door buckled again. Reggie’s body jerked. Plan B — it was simple, just like in their wills: if one of them were stuck on a machine and incapable of making decision for themselves, the other would carry out the final wish and terminate all life support. It stood to reason – what kind of life could be expected in such a condition. When the light from outside streamed through the crack in the door, Reggie tightened his grip on the shotgun. Both of them were on life support right now. What kind of life could be expected? So why was it so different now? Was it because there were no machines? No body lying prone in a stark, sterile hospital bed. No unnerving quiet save for that hollow, sucking, artificial sound of deep breathing while an EKG keeps time with a constant beep-beep-beep from the EKG? At least, that’s what you see in the movies, anyway. The wood panel broke free, leaving a perfect rectangle-shaped hole in the walk-in closet’s door. The light from outside poured in, at first. Then a small figure stepped into the sunshine and peered quietly into Reggie’s hiding place. Plan B. Reggie shouldered the shotgun. He felt the curve of the trigger, the metal softly click as his finger tensed. There were no tubes. There were no machines. There were no sounds of a hospital. All he heard were Elissa’s low, long breaths. He couldn’t see her face (and that was a cold comfort, considering how he had seen her last), but he could hear her breathing. She was breathing. But it wasn’t her. What kind of life could be expected? “Aww, teddy bear,” Reggie croaked, “daddy loves you. You know that, right?” Her hair was frizzy, wild, as if she had just woken up to watch Phineas & Ferb with him. She didn’t like the cartoon all that much, but she did like watching him watch the cartoon. What kind of life could be expected? The trigger moved again. He couldn’t miss. Reggie tried to swallow back the sob forming in his throat, but it erupted seemingly on its own accord. Snot and spittle kissed his skin as the shotgun faltered, landing heavily into his lap. He knew the thing standing in front of him didn’t understand why he was shaking his head. “I can’t, teddy bear,” he wailed. “I can’t.” Through a watery haze, he watched Elissa’s hand, her knuckles reduced to the semblance of ground beef, reach through the hole of the closet door. She took a deep breath on finding the makeshift brace underneath the doorknob, and her fingers worked around it in a tight grip. First, Elissa pushed at the brace, then pulled; and wood dug into her arm as she wrenched the brace free. If it were really Elissa, she would be screaming like a banshee. Instead, with a mere grunt, the thing tugged her arm free of the splintered edge. “Okay,” Reggie whispered, nodding as the doorknob turned. “Okay.” Light now poured into the closet, but he could feel her shadow on him. He looked at the gun across his lap, but he kept nodding. “It’s okay, teddy bear. Daddy loves you.” He expected Elissa to leap on him, as she had done when she attacked Sandra. Instead, she took a breath, then another, and finally started walking to where he sat. The hand reaching out to him wasn’t the torn, mutilated hand that had punched though the closet door. This one was cold, pale, and open. Reggie blinked, sucking back another sob, and took her hand into both of his. The clatter of shotgun, his wailing, and her hollow, deep breaths surrounded him. He was drowning in memories, in chaos, in the madness that he had managed to keep at bay until now. Her hand was so cold. He had to warm it up. He felt Elissa pull at him. Reggie wasn’t sure where the strength came from to get him on his feet, but he was suddenly standing and following his little girl out of the walk-in closet. Sitting on the edge of the bed — on her side of the bed — was Sandra. He couldn’t see her face. It was shrouded by long, clumped strands of unkempt hair. Head hanging forward, motionless, she sat there. Reggie followed Elissa’s lead, his eyes watching the unmoving form of his wife. He could see the blood now dry on her palms, the stains of blood and puke across her nightdress, and through strands of hair the putrid bite wound between her neck and shoulder. Elissa gently pushed him back towards the bed. Reggie looked at her for a moment, then took a seat by Sandra. “Hi, baby,” Reggie managed. Sandra’s head lolled in his direction, then slowly came up. Strange, sickly yellow-red eyes widened on seeing him, and then softened. The breath that hit him in the face should have made him power vomit all over her, but there was something in Sandra’s eyes. Fleeting, but powerful and familiar. Her lips were chapped, but he didn’t care. He had missed kissing those ... - tailieumienphi.vn