As Long as You Live

© 1999 Brian Knight
All rights reserved.

She rocked lazily on the porch-swing, staring with misty eyes into the willow grove that marked the border of her back yard.. The blue moon above sailed past, heralded, then dismissed the midnight hour with practiced ease. Molly, lost in herself as she often was, did not notice the moon's passing. She was in another time, another place. Though Kelly's death was five years past, she still thought of him often. Her tears were silent now though; she didn't have the juice left to cry aloud.

Kelly's police academy ring hung from the end of a silver chain on her neck, winking in the inconsistent glow of the moon. She fingered it absently, her eyes drifting toward the old apple tree, the spot that held her fondest memory. She made herself look away.

She drifted to sleep at one point without realizing it. Her confused dreams were haunted by two faces; one the face of a demon, the other the face of an angel. The apparitions fought over her, the face of the demon spitting curses and obscenities at the familiar face of the angel. The face of the demon was familiar too; blond hair spiked into a flame-like frenzy, blue eyes shot through with red streaks, thin mouth twisted into spout-like sneer.

Waking slowly, she rose from the swing. She left the porch, closed the door, and turned off the light behind herself.

In the uncanny darkness that followed, something stirred and stalked wraithlike up the steps of the porch.

The inside of her house lit up one room at a time, from the back entryway to the living room. From somewhere on the top floor she heard the rodent-like click-click-click that signaled the eminent arrival of her Chihuahua, Perkins. In mere seconds he was bouncing down the staircase and into the living room, sliding across the hardwood landing to stop at her feet. She bent down, her left knee making a popping noise that startled her, and scratched his head. Her bad knee was a result of an injury she suffered in the attack that killed her fiancè. Perkins responded to the scratching by dancing in circles around her hand. She straightened slowly, grimacing at the painful tightness in the offending joint.

Perkins voiced his gratitude with a single, sharp yip, and scurried to his pillow next to the food dish by the back door. He pushed the kibbles around the dish with his nose, but laid down instead of eating. He rested his head on his forepaws, his perpetually watery eyes shifting from the dish to the door. He whined softly.

Ignoring him, Molly stretched out on the couch. She thought about watching a movie, then noticed the hour on the VCR display and decided against it. Instead she went upstairs to bed.

Molly was nearly asleep when she heard Perkins' muffled squeal and soft foot falls from downstairs.

Damn dog, she thought, cuddling deeper into her pillow.

It was the ringing of the phone downstairs that brought her fully awake. She turned onto her side and felt blindly for the cordless. On the third ring she found the charger but no phone. She remembered using it earlier to call her mother from the back porch. It was probably out there right now, waking the neighbors.

The answering machine downstairs picked up on the fourth ring.

Cursing, she threw the covers aside and, clad in no more than a long nightshirt, she hurried from her room. Guided by memory alone she navigated the short hallway to the stairs. She descended them slowly, in case "Rat Dog" was camped out on them.

From the top of the stairs she heard her perky, prerecorded voice fill the room, and a message that seemed cute when she first recorded it now seemed contrived and lame.

"Hi ya, Molly and Perkins (a bark in the background) are not here at the moment. Either we have a date or we've been kidnapped by aliens" (the theme song for X-Files begins to play).

What a joke, she thought. I haven't dated since high school.

She was able to move quicker at the bottom of the steps; light from the street lamps filtered in from the living room's picture window, illuminating the area from the front door to the kitchen. Her cold feet warmed quickly on the living room's shag carpet.

"Please leave a message after the beep, and I'll call back when we return." (Flying saucer sound effect) "If, however, I meet Elvis up there, all bets are off."

"Fuck it," she said as it beeped. She dropped to the couch and waited for the message. "Jesus, Mom," she moaned as her mother began to speak.

"Moll, honey. You have to get out of there." Her mother's voice was panicked, almost sobbing. "Don't pack anything, just get in the car and go." There was a brief pause, in which Molly could hear her mother panting almost to the point of hyperventilation. "He's escaped Moll," she said. Now she was crying.

Molly sat frozen, gaping at the blinking machine. She remembered the dream from earlier; the twisted leering face, greasy blond hair standing around his head like a filthy pelt, light blue eyes shining like cold, cruel gems.

"Hurry," her mother was now shouting. "Ke . . ." The machine clicked off, filling the room with a silent dread.

Kennith, Junior Kennith.

Junior Kennith, her fiancè's killer, was a sad, disturbed boy from her graduating class. She had known since the seventh grade that he liked her, but she had been unaware that his fixation had taken on such an unhealthy dimension.

Kelly had picked her up at her house that night; they were having dinner in Seattle. They had been engaged for almost a year at that point, but they had yet to set a date. Kelly wanted to wait until he was through with the academy, or it was done with him. He didn't want to commit her to him until he had his shield and an assignment. He did graduate, and his assignment was in their hometown, Kent.

Seattle was not far from Kent, but far enough to make a trip there a special occasion. She thought it would be the night that they set the date. They never made it to Seattle. They stopped at a Texaco outside town to gas up. Junior pulled in behind them.

In the space of ten seconds four shots were fired, one into Molly's knee, one into Kelly's Mustang, and two into Kelly. Junior escaped, but was caught the next day. Kelly was dead within minutes.

Escaped.

Molly tried to rise from the couch, to flee, but two large rough hands pinned her down.

"Molly, darling." His voice was low, reedy, but laced with the cruelty of a kid who would catch and skin his neighbor's cats. "Molly, Molly, Molly," Junior said over and over again, as if tasting some sweet thing for the first time in years. "How I've missed you."

The demon's voice behind her was made more real by the blast of hot breath against the back of her neck and two sets of fingers crawling across her shoulders like giant spiders. She tried to slide away, but they clamped down, biting into the tender flesh of her neck and shoulders. She felt the heat of his insanity and the weight of his stare on the back of her head.

"You're alone," he whispered into her ear. It was not a question. He reached down and grabbed her left wrist in a quick, rough movement. Seeing no band on her ring finger, he caressed it with the ball of his thumb and laid it gently back on her lap. "I knew you would wait for me. I knew you would be faithful."

Relinquishing his hold on her shoulders, he stepped around the couch and faced her. His body, which had once been stout nearly to the point of plumpness, was now grotesquely thin; a twisted wire frame draped in rags that had once been prison clothing. His face, handsome in its youth, was now gaunt, sunken and ashen. His eyes were bright, sunken dots, his hair stood in a knotted frenzy; his cheeks and forehead were marked with lines and scars.

Without taking his eyes from hers, he reached back and pulled the coffee table in behind him like a chair. He sat and leaned in close to her, his breath now mixing with her own; it smelled like rotting meat.

"Did you miss me?" he asked.

What she said next, what she knew she had to say, made her sicker than the rotting smell of his breath and the spiders touch of his hands ever could.

"Yes."

He closed his eyes and smiled; an expression unequaled in its hideousness. His teeth were gone; only a few rotted stumps remained. His gums were dark and swollen; a bloated, malformed tongue lolled between them. The smell of rotting flesh was coming from inside him. What he did next caused such a wave of panic and disgust in her that she wished she could die. He pursed his cracked lips, and with his eyes still closed, leaned forward and kissed the side of her mouth.

"I'm hungry," he whispered in her ear. "Make me some food."

Struggling to hold back the panic, to hold back tears of fright, she opened her eyes and turned to face him. He avoided her eyes, choosing instead to stare at the floor. His sudden shyness seemed almost childlike to her, and in his weakness she regained a degree of her own strength. She rose from the couch, but instead of walking to the kitchen, she ran for the front door.

With a silence and speed that she believed impossible, he was behind her. He brought her down easily, pinning her to the floor. She fought madly beneath him, kicking and punching with all her strength. He struck her once, twice in the face, and her struggles ended. She lay beneath him, still conscious but drained.

She heard him whisper, "If I can not have you, then no one will."

He picked her up easily and carried her to the couch.

"I'll help myself," he said, moving silently into the kitchen. He rummaged through her cupboards and found a box of crackers. Then he went to the refrigerator and took out a block of cheese wrapped in cellophane.

She laid with her head on the arm rest and watched him eat. She dared not move. She remembered the way he had come after her, so quick, so strong.

He finished his snack and was next to her again in seconds. "You were having cold feet," he said. "You tried to run away again, but I love you. I love you, so I'll give you another chance." He kicked the small coffee table aside and dropped to his knees before her. For a second she thought he was going to propose. Instead he grabbed the front of her night shirt and pulled her close. Instead of a ring he produced a knife and, placing it against her throat, asked, "Do you want to live?"

Despite her terror, and her revulsion at what she was certain would happen to her next, she discovered that she did. She nodded.

Junior withdrew the blade and stood. "I want to see your bedroom," he said, pure craven lust dripping from every syllable.

"No," she said.

He grabbed her arm and yanked her from the couch. She uttered a squeal of surprise, which he cut off with a slap. Her tears finally came; she hung like a doll from his tight grip, sobbing and shaking.

"I insist," he growled.

He pushed her forward and allowed himself to be led. Up the staircase, through the dark, narrow hallway, past an old oil portrait of her grandfather. She stopped at the open door to her room, and he pushed her in. She stumbled but caught the edge of her bed.

Her room was small and tidy, containing only a single wide bed, a modest vanity, and a night-stand. She saw the picture of Kelly on her nightstand, and her weeping grew harder.

"I know how you feel," Junior whispered in her ear. "I'm excited too." He wrapped his arms around her from behind and squeezed. She found it impossible to quell a shudder of revulsion as he cupped her breasts and caressed them.

He pressed his scarred face against the back of her neck, worked them harder. His hands moved down, past her tight stomach to an area that had not been touched by anyone in five years. She could take no more; she twisted in his grasp and broke free.

"No," she said, stepping away from him.

"Get on the bed," he cooed.

"No!" she shouted.

He backhanded her; a strong, unnaturally quick blow that sent her flying to the bed. She landed on her back in a sprawl. She fought desperately to keep her senses, but her room kept shifting in and out of focus. She tried to lift her hand, not as a feeble gesture of defense, but to wipe away the blood she felt pouring from her busted nose. It wouldn't obey her thoughts, it just flopped uselessly at her side. Her efforts grew weaker, and she began drifting into the blessed darkness.

What brought her back was a sudden shifting weight atop her, and the stench of rotting meat in her mouth. He was on top of her, kissing her. He drew back at last, and she turned her head to the side, vomiting on her spotless comforter.

"Time to consummate my love."

His pants were already off; she could feel his diseased body moving against her. A hand reached down, grasping the hem of her nightshirt and pulling it up.

"Get off me, damn you!"

"No. You are mine," he panted in her ear. Her long shirt was halfway up, and the fact that she wore nothing underneath it would only make it easier for him.

She flailed at him wildly but uselessly. The back of her hand struck the nightstand, bumped the picture of Kelly, knocking it over. With a primal scream she grabbed it, the solid silver frame seeming almost hot in her grasp, and brought it down in an arc on Junior's head. She heard the glass shatter, then felt it falling down on her in shards. Then came the blood, a drop at a time. It sprinkled her brow like rain from a wounded cloud.

She dropped the bent frame and pushed at the dead weight atop her. Junior's limp body rolled over the edge of the bed and struck the hard floor with a thud. She scrambled from the bed and ran. She was at the door when the flicker of steel caught her eye. On her nightstand, Junior's knife.

She took it and walked around the foot of her bed. She could get out if she ran, but she had more than one reason to kill Junior. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, as she rounded the bed.

He wasn't there.

She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. She couldn't lift her gaze from the spot on the floor where Junior should have been. Molly knew she was dead.

A hand shot out from under the foot of the bed and grabbed her ankle.

"You bitch," he yelled.

Molly screamed. She tried to pull her leg away, but his grip was like iron.

"You fucking tease," he bellowed. "I'm going to kill you!"

She struggled to free her ankle, but succeeded only in pulling Junior farther from under the bed. He looked up at her; blue eyes glowing with madness, his mouth opened in a toothless snarl. He was the demon from her dream. She tripped over herself and fell backward. Her ankle twisted painfully, but at last pulled free. She scrambled through the door on her hands and knees.. In the hall, she rose to her feet and ran. By the time she realized she had dropped the knife, but it was too late to go back. He was screaming behind her, not words, but a protracted sound of pure animal rage.

She turned the corner at the end of the hall and ran down the steps. Her twisted ankle gave out on her halfway down and she fell headlong. The tumble was short but devastating. She found herself at the bottom of the steps unable to stand. Her leg was broken; she could see the bone poking out only inches below her knee.

"Molly," Junior screamed from above.

She could hear his steps as he neared the top of the staircase, and she could hear the sounds of his tantrum; the sound of shattering glass, a crash as something solid hit the wall. He was beyond reason now, beyond lust.

Desperately she dug her fingers into the carpet and began to pull. She moved slowly, inches at a time. Keeping her eyes on the front door, she persisted. The inches became a foot, then two feet, then three. It was closed, but she thought she could pull herself up when she got there.

Upstairs, Junior's rage ended and she could hear him walking again.

Another foot; her broken leg screamed in protest. She dug in, pulled herself a little farther. She cried out as one of her long nails bent back, pulling away from the quick.

Another foot; he was descending the steps. She could hear the pads of his bare feet slap the wood. Beside the door, laying in a twisted lump, was Perkins' small body. His neck was snapped, his head pointing the wrong way. She cried out his name but kept crawling.

Another foot, and another. She could hear him breathing behind her.

Another foot, almost there.

He was on top of her. He grabbed her shoulder with his free hand and flipped her onto her back. There was a crunch and the scraping of bone against bone in her broken leg; a rip of muscle and skin as it punched through, rising like a white hot mountain on a shore of pain. Her scream ripped through the night. She lay beneath him writhing, mouth twisted into a grin of pain.

Then she went limp. She was exhausted, too weak to resist. Closing her eyes, she waited for it to end.

"Goodbye," he said. He brought the knife over his head with both hands, and froze.

When the final blow didn't come, Molly opened her eyes.

He knelt above her, knife over his heads in both hands. His face twisted into a grimace of effort. His arms twitched as he tried repeatedly to bring the blade down, but he could not. Then Molly saw the glow above him, faint at first, then growing brighter; navy blue. The light took form, and Molly saw the shining, silver image of a badge.

Two misty hands appeared over Junior's, taking them, directing them. Slowly, against Junior's efforts, the blade moved down, out away from his body. She could hear the tendons creak as his hands, and the blade, turned inward.

Junior's face twisted in horror as he saw the hands that held him. A large ring glowed on the index finger of its right hand. The same ring, hanging from the chain on Molly's neck, began to glow in unison.

Then the blade went home. Junior pulled the knife free with a grunt, and pushed it in again. Then again, and again, and again.

Molly felt a warm spray of blood against her face and neck, but nothing else.

With a final, gurgling grunt Junior fell over and was still.

Unable to move, too exhausted even to scream, she closed her eyes and escaped the only way she could.

Molly opened her eyes on a bright blue sky. A single snow-white cloud floated overhead with lazy abandon. She beheld this through the lush, green boughs of the old apple tree. There was no pain in this dream. For now at least, the pain was gone. Around her all was peaceful.

Kelly was laying next to her.

"I've missed you, Molly," he said with a warm smile. "Someday we will be together again."

She moved closer and held him, breathing in his scent; crisp autumn leaves and Old Spice. She said nothing, only held him.

"Someday," he said again, and placed his hand over the ring hanging from her neck, over her heart. "Until then I will always be here." Slowly he leaned toward her and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"As long as you live, Molly, I shall never truly die."

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