Bitter Sins
© 2019 RE Jauregui
Gato patted Bitter's face.
"What?" she muttered as she tried to push the big tuxedo cat off her chest so she could roll over and catch a few more minutes of sleep.
Claws pricked her cheek with Gato's next effort to wake her.
"Ouch, ouch, OK Gato, I'm awake."
Chica crawled out from under the comforter and stood at the foot of the bed, her ears perked up. She stared at the closed bedroom door and whined.
A tap, and then another, on the front door echoed down the hall. Bitter sat up and rubbed her eyes. The clock read 3 a.m.
With the second series of taps, she reached for her robe. With the .32 in her hand and her cell phone in her pocket, she padded down the dark hall barefoot. A dark silhouette backlit by the streetlight filled the old-fashioned window in the door. She instinctively pressed her back to the wall when she realized the porch light was out. That light was never turned off, ever.
She took a few light steps back and slipped through the kitchen door, out of the direct line of the front door, before she asked, "Who is it?"
No one answered.
She peeked around the edge of the door frame, heart pounding, just in time to see a figure turn away from the door. She waited until she heard a creak from the porch steps, then she slipped back across the hall, into the living room. The streetlight's rays filtered between the heavy curtains, where they didn't quite meet, and filled the center of the room with a dim light. Cautiously, she crept along the wall next to the bookcase, where the soft yellow light couldn't reach, and shadows reigned.
When the wrought iron gate slammed closed with a metallic crash, she pushed the side of the curtain over just enough to see the front yard. Nothing moved outside.
Slowly, Bitter made her way back to the hall. Before she stepped into the hall, she stopped and peered around the corner at the front door. The window remained empty, but her instincts screamed at the silence.
She waited.
The minutes dragged on.
Maybe I'm being paranoid.
Just as she prepared herself to cross the hall again, to the kitchen, the sound of quick steps on the porch stairs filled the quiet night. A bright light flashed through the window and someone knocked.
Bitter readied the Walther. "Who is it?"
Bullets crashed through the window and down the hall. An instant later, the door flew open, kicked in by a dark figure. It slammed into Bitter, knocking her down. The world went black and a crushing silence descended.
© 2019 RE Jauregui
Gato patted Bitter's face.
"What?" she muttered as she tried to push the big tuxedo cat off her chest so she could roll over and catch a few more minutes of sleep.
Claws pricked her cheek with Gato's next effort to wake her.
"Ouch, ouch, OK Gato, I'm awake."
Chica crawled out from under the comforter and stood at the foot of the bed, her ears perked up. She stared at the closed bedroom door and whined.
A tap, and then another, on the front door echoed down the hall. Bitter sat up and rubbed her eyes. The clock read 3 a.m.
With the second series of taps, she reached for her robe. With the .32 in her hand and her cell phone in her pocket, she padded down the dark hall barefoot. A dark silhouette backlit by the streetlight filled the old-fashioned window in the door. She instinctively pressed her back to the wall when she realized the porch light was out. That light was never turned off, ever.
She took a few light steps back and slipped through the kitchen door, out of the direct line of the front door, before she asked, "Who is it?"
No one answered.
She peeked around the edge of the door frame, heart pounding, just in time to see a figure turn away from the door. She waited until she heard a creak from the porch steps, then she slipped back across the hall, into the living room. The streetlight's rays filtered between the heavy curtains, where they didn't quite meet, and filled the center of the room with a dim light. Cautiously, she crept along the wall next to the bookcase, where the soft yellow light couldn't reach, and shadows reigned.
When the wrought iron gate slammed closed with a metallic crash, she pushed the side of the curtain over just enough to see the front yard. Nothing moved outside.
Slowly, Bitter made her way back to the hall. Before she stepped into the hall, she stopped and peered around the corner at the front door. The window remained empty, but her instincts screamed at the silence.
She waited.
The minutes dragged on.
Maybe I'm being paranoid.
Just as she prepared herself to cross the hall again, to the kitchen, the sound of quick steps on the porch stairs filled the quiet night. A bright light flashed through the window and someone knocked.
Bitter readied the Walther. "Who is it?"
Bullets crashed through the window and down the hall. An instant later, the door flew open, kicked in by a dark figure. It slammed into Bitter, knocking her down. The world went black and a crushing silence descended.
