You are Going with Me
Twisted paths curved through out the woods, some lined with cobble stones while others are simply plain dirt. The path I followed was marked by small crosses I had previously etched on decaying trees. I could barely see the crosses as I raced past them, all the while leaving a trail of blood easily marking each step I took. I need to get there fast.
My legs were burning when I reached an old cottage covered with vines. Roots of the trees growing too closely to the cottage had penetrated the side of the house, causing
the wall to collapse. Climbing over the roots, I tumbled in. The weight of my leg thrusting on the broken glass sent waves of pain coursing through my body. I had to keep moving.
The holes in the wooden floor proved a challenge as I had to maneuver around them, but I finally made it to the stairs. Slowly, I stepped on the first step then the next. My injured leg gave out and grasped the handrail to balance myself. Splinters irritated my open wound encouraging more blood to flow. I was almost there. Opening the door at the bottom of the stairs, I felt around looking. After finding matches and candles, I lit the candles to help illuminate the room. Every candle was a different size and color, and they all looked badly worn, as if they were decades old.
I reached into my back pocket for my phone, and flipped the cover open to dial 911. Two rings later someone picked up. I all but whispered in the phone, “Help me please. My boyfriend is trying to kill me. He...he has a record for having of abusive behavior and has been to court about it…,” I gave the emergency operator directions to the cottage and told him to please hurry.
The plan was perfect. By the time the police arrived they would catch my boyfriend red handed, having no choice but to throw him in jail. I was almost ready for the final act, even if it wasn’t the way I planed.
Drops of blood could be seen on the floor throughout the room, but none were from my hands or the cut on my leg. Pins and needles scattered the floor of the old, rotting wood as well as a brass box I placed there, weeks in advance. Flinging open the lid of the box, I clutched its contents. It was a clothe doll, the size of the palm of my hand. The eyes were big X’s and its mouth sewn with yarn. Grabbing a clean needle, I pressed it into the fabric of the doll. The metal sank in the doll's right shoulder. I tried to reach for another needle but my arm was in pain. Slowly but surely I picked up another needle. In one sharp motion I plunged it in the dolls left arm. The doll fell to the ground.
Ten minutes of poking the doll, my body was too tired and my breath came in huffs deep gasps. The ceiling above me creaked and dirt fell from the cracks. I grabbed a metal stake from the dusty shelf and listened. All I have to do is wait.
“May, I can help and I will get too. Please don’t do this. Come back to the house.” The stairs began to groan as he walked down the rotting, decomposing steps, stopping at the bottom.
“What happened to you? How did you get all those bruises?...You promised you wouldn’t hurt yourself anymore.” His gaze searched me up and down, his eyes widening every time they spotted a black smudge. One of the biggest smirks I could muster graced my lips.
“Do you remember last October, when you beat me so bad that it sent me to the hospital? Well I do. I couldn’t go to the court room because I was in such a bad shape—”
“Of course I remember. During the whole trail I couldn’t stop bawling. I thought you were dead, but I am better now. You know that I haven’t hit you since then. I got counseling. That’s why the judge didn’t send me to jail. He knew—”
“Just shut up! Why is it that, when I cut myself a few times I go to an asylum, but when you almost kill me, you get by with a warning?” Anger welled up in me as I started to tremble. Rising my head, I looked in his eyes. Serenely I proclaim, “You should have gone to jail, honey.”
“May?” He was confused, leaving the word imbecile flash through my mind. This guy has to be a complete moron.
(Insert Middle Here)
The police wrestled with him, while he tried to throw them off. He was a strong man, so it would take all of the men to put him done. Too my surprise, one of the police officers took out a taser and attached it to his shoulder. After a few moments his arm went limp. It didn’t take long for the force to get the upper hand.
My boyfriend is now on his front, his face pressed to the floor. He looked at me, pleading with his eyes for me to tell the truth. The only response I gave him was a smirk. He must have not liked the answer because he turned away and stopped struggling. Soon, he was pushed up the stairs, not resisting.
“Miss, are you okay? Do you need help walking to the ambulance?”
“Yes, I am fine. Can you please stay by my ex-boyfriend? I don’t want him to escape. When he is secure in the car, then you can come get me.” It was tough to sound frighten and scared when all I want to do is laugh.
“Sure maam.” His boots clicked as the ascended the creaking stairs, leaving me the only one in the room. I can still hear my boyfriend trying, in vain, to convince the police that he was innocent. Letting out an irritated sigh, I struggle to my feet. Lethargically I shuffle my aching feet to the far right corner of the room. When I got there I plopped to my knees with my hands on the ground in front of me. It took a while but my fingernail finally got hold of a loose floorboard. Shifting the plank reveled a hollow space.
Inside was another doll, and next to it, a sewing needle and thread. Taking all of the items out, I string the tread through the needle’s eye. Clutching the doll I brought the sharp point to it mouth. Stitch after stitch I enclosed the mouth of yarn in a wrapping of red tread. Everything became quiet. He would not talk his way out of this one.
