Killing Sabrina – By Tim Blake

Roger frowned softly as he got down on one knee stiffly and searched around for his pen. He reached out in front of him and patted around between the legs of Sabrina's bedside table.

"I'm too old for this…"

He grunted and squatted down, much like a cat getting ready to pounce on a mouse, to try and see how far his pen had rolled under the bedside table. He squinted hard but failed to see anything through the shadows. Avoiding at all costs removing everything off of the table and trying to lift the heavy piece of furniture aside, Roger shifted closer and slid his fingers into the gap.

"…God damn it!"

Roger withdrew his hand from between the table's legs and sat against the wall opposite his wife's side of the bed for a moment. The whole situation was stupid, he thought. Getting all worked up over a stupid pen, when he could easily go back to his study and retrieve another to finish his notes.

He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. That's what he'd do – get another stupid pen instead of wasting all this time trying to claim this one back from the depths of the dark caverns of Sabrina's beside table. Roger slid his glasses back on and pushed the frames up the bridge of his nose before gazing ahead of him.

That's when he noticed it.

The corner of something long and white was poking out from under the bed. Roger blinked and crawled forward, before lifting the bed skirt to find a blank envelope tied closed with a long, red velvet ribbon staring back at him.

Curious, Roger undid the velvet ribbon and pulled a sweet-smelling letter from within the envelope. Unfolding three-folded paper, Roger sat back against the wall and began to read the letter's contents.

Lustrous.

Dirty.

Passion.

Every single filthy word written in the letter made Roger's body tremble harder and harder. He dropped the letter and tipped his head back against the wall with an awful thud.

How could she have done this to him?

What would bring her to do such a thing?

He was so loyal … so loving…

And this was her thanks?

Roger rubbed his eyes again and noticed something else underneath the bed. He hesitantly lurched forward and wrenched out what was one of Sabrina's Creative Memories photo boxes, the lid open slightly ajar. He pulled the box into his lap and tossed the lid away. He gasped in despair.

The contents of the Creative Memories box were nothing but dozens and dozens of blank envelopes sealed with ribbons of red velvet. Roger retrieved several of the letters and read the contents.

Nothing but filth that another man had written – all about the raunchy, explicit encounters between he and Sabrina. All from the way her hair smelled to how good she was at oral pleasure, to every position and location they sexually pleasured each other.

Roger moaned in despair.

He pulled out more envelopes and read letter after letter, his shock and disbelief intensifying with each, and before he realized it, he had read every single piece of writing the Creative Memories photo box had offered to him.

A car could be heard pulling into the driveway and the headlights cast through the window and crept along the ceiling.

Sabrina was home.

Roger had to act fast. Would he storm out of the house, rip his whoring wife out of the car and demand to know who she was having an affair with, and how many other men were caught in her lustrous web? Or would he remain calm and collective about the whole ordeal, and just pretend nothing happened?

He couldn't pretend anything didn't happen. His anger would rip him apart from the inside out. He had to do something though – and fast. He knew this as he heard the car door open and slam to a close, Sabrina's stilettos clomping along the front steps following.

Roger inhaled slowly and thought for a quick moment. He gathered all of the letters and carefully inserted them into their respective envelopes, before stacking them together neatly and putting them back into the photo box along with the ribbons of red velvet.

"Honey, I'm home!"

Roger fixed his glasses and clothes and headed out into the front entrance to meet his wife. He embraced her and they shared a brief kiss.

"How was your day?" Roger asked, trying desperately to sound calm.

Sabrina shrugged. "It was all right. The same as usual. How about yours?"

"It was interesting."

All through dinner Roger stared at Sabrina from across the table, while steadily consuming his red wine and roast chicken.

You slut, he thought. I've done so much for you – I'd give my life for you – and for what? You never wanted to have sex with me, but you'll screw other men? You bitch. I'll make you wish you never married me.

Roger chewed on his tongue before taking a long sip of wine. He would make her pay for this.

But how?

The more he thought about it, the more his anger brewed and grew deep inside his belly. He looked down at his right hand, which was trembling violently. Roger took hold of his steak knife and squeezed it tightly in his palm before looking across the table at Sabrina, who was rambling on about some crap he didn't care about.

Without even thinking it through, and without uttering a word, Roger picked up the steak knife and reached forward, thrusting it deep into Sabrina's left eye. He stared at her for a moment as a white liquid pulsated around the blade. He thrust deeper, and slowly began to twist the steak knife clockwise, watching as a thin flow of crimson leaked out from Sabrina's eye socket, and ran down her delicate cheek.

Roger was actually surprised to see that she wasn't screaming or flailing about in agony, but his thirst had not yet been quenched. He shifted his grasp on the knife and wrenched backwards, pulling the blade out, Sabrina's brilliant, green eye along with it. A thicker amount of blood spilled out from her socket, and covered the side of her beautiful face gracefully.

Roger sat back in his seat and breathed hard. He lifted his knife and rotated the blade slightly to study the bloody remains of the eyeball. He then looked back at Sabrina, who lifted her fork and placed a piece of roast chicken between her thick lips.

"How is it?" she asked.

"Pardon?" Roger blinked.

"How's the chicken?" Sabrina repeated. Her left eye was back in its rightful socket, undamaged.

Roger blinked once more and looked to his right side. His steak knife was still resting there, untouched, and unstained.

"Uh – it's great," he answered.

There could be no other way to teach Sabrina her lesson, Roger thought. No matter what he thought of, the same two words kept tearing at his mind.

Kill her.

A couple of days passed. Plenty of time for Roger to think over how he would murder Sabrina, and what precautions he would have to take to be sure his plan didn't backfire on him. He had to make sure there was no struggle when he went to killing her. If there was a struggle, the pathologists in the morgue would catch it immediately when performing the autopsy.

Killing Sabrina would have to be made to look completely accidental. That crossed out strangling, suffocating, and lacerating. There could be no traces at all that she had been indeed murdered out of cold blood.

That brought Roger to the conclusion that he would have to bring Sabrina to a sleep somehow. For a moment, he considered taking a bottle of Chloroform from the medical inventory from the hospital – but soon crossed the idea out in his mind. If he used Chloroform to make Sabrina pass out, there would definitely be a struggle, and someone at the hospital would know that it would be missing from the shelf. Also, the autopsy could show dribbles of the liquid on her mouth and nose.

Nyquil was another idea. But, that was almost immediately crossed out of his mind as well. Nyquil was used immediately before going to bed, and usually worked instantly. For this "accident" to happen, Sabrina would have to be at least semi-awake when it was to occur.

Then it came to him. Why not use sleeping pills? Slip them into her drink and she should easily be near to dozing – That way Sabrina could easily trip and break her skull over something and the autopsy report would show no trace of foul play. Many people take sleeping pills before going to bed, but they never worked right away.

Now … All Roger needed was an alibi…

It was a quarter after seven the following night. Roger peeked over his shoulder as the pork roast was cooking in the oven to make sure Sabrina was no where in sight. He took out two wineglasses and retrieved the best bottle of red wine he could find from the rack.

Once the wine was poured, Roger reached into a cupboard above him and took down the bottle of sleeping pills. He looked over his shoulder cautiously as he tapped two pills into his hand and placed them into a small bowl. He then took a spoon from the utensil drawer and crushed the pills into a fine powder before emptying the bowl into one of the wineglasses and stirring thoroughly.

He brought the glasses out into the dining room, where Sabrina was waiting, and placed the tainted drink in front of her before seating himself.

"Dinner smells great, love," Sabrina smiled. She took a sip of the wine and looked at her husband. "You were always great in the kitchen."

"Thank you," Roger smiled, taking a sip from his own glass. "How was work today?"

Sabrina shrugged. "The same as usual. Boring."

"That's a shame," Roger muttered.

Dinner within itself was just as Sabrina had expected – and the tainted drink hadn't started to take effect until the meal was finished – as Roger had expected.

Sabrina drained the last of her wine and pushed her cleaned plate aside with satisfaction. "That was great, dear," she said before yawning loudly. "Oh … Excuse me!"

Roger finished his wine and did his best to calm his anticipation. "Are you all right, love?"

"Yes, but I suddenly feel very tired. It just hit me, you know? I think I might have to go to bed early tonight." Sabrina pushed back her chair and left the table without excusing herself – leaving the cleaning to Roger as usual – but this time he didn't mind so much.

After he had finished clearing the table and putting the leftovers in the fridge, Roger sat down in his easy chair with a heavy, satisfied thud. Phase one had been completed. But what about phase two? He would have to wait for the wine to filter from his bloodstream before that could be even considered.

An hour had gone by, and Roger was sure Sabrina was fast asleep by now. He got up from his easy chair and headed down the hall and into the bedroom. There he found his wife laying in fetal position overtop the bed sheets, still in her day's clothing. She was fast asleep.

Good.

Roger leaned over his sleeping wife and reached out to scoop her into his arms.

She stirred and let out a soft yawn, slowly opening her eyes. This was one thing Roger did not anticipate.

"What are you doing?" Sabrina asked with a drowsy drawl in her voice.

"You looked so beautiful," Roger said softly, "laying there fast asleep. I couldn't help but admire the scene."

Sabrina rolled onto her back and stretched out. "You woke me up… Why did you wake me up?'

Roger frowned in rage. "I didn't mean to."

"Ah. Well – I couldn't really fall fully asleep anyway." Sabrina sat up and walked past Roger, heading to the bathroom.

Roger stared hard at her. He wanted to throttle her right then and there, but he knew he had to keep his emotions in check – even if he had to bite down on his tongue to do so. He followed Sabrina and leaned against the doorframe. "Why don't we go for a drive? We haven't done that in a couple of weeks."

Sabrina looked up at him from the toilet and shrugged. "If you want to. I don't care." She got up and flushed, once again walking past her husband, this time going for the closet located at the front entrance.

The night sky was beautiful and eerily warm for this time of season and the countryside's road had a thin layer of fog clinging to it. Roger and Sabrina used to go for drives in the night all the time when they first got married, but within the previous year or so, Sabrina slowly lost interest.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Roger asked, admiring the road and the trees, lit dimly by his headlights.

"I guess." Sabrina was leaning her head against the passenger-side window, not really paying any attention. From Roger's observation, it either seemed that she didn't really care, or she had something more important on her mind.

They drove on for a while longer until Roger suddenly pulled off to the side of the road. Sabrina immediately asked why he was doing so, but her demands were ignored. Roger climbed out of the car and walked across to Sabrina's side and peered down over the shoulder of the road, where there was a slanted hill.

Sabrina rolled down the window impatiently and demanded to know why her husband had stopped. Roger pocketed his hands and turned his head to face the car, smiling.

"Come out here – the view is beautiful!"

"No. Get back here. I want to go home now. I'm tired again."

This was the truth.

"Come on, don't be such a spoil sport!" Roger urged.

Sabrina sighed with irritation and came out of the car. She stepped up next to her husband and peered briefly over the road's shoulder. "Yes, it's lovely. Let's go home now."

Roger grabbed onto her arm when she tried to move away.

"Roger! Let me go!"

He did so, but not because his wife asked. He stepped in front of her and frowned. "I know what you did," he said softly.

Sabrina stared at him incredulously. "What are you talking about?"

"The letters. I found the letters – and I read all of them. Every single word," Roger told her calmly. "How could you do this to me, Sabrina? I love you!"

"I don't want to talk about this. How dare you go rummaging through my personal belongings!" Sabrina tried to move away, but her husband stopped her.

"How dare you to have sex with another man and let him write the encounters to you in full detail!" Roger snapped. He grabbed his wife and stared hard into her eyes. "Why?" he demanded. "Why!?"

"Because you never do anything for me!" Sabrina yelled.

This enraged Roger even more. "I didn't to anything for you!? I did everything for you, you ungrateful little whore!"

Sabrina went to strike Roger hard in the face, but due to the effects of the sleeping pills, she lost her footing, and slipped, falling backwards down the hill.

Down and down she fell, until she hit the bottom, cracking the back of her head hard on a rock in the ground. Blood flowed everywhere, and Roger could tell by the vacant look in Sabrina's eyes, that she had died instantly.

Roger didn't react right away. He stared hard at his wife's corpse and sighed. He turned away for a moment and looked back at her, letting all of his emotions slip through now. He had loved his wife dearly – and her death only shocked him.

"Sabrina!" Roger screamed. He ran down the hill and fell next to her corpse. Blood was everywhere, but Roger didn't care. He embraced his wife and sobbed hard into her stiffening form.

The night sky turned darker, and Roger knew that wild animals could be wandering around soon. He sniffled as he picked Sabrina up in his arms, then carried her up the hill and into the car.

Roger climbed into the driver's side and looked over at his wife. Her vacant, dead eyes were staring right at him. He reached over and slowly closed her eyelids over them before looking out the windshield and driving as fast as he could to the nearest hospital.

"So, I hate to ask, but … What happened again?" asked Roger's brother after the funeral.

Roger sighed and looked up from the couch across from his brother. "She – uh… she…"

"It's all right, Rog, if it's too hard…"

"No, no…" Roger said softly. "I'm fine … Really…" he removed his glasses and dabbed at his eyes gently with a Kleenex. "She wasn't feeling all that well when she got home, so she took some sleeping medicine and headed straight to bed. I went in to peek on her an hour later, and she was still awake. I suggested we go for a drive, and she took up the suggestion with enthusiasm – so we begin driving, and she told me she was feeling really dizzy and needed to get some fresh air. She was already out of the car before I was, and when I came around – well, I don't know if the grass was slippery or not, but she slipped, and…" Roger paused and started to cry into his fists.

His brother frowned and came over, holding Roger close to him. "It's all right, Rog… It's all right… It was an accident. All an accident…"

Yes. An accident.

It was all an accident.

Just how it should have all been.

Roger looked up at his brother and sighed. "Thank you for being with me today, Spencer… It means a lot to me. I haven't been myself since she died… I just … I don't know if I can go on like I used to."

Spencer nodded slowly and got up. "Hey… I'm going to get a drink. Do you want anything?"

Roger merely shook his head and watched his brother leave the living room before noticing the flame was dying slightly in the fireplace. He reached forward off the couch to open the fireplace doors and gently prodded burning letters with the poker.

Roger sighed once more and pulled near his wife's Creative Memories photo box, opening the lid slightly. He stared inside to see there were only three of the love letters left. He would toss them into the fireplace to join the others when Spencer had gone.

There was no need to seem suspicious.

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