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It had been five long years since Randall's "accident" took place. Five years since the battered remains were pulled from the ravine. Five years with police reports, condolences, and the town's almost dismissive, whispering glances toward her as a would-be-mourning widow. Five years of endless nightmares, touch-cold shadows, and that deathly chilling awareness that she was unleashed, at least for the moment: free. But she didn’t trust this feeling. She was uneasy and still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Knock, Knock. Two loud knocks sounded at her door. Jade winced at the sudden noise that echoed through the hollow apartment. Not knocking per se…but a rhythmic insistent beating deep within her bones. It was like a heartbeat, firm and steady. Except it couldn't be. She had seen him, felt the icy cold grasp of his flesh under her trembling fingers, had watched the earth swallow the pine box whole. It was bittersweet. Though, Jade wasn’t surprised, no one knew the real story behind her marriage with Randall Strong. No one knew how manipulative and abusive he was. She barely survived this ordeal unscathed. It was a miracle she was still alive! Jade was abruptly jolted from her thoughts, flinching as the knocking grew louder this time, shaking the very walls of her apartment. She backed away from the door, her hand snuggling onto the heavy bronze statue of a crouching panther on the end table by the door. It was purely decorative, but the weight of it, the cool metal, offered a sliver of comfort. Jade drew a sudden breath. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't grief trying to fool her. This was very real. She gasped as she heard a voice she never thought she’d hear again…hoped to never hear again. It made chills run down her spine. Her mind was bombarded with memories of her entire marriage with Randall. The fear, the hurt and the depression that plagued her heart and soul. She felt a sinking in her stomach, nausea and dizziness, stumbling backwards a bit. “Open the door, Jade.” A deep, guttural voice uttered behind the door. Her heart started racing, if she wasn’t holding onto the end table, she’d be on the floor passed out. “Randall.” She whispered with dread. Randall. The man she buried is back and knocking. His name was a dark whisper inside her mind, a cry muffled in her throat. Thunder, deep with disuse; yet it was unmistakably his voice. The rhythm, the trace of a rasp. Her whole body was screaming at her to flee, to hide, to simply deny that impossible event. But curiosity, a sick, dreadful curiosity, kept her rooted there. She moved on autopilot, with her feet dragging towards the door as if pulled by an invisible string. The trembling hand reached for the deadbolt, her fingers turned numb against the cold metal. One click. Two. The chain was free with a soft rattle. She drew a deep shuddering breath and nudged the door barely open. He stood there, silhouetted before the glow of the dim hallway light, a specter from a past she had labored to bury. Taller than she remembered, broader across the shoulders. His blonde hair, once sleek, was now longer and fell raggedly across a face gaunt, hollowed in places, but nevertheless that of Randall. His eyes, that odd green-hazel of a stormy sea, held that disturbing intensity, that very slight predatory gleam which haunted her memory. “Hello, wife.” He says with a slow chilling smile. Her mind raced, a frantic kaleidoscope of fragmented thoughts. How? Why? The car crash. The funeral. The death certificate. Every piece of evidence, every shred of reality, was loudly condemning his presence. And there he stood. “You’re dead. I saw you die!” She whispers in a shaky voice. He gives a humorless chuckle, pushing his way into her apartment. Her spine shivered, feeling the deep rumble of his chuckles. “A common misconception it seems.” He pushed the door open a little wider, took a step inside the foyer, and in with him came the smell of damp earth, and something else…that of metal, a faint suggestion of sweetness. The smell of the grave. “Oh, dearest wife…are you sure you saw what you saw?” Jade remained silent, still not believing her ex-husband was standing before her. He pushed the door closed, walking closer to his wife. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Why so surprised to see me? I am your husband, after all.” His voice was calm, but had a hint of rage and menace. Jade recoiled intrinsically and stepped aside while stumbling. His stare dares not leave her face. Endearing words or friendly banter: they were nausea-inducing anew. Here was the Randall she knew: one who had used years of subtle psychological torture to slowly choke the spirit out of her. “How is this possible? I buried you. Had a funeral and everything!” Jade yells in a trembling voice. She was on the verge of tears, ready to lose the dinner she just had. “Details, my darling, details. Let’s just say, I have loose ends to tie up…a score to settle even.” His eyes were wandering around the well-kept entrance, actually finding a moment of pause before the console table, and then, upon the wedding photograph-a younger, happier Jade and a deceptively charming Randall. “Oh my god…” she trails off in a whisper. It dawned on her finally, after the shock had worn off. “This wasn’t an accident. This was planned. Everything!” A creeping coldness filled her bones with a sick dread. That “accident” had not been an accident. She intuitively knew it and had always known it. The comfort she had felt when he had gone, the hope springing quietly into being that she might at last have a life free of his shadow, had been her doom. He knew. He had to know. &nbsp;Resigned, she nodded her head. Not seeing a way out of this, even if there was, he would never let her go. “Alright, fine. You’re here, you caught me and I’m stuck…now what? What do you want?” She was surprised her voice sounded strong, despite the bone-chilling fear and dread in her stomach. “I want it all back, of course! Everything you took.” Randall sounded almost jovial, but the rage was prevalent in his tone. Jade was taken aback by his words, furrowing her eyebrows. “I didn’t take anything from you, Randall. You’re the last person I’d want to steal from. You’re supposed to be six feet under, anyway! How was I supposed to know you’d come back from the dead?! You brought this on yourself!” A smile disappeared from his face, replaced by the mask of cold fury. "Did I? Or did you find a convenient way to escape that life you had sworn to me?" The gesture took in the silent house. "The house. The money. My... freedom." An understanding went through Jade. The life insurance. A huge sum that had bought the mortgage and gave her security. She had never thought herself lucky, especially after years of Randall using head games against her. However, the payout had been an absolute lifeline for her. And he knew. He had had to have known she had profited from his so-called death. And now, he's back...ready to wreak havoc.

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The Unburied

smpitt32

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Five Years of Quiet

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Sydney Pittman

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