Live and Let Die by Bianca Sloane Read Free Book Online Page B

Perhaps we should limit your outings during the day. We can’t have you forgetting your duties.”
    Paula shook her head, scared. “Oh, no dear. No. It wasn’t too much. I… I just forgot. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
    Phillip looked at Paula for a few moments before he softened. “Alright. I’ll forgive it this time. But you must be more careful. Now, please make the coffee.”
    Like a grateful puppy, Paula nodded and snatched up Phillip’s plate of pie before she scurried into the kitchen to make him a cup of coffee. She dumped the pie down the garbage disposal and started the coffee. Five minutes later, she came back into the dining room with a fresh slice of ice cream topped pie in one hand. In the other was a steaming white mug of decaf, the half pack of Sweet ‘N Low already stirred into the brew. She set both down in front of him and waited.
    “I hope it’s okay,” she said, eager for his approval.
    Phillip took a small sip of coffee and put the cup back down on the table. He gave her a curt nod and a relieved Paula could now pick up her fork and eat her own soggy pie, now swimming in a pool of melted ice cream. After dessert, Paula removed Phillip’s napkin from his collar and walked him to his favorite chair in front of the television. She flipped it to the all-sports channel before she returned to the kitchen for the first part of her nightly ritual. First, she washed and dried all of her dishes by hand, even though she had a dishwasher. Next, she swept the kitchen floor before she got on her knees and scrubbed it with a hand brush and Ajax, although she had done it that morning.
    Wiping the sweat from her brow, Paula moved into the bedroom to prepare it for the evening. While Paula changed the sheets on the bed—Phillip liked to sleep on clean sheets every night—her husband stayed in front of the TV for the rest of the evening. After taking a bath—Phillip didn’t like her to come to bed unless she’d bathed—Paula pulled on a long pink flannel nightgown and climbed into bed. It was nine-thirty; Phillip would come to bed at ten. Paula turned on her back and looked up at the ceiling, ignoring her aching knees and gnarled shoulders. She could hear the low hum of the TV in the other room. She took a sharp inhale, willing herself to stay awake.
    She was afraid to sleep, afraid of the dreams that would come. Paula turned over on her side and focused her gaze on the white wall opposite the bed.
    “Think about your day today. Think about your day today. Think about your husband. Dream about those things,” she whispered to herself in the darkness. Paula continued to mumble to herself before she drifted off to sleep, praying her dreams would be sweet.
    •
    She was running, her feet stabbing the pavement as she propelled herself forward. The icy wind pummeled her face, chapping her lips and stinging her eyes. But she kept on. Punch, punch, punch, went her shoes. She tried to make out what was around her, but it was too… hard. Too much wind and… snow. Furious white flurries swirled around her, further obscuring her vision.
    Finally, she stopped, unable to go any further. She bent over heaving, her breath coming in short, violent bursts. She closed her eyes to shield them from the brilliant whiteness beginning to form in front of her…
    Paula jerked straight up, hyperventilating. She held her hand to her chest and felt her heart jam against her palm with rapid popping movements. Phillip lay sound asleep next to her, oblivious to her torment. She slid back down under the covers and closed her eyes, trying to steady herself. She hadn’t had that particular dream in so long.
    Except it wasn’t a dream, but a horrible truth she couldn’t seem to bury.

TWELVE
    S ondra got out of the cab in front of her building, her body wilting with fatigue. It was close to two in the morning and she had to be back at the studio at nine. The narration was done and final mixing was taking up a huge chunk of time.