Chapter 2 - The Art of Gravity

Brandon’s eyes darted frantically from my soup-stained apron to the motionless body of his wife on the Italian tile floor.

Vanessa’s designer silk robe was soaked in the scalding broth she had just thrown at my face. When she had lunged forward to slap the cleaning cloth from my hand, the sleek soles of her expensive slippers had found the puddle of spilled soup. Her legs had flown out from under her, and she had gone down hard, her head striking the edge of the granite kitchen island.

I hadn’t touched her. I didn’t have to. I had simply stepped back, letting gravity and her own venomous momentum do the work, while simultaneously dropping the heavy cast-iron pot to mask the sickening crack of her skull against the stone.

“Vanessa?!” Brandon shrieked, his voice cracking with a pathetic, high-pitched panic. He dropped his phone and scrambled across the floor, his knees sliding in the greasy broth.

“Oh, Brandon!” I gasped, instantly summoning a tremble into my voice, clutching my chest as if terrified. “She was trying to grab the rag from me, and she just... she just slipped! It happened so fast!”

He didn’t look at me. He was too busy shaking her shoulders. A thin trickle of dark blood was pooling beneath Vanessa’s perfectly highlighted hair. She groaned, her eyelids fluttering, but her gaze was completely vacant.

“Call an ambulance, you crazy old bat!” Brandon screamed at me, finally looking up. His face was twisted with rage. “If she has brain damage, I swear to God I’ll put you in a state facility so fast you won’t have time to blink!”

I nodded meekly, hurrying to the wall phone with shaky hands. But as I dialed 911, my back turned to my son, the terrified expression melted from my face. I stared at my own reflection in the dark glass of the oven door.

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My forehead was blistering where the hot soup and the heavy ladle had struck me, but my eyes were stone cold.

A state facility, I thought to myself as the operator answered the line. We’ll see about that, Brandon.