Peter, Peter

Chapter Nine:

The pill stuck in the back of my throat as if it were planning a master murder plan of its own, and my body reacted quickly by swallowing hard.  The action made the pill lodge even further in, and I started to cough uncontrollably.  He just leaned on the counter next to the sink, his fingers looped around his new, shiny belt.  His eyes gleamed with delight as if he were expecting me to die at any moment.  Finally, the pill slipped silently down my esophagus, and I took in a deep, relieved breath.

Movement caught my eye, and I saw him slither forward like a snake.  His eyes flashed with a brilliance that told me that it would soon happen.  He took the mug from my hands and sauntered over to the sink.  He hummed along with the song that was playing and acted as if nothing was going to happen.

When he had finished rinsing the mug, he snapped the latex gloves again, and I could just imagine the silly smirk it brought to his lips.  He turned around with the mug still in his hands, and tauntingly rose his eyebrows.  Then he let the mug slip from his hands and shatter on the ground into a million, tiny razors.

"Oops," he said, smirking.  He bent down and picked up the largest piece and began to twirl it in his hands as if it were a feather.

A chill ran down my spine as I remembered the words he had spoken the first time it had happened: "When they are all gone, you simply die."  He had pointed a long, slender finger at the full cupboard of mugs and smirked down at me.  I remember asking what he was doing, but all he had done that night was saunter over to the cupboard and pull out a mug.  He had raised his eyebrows and let it slip to the ground.  "Oops," he had said.

I let the memory slip away, and risked a glance at the cupboard.  The shelves were empty except for one special mug.  It was my favorite mug, and I knew he would save it for the end.  The nerves in my body prickled at the thought, and I wished I could shrink into the table and disappear.

He caught me looking at the cupboard and stopped twirling the shard of flowered glass.  "There is only one left, Kathryn," he whispered, letting a cruel chuckle escape his chest.  He reached for something on the granite counter top, and my muscles tightened automatically as I saw the light dance off the shiny, metal end of a long bread knife.

The jagged edge made something larger than butterflies dance in my stomach.