How far would you go? (Currently Editing)

Debbie

Debbie sunk into the sofa, listening to the sound of the car disappearing out of the driveway. Russell had left for work and she had the evening to herself. Although she would never tell her Husband, Debbie secretly loved this time to herself. She could watch what she wanted, eat whatever she wanted, and there was no one to tell her not to. It was perfect. Of course, she missed seeing Russell, yet it made the weekend more special. They would spend all their time together, and neither one would resent it. This weekend they had agreed to have dinner out and watch a movie. Deep down, she knew it would be Russell's choice of film. Something action packed, with loud explosions that shook the cinema and hurt her ears. Having all week to watch what she wanted, Debbie was happy to make the sacrifice and enjoy her time with Russell.

It often made Debbie smile when she introduced Russell as her husband. Compared to her he looked like a wild animal. Overweight, unshaven, and most of the time, his hair looked like he had just woken up. Despite Debbie looking like a model, she was not interested in looks. She wanted a man whom she loved spending time with, and knew if she married for looks, that person would be boring and dull. Russell was funny, interesting, and best of all, was her soul mate. She adored him and had to constantly remind him of that. He would worry that she would run off with a more attractive man. Debbie always told him that he was the only man she would ever love.

She flicked through the channels looking for her show. Reality trash. Russell's words, not hers. It was escapism, a distraction from her busy life. Her life revolved around the bakery, the business she had built from scratch. Before she had married Russell, Debbie's dream was to run her own shop. She was good at baking and gave it a try. It started out as a small place, serving home-made cakes and cookies. Quickly, word spread, and people started queuing to buy from her small shop. She quickly moved to larger premises and expanded her menu. Cupcakes, multiple home-made cakes, and various assortments of cookies, along with hot drinks. She became more and more popular, until she could no longer run the shop by herself. Now, Debbie employs six staff but insists on baking herself, and leaves the running of the shop to the others.
Her day begins at 6am, 3 hours before the shop opens. She then bakes, cooks, and does this all day, to keep up with the demand. The shop shuts at 4pm, and for the next hour, everyone cleans while she counts the days takings. It is non-stop, but she loves it. Debbie's busiest time is Friday when she bakes double to allow herself to have Saturday off. On Thursday evening, she would try and relax, bracing herself for the busy day tomorrow.

It was getting late and Debbie yawned, forcing herself to leave the comfortable sofa. She had a busy day tomorrow and needed as much sleep as possible. Russell would be home just as she left, enough time for a good morning kiss. She glanced at the clock on her way up the stairs. 11.58pm. Debbie yawned again. She was tired and the moment her head hit the pillow; she would be asleep. She hated having to sleep alone, yet the later she went to bed, the more likely she would fall asleep quickly.

Ten minutes later, Debbie's head hit the pillow and she was instantly asleep. What Debbie did not know was that someone was already in her house, waiting for her to fall asleep.

It's me, Sam. Remember? I'm sure you do. Anyway, it was easy to get into the house. It was 11.30 when I broke into the garage. The sound of the television told me she was still awake. I was good at waiting, and finally heard the lights go off. Midnight, the perfect time to strike. She needs to be punished; don't you agree? The woman is a liar.

The clock read 12.01am when Sam opened the door leading from the garage. It creaked a little while opening and he waited in case Debbie had been alerted to the noise. Nothing. Time to get to work. He had to take care of business and remind her that lying to friends is unacceptable. Luke deserves to know the truth about Jessica, and what he was about to do, might even help Russell.
Sam moved silently downstairs, working in the darkness, setting up the plan he had been thinking of all night. He swayed a little, cursing under his breathe for drinking, and steadied himself against the kitchen counter. His hand brushed a plate. The dirty dish slid to the edge of the counter. Sam turned just as the plate tipped off the side and plummeted to the floor. Quickly dropping the canister he was holding, he rushed to the floor, hoping to catch the dish. He missed. The porcelain cracked into a thousand pieces when it hit the marble floor and shattered with a loud smash. In the silence of the night, it was like a bomb had erupted in the kitchen.

There was nothing he could do about the broken dish. He only hoped it had not woken Debbie. Sam reacted and quickly unscrewed the lid of the canister. He swiftly poured the contents over the kitchen floor. Then he heard a floorboard creak upstairs. Debbie was awake. He felt the excitement rush through his body and grabbed the second canister and pour the liquid over the front and back door. He could not have Debbie escaping.
'Hello.' It was Debbie, she was calling from upstairs. 'It someone is down there; I'm calling the police.' She sounded tired, interrupted from a deep sleep.
Sam's work was done, and stepping into the dark garage, he threw a lit match into the house.

Debbie stood by the stairs now fully awake. She had been awoken from her deep sleep by the sudden smash from downstairs. Thinking it was a dream, Debbie listened wondering if it was her imagination. Yet, it the silence she could hear something. It was barely noticeable; however, someone was in the house. Footsteps, gently moving in the kitchen. Debbie could sense it. Carefully getting up, she moved out of her bedroom. If someone was downstairs, she should call the police. She reached out to grab her mobile and realised she had left it downstairs. Debbie felt sick with apprehension. What could she do? If a burglar were downstairs, he would then come upstairs and find her awake. Then what? Would he attack her, or worse kill her? She should pretend to be asleep. It was too late. Debbie found herself calling out, warning whoever was in her house that she would call the police.

Her heart was pounding hard, banging against her chest. Even though the house was cold, she felt damp with sweat, her nightwear clinging to her skin. Debbie was scared and tried to control her breathing. She tried to listen and be brave. Yet, Debbie was not brave, and tonight she would die.