John used the short length of pipe in his hand to slap the counter hard on both sides of Dee. The hits were hard enough to leave dents and scars in the counter top. Dee jumped and whimpered in fear at each sharp report that sounded like a gunshot.
"You lying, cheating bitch. You can't be satisfied fucking the whole damn neighborhood. You had to mess with my little brother too. I ought to bust your skull," he yelled as he slammed the pipe into the counter only inches from Dee's left elbow.
With her back to the kitchen counter she had nowhere to run from the big man towering over her. She cowered there for a second and then looked up into her husband's angry face. His face was livid. She had never seen him this mad.
All the other times he had beat her, his face had been red and angry but he had been icy calm on the inside. He was in a rage now, almost beyond thinking and almost completely out of control. She made a quick move to her left. He grabbed her by her hair and slung her into the corner where this counter met the next.
Dee's back was to him. Suddenly she was bent over the counter from the force of the blow he delivered to her back with his free hand. The block with the kitchen knives was right in front of her face. Her right hand shot out, grabbed the long narrow bladed filet knife, and returned to a position close to her breasts.
She held the blade flat on the counter so she wouldn't cut herself in case he hit her again. He slapped her on each side of the head instead.
"Turn around bitch, I want to see your face."
"No, you'll hurt me," Dee screamed.
John slapped her on each side of the head several times and yelled, "If you don't turn around it'll be twice as bad."
There was the sound of a siren turning into the short dead end street they lived on. John grabbed Dee's hair and yanked her up straight. "You called the fucking cops." It was a statement, not a question.
"No, no I didn't. When could I have? The lady next door must have done it, she was washing her dishes the same time I was," Dee pleaded. She heard the siren cut off suddenly.
"You lying bitch," John yelled as he dragged Dee down the counter so he could look out the window. Sure enough the busybody next door was at her kitchen window.
There was a knock on the front door. "Sheriff's Department," a loud male voice called out.
Dee screamed as long and as loud as she could. John released his hold on her hair and slapped her hard on the side of her face, spinning her sideways. The pain and shock of the slap cut the scream off sharply. Dee felt the warm trickle of blood at the corner of her lip and the coppery salty taste of blood was in her mouth.
"Open this door," the officer yelled from outside.
Dee screamed for help but it was cut off by a hard backhand that made her sag. She heard the crash as the officer kicked in the front door. She looked up into John's eyes and whispered, "Your little brother ain't that little, and he sure was better in bed than you ever were."
John yelled, "Bitch," and raised the pipe.
The pipe started forward but the knife in Dee's hand was faster. She drove it into his chest with the power of her arms and legs behind it. It entered low under his ribcage and went upward until the hilt and her hand touched his shirt.
Dee's eyes were locked on John's face the whole time. The total rage turned to surprise and shock, followed by disbelief. His eyes closed and he started to crumple. Dee watched, as he seemed to drop in slow motion. She felt the knife handle slip from her hands; it was suddenly sticky and slippery at the same time. She looked at the blood covering her hands, her eyes going wide.
Dee felt herself sagging and then someone was helping her to cross the room and sit down at the kitchen table. Slowly Dee turned her head to the right to find a sheriff's deputy on one knee next to her.
"I.... I.... I...." Dee stammered and then she burst into tears, her body racked by sobs and moaning groans as she leaned forward and put her forehead on the table. Hot tears flooded her eyes and ran through her eyebrows and across her forehead to her hairline.
Deputy Robert Phillips got up and went to check the man on the floor. He wasn't breathing and there was no pulse. He put in a radio call to the shift sergeant requesting the coroner and medical. After that he gave the dispatcher a short rundown on what had taken place.
A faint smile touched Dee's lips for a second as he finished his report. His last words had been to the effect that John's death had been self-defense. Everything was going to plan. She was free of her abusive husband at last and had his brother to console her, what else could she ask for.
John had been such an asshole and had controlled her life in every way. It had been beyond him to understand just how much she had really hated him. He would have never believed that she could have enough backbone to try and fight back, much less plan his murder and carry it out.
The beatings, the physical and mental abuse, the rapes of her body, mind and spirit, had all torn her down but underneath it all something had grown. Something that had in the end killed John and everything he had stood for. Love had been replaced by hate and hate by loathing and loathing by cold hard reason.
Yes, revenge was a dish best served cold because it was cold-blooded murder in the end.
*****
Jerry, John's brother, was the first of the family to arrive. The coroner had already checked John's body and had it loaded. The EMT's had checked Dee out and cataloged her injuries. Some fresh bruises and a lot of old ones, plus the cut lip all added to her claim of abuse.
Dee had only caught a brief glimpse of Jerry before the sheriff's deputy had pulled him to the side for a long conversation. Dee prayed that Jerry wouldn't mention their affair. If he did, it probably wouldn't hurt anything but.... She didn't want any buts of any kind.
Dee sat at the kitchen table and let things happen around her. She was in shock she realized but wasn't sure if it was from killing John or the fact that everything had gone off flawlessly. She knew that a lot of it had been luck, like John changing out the pressure release pipe on the hot water heater and leaving the old pipe standing against the wall next to the door.
The easy part had been Jerry's cap on the chair in the bedroom and the used condom in the bathroom trash. John had no way of knowing that the condom was his. The one he had used three days ago to rape her ass. He had assumed that it belonged to his brother.
When she and Jerry had sex, she wouldn't let him use a condom. She wanted to feel him, to feel his skin rubbing in her most secret and treasured places. John had always worn a condom. It was his way of showing her how dirty he thought she was. She had never cheated on him but he called her a whore and a slut.
Jerry was probably her only friend in the world. The only contact that John hadn't severed. The only person she was allowed to speak to. She had marveled at how easily they had fallen in love, at how he had understood when she had finally told him how his brother had treated her.
