This little unfinished piece was from a writing prompt from my OAC writer's craft class. For those of you unfamiliar with the Canadian education system, OAC = Grade 13, which has since been discontinued.
Authour's note: a few small things have been tweaked to keep the narrative clear, but none of the words have been changed, despite my inclinations.
Dick could smell that all too familiar scent. Hair spray. Only Jane would try to get hair spray in jail. What could she want? Dick knew this day was coming sooner or later.
He had known since that cold, snowy January day. He could see it all again, too clearly. Jane was crazy, but he never fully knew until that day. The breaking of the glass, the cold air rushing in. Then the glint of light on the knife she was carrying. Dick wanted to move, but couldn't. He was frozen to the chair in terror. Someone else must have called the cops because they arrived just in time. Dick looked at the scar on his arm and shivered. Perhaps he wouldn't be so lucky this time.
So, Jane was in the house, waiting to kill him. Dick crept to the phone to call the police. That's odd...the phone's dead. Dick looked down and saw the cut cord. She's had a long time to plan this. How did she even know he was there? She always knew these things. Always. Soon, dick heard the sound of breathing. It was coming from somewhere behind him. He spun around but saw no one. Now Dick was getting more tense. She knew he was here, she was waiting, like a cat about to pounce.
"Come out. Come on out you psycho." Silence.
"I know you're here." Still no reply. Maybe it was just his imagination.
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