Deadlock by Me © Copyright 2000 The keys jingled as he fumbled about the door, trying to get the right key in the right hole. He laughed a little, cynically. "She probably changed the damn lock on me." he mumbled, but just then the door swung open. The house was lit still, though there was no evidence of any occupant. He went through the living room and down the hall to the bathroom, then back through the hall to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, slung his right arm over the door to support himself, and slumped down to study the left-overs. There were some beans in a Tupperware, some corn, and a little glazed ham from just last weekend, and fried chicken; he loved cold fried chicken. He moved the chicken and the bread and milk to the dinette, turned on the little TV they kept in the kitchen, and started on his dinner, or breakfast, or whatever. The late night show was already over and all he could find on the TV were some old black and white movies - perfect for this meal. "Just where the hell you been!" she came into the room like a thunderstorm at his picnic. "You know what time it is?" she demanded. "Damn right." he said through chicken and milk. "It's time you were asleep." "Asleep? With you banging around in here like a herd of drunk armadillos? You smell like a Coor's plant. Jez." "Just get on back to sleep, Alice." he grumbled, and turned in his chair so his back was mostly toward her. "Why didn't you call or something? You been at the water hole across from your office haven't you? I know you have, chasing that waitress, what's her name, Jessie? Now she's a prize catch I tell you..." "Just get the hell outa here!" he roared. "Get out and leave me alone would you?" "You'd like that I bet, and you'd like it if I just let you do what ever comes into your corrupt little mind, too, wouldn't you? Well I'm not about..." "I worked late if you want to know!" he glowered at her and swallowed the last of the chicken he had been chewing. "Then I went to Bennagins and had two beers. Two! That's all, and no women either, thank you." "Well it's not 'cause you didn't want to, is it?" "I just wanted to relax after working all day and half the night, that's all, Alice!" He picked up his plate and tossed its contents into the sink and angrily turned on the disposal, then shoved the remnants of his meal, bones and all, down the grinder. Alice was saying something but he pretended not to hear over the noise of the disposal. She came around the little table and shouted up at his ear, but he really couldn't make out what she was saying. The grinder finished it's job and there was no longer any excuse to run it or to ignore what Alice was saying, so he turned it off. "... and stay for all I care." she finished, turned sharply and stomped out. A door slammed down the hall and he could tell by the sound that it was the bedroom door. "Good thing there's no lock on the bedroom door." he thought to himself with a little grin. He put the bread and milk back in the refrigerator, turned off the TV, wiped off the table with a paper towel, took the newspaper from the kitchen counter where Alice had left it early that morning, or the morning before really, and sat down at the table with the comics section. He wasn't interested in reading but he wanted to settle a bit before going to bed, and maybe Alice would be asleep by then. After he read the comics and Dear Abby he put up the paper and went through the house turning out the lights. He crept down the hall and gently opened the door in the dark but as soon as the door opened he heard "Don't you be coming in here, you lousy dog you. I don't want you anywhere near me and certainly not in MY bed!." "It's my bed too." he responded. "Not any more it's not. Not after the way you drag around with anything you can find, you're not coming in here and foul up my home. Just get out of here. Get OUT!" She was almost shrieking at the end of her diatribe. "Alice, just settle down. Nothing happened except I worked late then stopped and drank two beers. That's all." "Even if that was so, it would be the first time EVER that that's ALL you did. You get out." "I'm going to bed, Alice." he said, trying to speak in a gentle, normal tone, but finding impatience creep into his voice anyway. "I have to work in the morning and I'm going to get some sleep. Why don't you do the same thing and we'll talk about all this later." Instead, Alice jumped out of bed and switched on the light on her bedside table. He groaned silently; this was going to be a problem, he knew. "I don't want to go to sleep, Franklyn." She only used his full last name to create distance between them. He had been called Frank all his life and only strangers called him anything else. Also, she had put a little twisted emphasis on his name, like a child taunting a playmate. "I WANT to talk about this. NOW, Franklyn!" she said his name the same childish way as before. "This relationship isn't working, Franklyn, and I want something done about it, and it's up to YOU to do it." "Just what do you expect me to do?" "You can start by getting out of my bedroom. Then you..." He lost his temper. "I said it's my bedroom too." He stomped across the room toward Alice. His face was red. His hair bounced with each step and perspiration drops jumped from his forehead. He really looked a little scary. "You stay away from me!" she shouted or, rather, squealed. He kept coming. She turned to the bedside table and picked up a heavy brass cat she kept there. She swung it back as if to throw it and her stance convinced Frank that she was about to brain him if he didn't back off. She scared him just a little now, and that dulled his temper some. He stopped and backed up, slowly, around to his side of the bed. "Now Alice, put that down. We need to talk about things, not throw them, okay? Alice," but she was not interested and his feeble attempt at humor seemed to make her only more angry. "You leave me alone. I don't ever want to see your lying cheating face again in my life. Just go on..." "I'm not a liar and I'm not a cheater and I'm not going anywhere, so you just put that thing down and go to sleep. Right now you stupid bitch!" With "stupid bitch" she threw the cat. She threw it with everything she had. Frank could see the cat coming across the bed, its trajectory aimed dangerously at his head, but it was not quite right. He dodged and the brass cat whizzed past and crashed into the wall. He briefly glanced back at where the trinket had hit the wall. It was imbedded into the drywall and cracks snaked out from the cat like rays from a child's sun in a crayon picture. His feelings were complex. He was still a little scared, but he was also now angry. He had lied about how many beers he had drunk; actually, he had drunk quite a bit. A fury began to well up in him which he had never felt before. He was surprised to find it was almost a pleasant feeling and he tried to nurture it like a seedling, to encourage the fury to grow. He snarled, an almost animal-like growl. He said something; it was not clear but it contained several curses and questioned Alice's morals, those words were understandable. Slowly he bent to the bedside table on his side of the bed. Still staring at Alice, he opened the second drawer, very deliberately, slowly, and lifted the contents up, two books and a note pad, reached under them and pulled out a gun. It was a .38 caliber revolver. Still very slowly, he lifted the gun to point it at Alice. The snarl had turned to a red-faced sneer. He gently pulled back the hammer on the little gun. Alice reacted strangely, Frank thought. He had expected terror. Instead, there was concern, but only for a moment, then a taunting look. She folded her arms. "Yea, big man. You keep your penis in the bedside table now, huh?" "Shut up, Alice." was all Frank seemed able to croak through the fury which had raised to a most sensual level. But she wouldn't shut up. "You can't shoot anybody, you sorry excuse for a man you." she said, low, scornful, then raising her voice, laughing at him, "You need BALLS to shoot me, Frank, and you don't have them. I bet they're in there where you keep your silly little gun." Then furiously, "You can't do anything, Jimmy Franklyn, because you aren't a man. You're a scared little boy and I don't ever want anything else to do with you." Her use of his despised first name along with his full last name raised his fury to an even more intense level. Then she tossed her head and turned it to the right, looking away from him, silently saying what she already had stated, that he didn't have the nerve to pull the trigger. Snap. The hammer came down on the revolver but nothing happened. Just snap. Frank stood absolutely still, as if he were turned to stone. He stayed that way for what seemed a long time, his fury draining off like waters after a flood. He felt limp, but he could not move from his shooting position. Alice looked back at Frank as soon as she heard the snap of the gun. He expected a look of surprise, horror, something, but her expression seemed to be satisfaction, or pleasure, or something like that. Frank was confused. "Oh, God, Alice, I'm sorry. I don't know what I was.." he tried to explain Alice slowly kneeled down while a tiny smile broke her face. She opened a drawer on her bedside table. In a low, even voice, "So you do have the balls after all. Well good for you. And good for me, too." She came out of the drawer with a .32 caliber semi-automatic gun like women buy so often now. Frank was baffled. Hoarsely he said "Alice, what..." "Self defense, Frank. I'm going to kill you and it will be self defense because you are pointing a gun right at me." she explained patiently, as if talking to a child. "But it's empty. I don't know why but my gun is empty and nobody is going to buy that story if..." "Only the one chamber is empty, Frank." There was a very noticeable smile on her face now as she pointed her tiny gun expertly, right at his chest. "Go ahead, Frank, cock it again. You can shoot me before I shoot you. Go on, Frank, pull the hammer back." "But I don't want to..." She said evenly, coldly, "You better start wanting to because it's the only chance you have of living through the next minute, Jimmy Franklyn." All traces of her smile were suddenly gone. Frank calculated in his head. He might could cock and fire the gun before she could shoot him. If he was fast enough he could save himself. If not, she might miss, or only hurt him, and he might get a second chance. He decided it was worth the risk. He quickly thumbed the hammer on his gun and heard the satisfying click as it cocked. But that was the last sound he ever heard.