Short Story: The Coast

 

The Coast

The cold sea air bites at my face. Around me is pitch black, even the moon hasn’t shown its face tonight. I can hear the rushing of the waves, sometimes even feel them nipping at my ankles, but I cannot see them. My body does not want to cooperate but still I drag myself forward, I know I cannot stop. Every few steps I have to stop and double over, press my arms tighter to my abdomen, and try to ignore the slickness of my own blood. I need to get out, I need to find help, but I’m just so tired. Maybe if I just lay down someone will find me in the morning, I can’t see a thing anyway, maybe I’ll just rest for a little, just until the sun peeks over the horizon. 

-----

“Hannah!” I call out, “Are you almost ready to go?” 

“Almost!” she replies from inside the house. 

I tuck my shoulder-length hair behind my ears, a nervous habit I’ve picked up recently. It’s our fifth anniversary, Hannah and I. Hannah had booked us a cabin by the beach.

I grip the steering wheel tight. The tension between us is thick, like we’re both waiting to ask something. Now would be the perfect time to resolve any unspoken issues, we’ve been driving for a while and we still have hours to go. 

“Sasha?” she starts, “Is everything okay? You’ve been so tense lately.” 

“Yeah…it’s just the case I’m working on, I’ve never seen anything like it.” I reply, “the killer is just so brutal, I mean the other day it was a young woman who was missing her organs, before that another victim whose eyes had been ripped out.”

She’s silent for a moment, I watch her face, her eyes. I watch how she shifts slightly in her seat, imperceptible to anyone that isn’t looking. 

“That’s…” Is she looking for the right word? Or just schooling her expression and tone? “Awful” She finishes.

“What’s worse, is that they leave no trace. No fingerprints, no hair, nothing.” 

For a tiny moment she almost looks proud of herself, and I wonder if I’m imagining things. We’d finally found a hair at the crime scene, long and blonde, the DNA testing came back similar to a relative of Hannah’s that we have on file. The issue is that he died last year. I don’t want to face the possibilities that that presents.

“You let yourself become so invested in these cases, in your work. It’s not healthy.” She says. 

We’ve had this discussion before, it goes nowhere. “It’s important to me, and people are relying on me. Hannah, people's lives depend on me doing my job well. People deserve to have justice and closure.”

She hums thoughtfully, looking away.

“Anyway,” I say, “how’s the new restaurant going?”

She smiles at that, “Good! I’m enjoying being able to experiment with the food, you know? There’s no one hanging over my shoulder telling me what I should cook, or what the guests will enjoy.”

I smile, “That’s really good to hear love.” Hannah might own an incredibly successful restaurant, but for her it’s never been about the money but rather improving her craft as a chef. 

“I thought I’d cook for us tonight actually, I want you to try one of my new recipes.” she says excitedly.

“I’ll look forward to it.” 

The cabin is lovely, large windows, a breathtaking view of the beach. The soft glow of the sunset makes everything seem even more spectacular. Once we get inside and unload the car I head straight for the couch, exhausted from the drive. Hannah is in the kitchen preparing the dinner she promised. Some part of me is nagging at me to talk to her, confirm that my suspicions are unfounded. 

“Sasha!” calls Hannah, “Dinners ready!”

I push myself up from the couch and head to the cabin’s surprisingly spacious dining room. Two meticulously arranged plates of food sit on the table. 

“Looks delicious, thank you.” I say, pecking Hannah on the cheek, “Sorry for falling asleep, I didn’t mean to.”

She smiles warmly, “Don’t worry about it, you’ve had a long day.”

The food is amazing. I half listen while Hannah explains the dish, something about sheep liver and vine-fresh tomatoes. 

It isn’t until later that it all clicks into place, I think of the extravagant cuts of meat she’s always cooking that I just assumed she was buying through the restaurant. I think of all the victims with parts missing, flesh expertly cut from their bodies, or with their abdomens sliced open, organs missing. Killers often take trophies, that’s what I assumed this was. It took me a long time to reach the conclusion that they were taking home dinner. I can’t help but think about how Hannah is always home late the same night that someone is killed, how the next night she always cooks for us. I feel like I’m going to be sick. I glance over at her, she’s sprawled out at the other end of the couch reading her book. I reach for my phone but there’s no signal, I can’t contact anyone. 

Hannah looks up at me, “Sasha?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You’d think that a skilled detective such as yourself wouldn’t leave important files and notes lying around.” She says it so casually. 

“Oh.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you took so long to figure it out.”

“So it’s you, you’re admitting it?”

“You tell me, do you think it’s me? Your loyal wife of five years.”

“I…I don’t want to think that.”

“But you do and I can’t let that happen, you’ve already done enough damage, letting your colleagues see me as a suspect.”

“Won’t it be suspicious if I go missing?”

“That’s for me to worry about darling.” 

And with that she lunges at me, and it takes me a split second too long to react. She plunges the knife into my side. I shove her off, my heart racing. She lunges at me again, this time I’m more prepared. She pulls the knife out of my side, I kick her in the stomach and scramble out the door. I just run, no regard for where I’m going, I end up on the beach. It’s pitch dark and I can’t hear anything besides the thumping of my heart. I don’t feel the pain yet, I know I will. Deep down I know that the wound Hannah gave me will be fatal but I can’t think like that right now, I have to get away, get help.