Seven Nights of Halloween

Nominated for a Quill Award 2007 (best horror and best short story)

Jordan flung Siri onto the bed, the thick comforter indenting with the weight of their bodies. Arms and legs entwined, he kissed her neck, her breasts, her lips. Satisfied and breathy moans escaped her as she clenched fistfuls of the sheets. She sat up and wrestled him onto his back, ran her hands through her long, brown hair and rocked in rhythm to their body’s needs.

Moments later, lying in the cool sheets, the air thick with passion, Jordan caressed Siri’s naked back. He kissed her neck and shifted his lips to her ear. His warm breath tickled against her skin as he whispered, “Happy anniversary, my love.”

They lay in the warmth of each other’s embrace for a few minutes longer before Siri turned toward Jordan.

“Are you ready to go watch the ten scariest movies of all time?” She asked, her eyes wide. She grinned and tugged at his arm. “Come on! Let’s go!”

Seven Nights of Halloween was the special running the entire week of Halloween, ending with the ten voted scariest movies of all time. Siri sat on the couch wrapped in an orange-cicle colored bathrobe made of micro-fleece. She read the description of what movies would be playing during the special.

“I’ve never heard of any of these movies,” she said. “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Ghost?” she scoffed.

“We’ll give them a chance,” Jordan said, carrying a bowl of popcorn. He set it on the coffee table and sat next to her. “Every year there’s some crazy title out there, remember? What was it last year?” he thought a moment. “Oh, right, It Came From the Closet,” he said it in a low and ominous voice, nuzzling against Siri’s neck making her squeal with tickled laughter.

“I love you, Jordan,” she kissed his lips passionately. Ending the kiss, she looked into his eyes.

Siri jumped as a scream tore from the surround sound. With a giggle, she settled next to her husband and prepared for their seventh night of horror movies.

Midnight came and went as did cheesy monster movies, ghost movies with poor special effects, and one about a dismembered hand that killed everyone in its path. As the opening credits of the tenth movie appeared and vanished on a black background, Jordan said, “Ooh, this one is based on true events.”

Haunting organ music crept from the speakers and Jordan let out a menacing laugh, grabbing Siri’s leg. She squealed again, and then snuggled closer to Jordan, tucking her feet under the edge of the blanket.

“The description talked about a couple who live in a house haunted by some psychological, paranormal activity or something like that,” Siri whispered.

“Sounds like something you would write,” Jordan said as the movie opened on a house that looked much like theirs.

They watched as scene after scene of terror flashed cold, blue light across their faces. Neither of them could look away. When the end credits rolled, Siri sat, clinging to Jordan’s arm. Jordan’s eyes were wide, unblinking. The movie had been short, but terrifying. Siri’s heart pounded in her ears; her face felt blanched. Jordan’s palm sweated against her own.

“That was based on actual events?” Siri asked, breathless.

Jordan swallowed hard. “Yes.”

She looked at Jordan’s pale face. Swallowing hard again, he turned to look at her.

“Remind me. Where did it take place?” She asked, her voice small and quiet.

Pausing, Jordan gripped Siri’s hand. “In this town.”

Siri tossed and turned the rest of the night, unable to shake the chill the movie trickled onto her spine. A chill slinked over her body as her heart continued to pound throughout the night. Every noise jerked her from the near sleep she had slipped toward. Jordan snored beside her, blissfully unaware of her agitation. She lifted onto her elbow and looked at him. A tear slithered down her cheek. She didn’t know what she would do if the events in the movie happened to them. Well, she did, since it was all spelled out in the final scene. They would both die.

The next morning when Siri dragged herself from the claws of sleep, Jordan’s side of the bed was empty. Her heart drummed its rhythm in her temples. Where was he? Thinking of the movie, she slipped out of bed. Her mouth dry, she stumbled toward the bedroom door.

“Jordan?” Her voice came out as a gurgle. She cleared her throat and leaned against the doorway. Her vision blurred at the edges, wavered, and cleared only after she squinted her eyes tight. “Jordan?” Panic gripped her heart and stomach, smashing them together in the attempt to merge them into one organ. Moving downstairs, she looked in every room, calling his name. Her nose burned as tears welled in her eyes, and her voice became shrill as she shrieked his name.

She swished through the double hinged door and peered around the kitchen through squinted eyes; the half empty coffee pot sat on the percolator. He always drank coffee in the morning and left some for her. Her heart started to slow after she looked at the microwave. Twelve noon; Jordan was at work. Stumbling toward the counter, she grabbed the phone, and punched in his direct line.

“This is Jordan,” his voice said. Siri gasped and burst into tears. “Siri? Is that you honey?”

“Yes,” she squelched.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she choked. “I didn’t know where you were,” she said. Her head started to pound and she closed her eyes against the pressure. “I was scared.”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m at work. I’m fine. Did you just get up?” His calm voice always soothed her.

Siri took a deep breath and gained control of her emotions. “Yes,” she said, her voice stronger. “I didn’t sleep well last night.” As if on cue, she yawned, her jaw popping with the strain.

“Neither did I,” Jordan said. He yawned audibly over the phone. “That movie…” he began. Voices in the background interrupted him. “I gotta go, honey. Are you going to be alright? Go work on your novel or something. That always gets your mind off things.”

After Siri told him she would be fine, and assured of his safety, they exchanged ‘I love you’s’ and she hung up the phone. Sagging to the floor, she gulped for air and cried with relief that Jordan was safe at work, in the city, where nothing bad had happened. It was just this town. She stood up and peeked out the window.

Sunshine filtered through the trees, dappling the lawn with sparkling spots as the sun reflected off the dew drops. The musical notes of birds chirping filtered through the window a muted song of Spring, though it was November. Siri smiled at the beautiful day.

“Nothing bad happens when the sun is shining,” she concluded with a smug nod. She poured herself a cup of coffee with generous amounts of toffee nut creamer, and sat at the kitchen table. Her hands still shook, but at least her heart and stomach were no longer trying to mate. She sipped her coffee and pulled the paper from its orange plastic bag.

When she unrolled the newsprint, she dropped her coffee mug. It hit the table and tumbled to the floor, smashing against the white linoleum. She rose to her feet and groping behind her for the phone on the counter, kept her eyes on the front page.

Their faces – hers and Jordan’s – stared up at her. The headline spoke of a brutal murder. Siri stumbled backward, knocking over the chair. Still groping for the phone, she turned to look and grabbed it. After fumbling with Jordan’s number, she looked at the paper again. The picture changed. It now spoke of the success of the local Halloween pageant and other festivities from the night before. A kid in a pirate costume grinned up at her, several of his teeth missing. Siri hung up, and sank to the floor.

“Oh my god,” she said, running her hands over her face and through her long hair. “What is going on?”

***

Jordan sat at his desk, phone to his ear. Siri had called him again, but she didn’t leave a message. He was about to call her back when a hand slapped his shoulder. George, his co-worker, sat down on his desk.

“Hey man, how goes it?” George asked, as usual.

“It goes,” Jordan replied, rubbing his face with his palms. “Just trying to catch up on that accounting bullshit… hey, did you catch the last night of Seven Nights of Halloween?”

“Yeah, I can’t believe The Night of the Living Dead won the first place position,” George scoffed.

“Night of the Living Dead?” Jordan said. “That’s not what won first place,” his brows furrowed in confusion. He gripped the edge of the desk as bile threatened his throat.

After a brief argument with George about which movie won first, Jordan rushed to the bathroom and retched into the toilet. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He closed his eyes and images from the movie flashed through his mind, only instead of the actress playing the female lead, he saw Siri; Siri experiencing all the terrors of the paranormal activity. Siri, her heart breaking, her mind falling into a whirlwind... His heart fluttered, he shook his head, and gagged.

Grabbing his jacket and briefcase, Jordan went home early. He had to see Siri, had to make sure she was alright. A feeling in his gut told him something was wrong. When he got home, however, Siri was happily humming to a song playing through a set of headphones while she vacuumed.

He watched her for a minute as she danced with the vacuum cleaner, then quickly ran over the twirled marks in the carpet to make the lines straight. He touched her shoulder and she screamed. Siri turned around and her face lit up. He loved how she smiled every time she looked at him, how, even when she was mad, she couldn’t help but smile. Jordan embraced her, dug his hands into her hair and breathed in her smell. He clung to her, squeezed her tight.

“I had terrible thoughts,” he said. His nose burned and he blinked rapidly.

Siri squeezed him tighter, telling him she understood. She burrowed her face into his chest.

“I have some bad news,” Jordan said. “I have to go on a business trip to some conference in New York.”

Groaning, Siri looked up at him. “I hate being away from you,” she said, kissing his lips tenderly. “How long?”

“Seven days,” Jordan said, he rubbed his hands over her back. Siri pressed her cheek against his chest, her favorite place, and listened to his heartbeat.

***

After Siri dropped Jordan off at the airport, she drove home feeling heavy and tired. She moped around or sat feeling sorry for herself when he went away. She often wished they had a dog to keep her company, and for protection.

When she got home, she locked the handle on the front door, as well as the deadbolt, and shuffled into the computer room where her manuscript sat open, waiting for her. She sat down to do her daily writing, but nothing came to her. All she could think about was Jordan, and the movie.

Deciding to do some housework, she went into the living room and straightened up, then to the kitchen to do the dishes. She looked at the pile and decided she didn’t have the energy and went to the couch to lie down and read. Before she knew it, her eyelids became heavy and she fell asleep.

Siri dreamed about the movie, only instead of the no-name actors playing the characters, it was Jordan and her. Her face cringed in her sleep. Her eyelids flickered and twitched. Her legs jerked. She groaned and tossed her head back and forth. Then, she woke with a gasp, covered in sweat, tears standing in her eyes.

She grabbed the phone off of the side table and dialed Jordan’s cell. The three tone beep informed her that his number was no longer in service. Taking a deep breath, she dialed again. The call went through.

“Hey, honey, miss me already?” Jordan asked over a crackling line.

“Yes, of course,” Siri said. She swallowed the dryness out of her mouth. “I just wanted to tell you I love you one more time,” she smiled and slumped back on the couch.

“I love you, too, Siri,” Jordan said. She could hear the smile in his voice.

“Call me when you get there.”

“You know I will.”

With that, they hung up. Siri took a deep and shaking breath, then chuckled at herself for being so foolish, for thinking the dream real. Her chuckling shook her body and quickly turned to sobs of relief.

Once she gathered her emotions, Siri went to the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea. She poured hot water over the teabag and sat at the kitchen table. Pulling the newspaper out of the orange plastic, she closed her eyes.

Yesterday’s front page had frightened her, and she didn’t want that to happen today. She unfurled the paper and cracked an eye open. The front page showed a smiling mayor with a group of children at a youth club. She let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding, and opened the paper to the comics section.

Noon came and went. Siri putted around the house looking for things to do, but not wanting to do anything. She sat down with her book, stared at her computer monitor, straightened the pillows in the living room, contemplated the dishes, but nothing kept her occupied for long. Jordan’s flight was supposed to land around two in the afternoon. She picked up her phone and dialed his cell. Silence came through the speaker, then strange crackling, like someone crinkling cellophane. She could hear a faint ‘hello?’ sounding miles away.

“Jordan?” she yelled into the mouthpiece. “Jordan, it’s a bad connection, I’ll call you back.”

When she called him again, however, the phone would not connect to his number. She sighed and dropped the phone into her lap. It rang and she jumped. Jordan’s number came up on the caller ID.

“Hi honey, are you there safe?” she asked, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves.

“Yes,” Jordan said. He sighed. “It was a really turbulent flight.”

Siri knew how much he hated to fly. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she whispered. “Hey, I called you a minute ago but could barely hear you, so I tried again and the line wouldn’t connect. I’m glad you called me back.”

“I didn’t get your call,” Jordan said, audibly confused. “Are you sure it was the right number?”

“Well, maybe I miss dialed.” She placed a hand on her forehead. She knew she dialed the right number. “It was really loud and crackly and I could barely hear you…”

“Ah, cell phones, gotta love ‘em, right?” Jordan chuckled. Siri relaxed to hear the sound. “What did you do today?” He asked her.

“Aside from moping around feeling like my life was over?” She asked with a laugh. “Nothing. You know how I get when you’re away. I miss you so much.”

“I know. I miss you, too.”

After hanging up, she felt much better, if slightly giddy. She went to the kitchen to put her tea cup in the sink, and when she pushed open the door, she screamed.

Blood everywhere; smeared across the floor as if the floor had been moped with it. Bloody handprints covered the cupboards, the drain bubbled as crimson liquid spun down the sink with a gurgle. She closed her eyes and shook her head, but when she opened them, the scene remained unchanged. She backed out of the room, eyes wide, mouth gaping. This couldn’t be happening, not again. Years ago, perhaps, but things were different now. The tea cup shook in her hand, her heart hammered. She held a palm over her mouth; bile threatened her throat with an acrid burn.

The tea cup clattered onto the floor when she dropped it to run to the bathroom. Her body racked with sobs as she hovered over the toilet. When nothing came except tears, she went to the sink and splashed water over her face and looked in the mirror.

“Siri, get a hold of yourself.” She sniffled and wiped the tears from her eyes. “There wasn’t any blood in the kitchen.” Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. When she opened them and looked in the mirror, Jordan stood behind her.

His mouth opened and closed, a fish gasping for water. The slit across his throat dribbled blood down his white shirt. He reached out to her with hands covered in his own blood.

Siri turned around, but no one was there. Breathing heavy, and saying the word ‘no’ in her mind over and over, she squeezed her eyes shut and turned to the mirror. When she opened them, Jordan was gone. Her pale reflection stared back at her; red-rimmed eyes, streaked skin.

Her chest felt tight. She gasped for air, but her lungs wouldn’t fill completely. Her head swam, black spots blocked her vision. She fell and, unable to catch herself, hit the floor hard.

The phone rang. It stung her ears, and she opened her eyes to see the bathroom light above her. She sat up slowly, using the toilet, and then the counter for leverage, and leaned with all her weight against the sink. A large purple-green bruise had emerged on her cheek. It looked shiny and tender. She touched it and hissed with pain.

The phone continued to ring, and in her dazed state, she shuffled to the kitchen. She paused at the door, the memory suddenly returning. Blood, that room had blood in it. Blood everywhere, on the floor, in the sink, everywhere. Her face contorted and she placed a hand on the door. Pushing it open, she peeked in as well as she could before it swung back shut. No blood. It had all been cleaned up. Or it was never there.

She pushed inside and reached for the phone, but it stopped ringing. The answering machine picked up. Heavy breathing erupted from the speaker after the beep.

“Help, me,” Jordan’s voice groaned. “Help.”

The line went dead. Siri grabbed the phone and dialed his cell. The three tone beep came through, extra loud. She dialed again; the same tones. Siri went to her purse and grabbed her cell phone. One missed call; she had missed a call from Jordan. She pressed the send button and it rang. And rang, and rang. His voicemail never picked up. Instead, after ten or so rings, the line went dead. The call lost. She dialed again, panic shuddering its way up her abdomen quickened her breath and heart. She shook as she dialed again, and again, each time something different, the tones, silence, crackling, the line never connecting. Finally, Jordan’s groggy voice answered.

“Hello…” he mumbled.

“Jordan, oh my god,” Siri cried. She fell to the floor and gagged as tears poured from her eyes. She bawled into the phone, rocking as she bent over double, vaguely aware of Jordan asking her what was wrong. Trying to explain, the only thing she could say was an abundance of unintelligible words. She finally stopped shaking and took a deep breath.

“I couldn’t reach you,” she whispered. “I passed out in the bathroom.” Then she remembered the vision in the mirror. “I thought you were dead!” A shuddering gasp racked her body as she started to cry again.

“Siri, Siri,” Jordan said, trying to calm her. “I’m okay, honey. I’m fine. I was sleeping. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. I wanted to tell you I love you before I die.”

Siri’s voice caught in her throat and she stopped crying. “What?” She asked, her voice thick. She listened hard as Jordan repeated himself.

“I said, I wanted to tell you I love you before I went to bed,” his voice was calming and still slightly groggy from having been pulled from slumber. “It must have been when you were passed out… wait, why were you passed out?”

“The kitchen was covered in blood,” Siri said, and it sounded so silly in her thick voice. She sniffled deep. “I ran into the bathroom and…”

“The kitchen? Who’s blood? Did you cut yourself?” Jordan asked. There had been a time when… but it didn’t matter, she was over that.

“No. I don’t know who’s blood. I went to the bathroom and I saw you in the mirror,” she gasped and bawled the rest out. “You were dead; your throat was slit.”

“Honey, calm down,” he said. “Calm down.”

Siri took a few deep breaths and calmed herself down as much as she could.

“I have a big bruise on my face,” she said. “I hit the toilet when I passed out.”

Jordan laughed and teased her about having the bruise.

“It’s not funny. It hurts,” she touched it with her fingertips.

When he stopped teasing her, they talked a little longer, but Jordan had to get some sleep. They said goodbye and Siri hung up. She chuckled with relief and sighed. Shuffling to the kitchen for more tea, she decided to listen to the message again. She pressed play on the machine.

“Hey Siri, it’s me, just calling you before I go to bed. I have an early start tomorrow. I love you. Call me in the morning.”

Siri backed away from the answering machine. That’s not what it said before. Before it was Jordan groaning for help. He never said that stuff on the message. He never said it. She backed away until she hit the counter, then turned and retched into the sink.

***

Bed was a welcome retreat for Siri the next few days. She stayed there, only getting up to go to the bathroom. She avoided mirrors at all costs and answered the phone only if it was Jordan. However, the conversations were always brief and between seminars. At night, he went out with associates, rubbed elbows with top executives, and networked. He told Siri he called her every night and left her a message, but her cell phone and the caller ID on the house phone never had any missed calls, or messages.

“Jordan wouldn’t lie to me,” she told herself, holding a pillow to her chest and rocking gently.

She slept most of Friday, but woke at 11 pm and rubbed her eyes. She felt rested but bleary. Her body wanted to get out of bed, but her brain forbade it. Movement in the corner of the dark room caught her eye. She sat up and peered into the darkness.

“Is someone there?” Her voice crackled out, unnatural in the silence of the room.

“Siri,” Jordan’s voice came in a harsh whisper. “Why did you do it, Siri?”

“Jordan?” With squinted eyes, she reached for the lamp on the nightstand. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until Monday, did I sleep that long?”

Finding the switch, she clicked the light on and gasped. She pulled the covers up to her chin and pushed herself back against the headboard.

“No, no, no,” she cried, eyes wide, unable to look away.

“Siri, why did you do it?” Jordan asked her again. His neck dribbled blood onto the white comforter. As he reached forward, his head tumbled from his shoulders and rolled between her feet.

“Oh god!” Siri screamed. She jumped out of bed and ran from the room, sped down the stairs, nearly falling, and out the front door where she turned on the lawn, expecting Jordan’s headless corpse to follow her.

Why did you do it? He had asked her the questions in an accusing tone. She shivered against the cool night air and searched the windows for any sign.

A car pulled up at the neighbor’s house and the giggling neighbor stumbled out in high heels too tall for her leggy figure. After the car pulled away, the neighbor’s voice called, “Siri? Are you alright?”

Siri turned, eyes wide, face pale. “Yes,” she said, trying to breathe normally. “I’m alright.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” the neighbor cackled. “Have a good night!” She stumbled across the grass and up her front stairs, giggling as she nearly fell on her face at the top.

After the neighbor disappeared inside her house, Siri stepped onto her own porch, gripped the knob, and flung the door open wide. She reached around the corner, breath coming in short bursts, and fumbled for the light switch. The warm glow of the ceiling light offered no solace. In the bedroom, there was no sign of the headless body. Jordan’s head didn’t rest on the bed. She moved closer and examined the comforter. No blood. Nothing to prove any of it had been real. Nothing to prove he had accused her of something. Why did you do it, Siri?

***

Saturday morning came with the sound of kids playing outside. Siri reached for Jordan’s pillow to cover her face, and her fingertips encountered something soft, wet, cold. She jerked her hand back and sat up.

Sun filtered in through the windows, and the morning birds chirped along with the shouts of laughter. But there, on Jordan’s pillow, was a mass of meaty flesh. The coagulating blood caressed the white of the pillow and bled into it. Siri jumped out of bed and closed her eyes.

“It isn’t real,” she chanted. “It isn’t real.” Yet she held her bloody hand away from her body. She opened her eyes and the mass was gone, her hand clean. She screamed, not knowing what was going on. When the scream ended, she found herself weak and tired.

She grabbed her phone and called Jordan. A woman’s voice answered. Her stomach felt cold and heavy.

“Is Jordan there?” the lump in her throat felt like it would choke her.

“Oh, honey, you have the wrong number,” the woman said with a genial laugh.

“This isn’t 555-2625?”

“Yes, but there is no Jordan here,” the woman said with a chuckle. “This is a battered woman’s shelter!”

“I-I’m sorry,” Siri said. She hung up and looked at her phone. The number and name blinked with the time for the call. It said ‘Jordan’s cell.’ She dialed again and the same woman answered. Without saying a word, she hung up.

In the living room, Siri turned on the television and pulled up the DVR menu where she looked at the list of movies she and Jordan had watched on Halloween. One thing that stuck with her when watching that movie was how the woman in the film went crazy and saw dead people that weren’t there… but maybe they were.

She fiddled with the remote, scrolling through the movies and other recordings until she reached Seven Nights of Halloween. The title of the tenth movie, the one that won first place was “Night of the Living Dead.”

“No, that’s not right,” she said. “It wasn’t that dumb movie.” She scrolled through the menu. “That wasn’t it.”

If Jordan’s dead, the movie was your life.

The thought came to her out of nowhere. She dropped the remote and grabbed the hair at her temples.

“It’s not true,” she said. “He’s in New York at a conference.”

That’s what you’re supposed to believe.

“No, no,” Siri whispered. “I killed him.” She looked at her hands. Were they capable of killing the man she loved?

In the right circumstances…

“No,” Siri shook her head and gripped her ears, trying to block the thoughts in her head.

His cell phone number is no longer his cell phone number.

The thoughts kept coming, a barrage of torment telling her what she didn’t want to believe.

“I killed him,” she gasped. She slumped forward on the couch, hands and feet touching, head between her knees. She let out a low groan and sniffled as tears dripped into her nose. “No, no, no,” she wailed.

Yes, yes, yes!

Her thoughts chanted the opposite of what she wanted to believe. Getting up, she looked at the DVR menu again. “Night of the Living Dead” glared at her from within the screen. She stood and threw the remote at the television – the battery popping out of it – and screamed.

“It wasn’t The Fucking Night of the Living Dead!” She shouted, bursting into tears. Her body shook with terror and sorrow as she bawled, the TV screen blurry through her tears. She slumped onto the couch.

Her cell phone rang and she jumped.

“Jordan,” she said, her heart skipping a beat. She answered it.

“Hi, ma’am?” It was the woman from the battered woman shelter. “I thought I’d ask you, since you called us, if you wanted to donate to our cause.”

Siri lowered her hand. She could hear the woman on the other end still talking in a small and distant voice. Siri sat back against the cushion of the couch and stared at the taunting words on the television. She sniffled every few seconds.

“Ma’am? Ma’am?” The line clicked off.

“I killed Jordan,” she said out loud. “He’s gone, dead.”

In the kitchen, Siri grabbed a bottle of scotch from the cupboard. She hated scotch but took the bottle to the bedroom with her anyway and uncorked it. Jordan always told her good scotch had a cork in it. All of them tasted the same to her, though. They burned her nose, throat and stomach.

She laughed a dry laugh and looked at the cork. The smell of the scotch filled her nose and her mouth watered. She took a generous swig and hissed against the sharpness, convincing herself that she could work past her dislike of the amber liquid. She could drink the whole bottle. Looking at the label, she wondered how sick she would get if she drank it all. Considering another swig, the bottle half way to her mouth, she quickly corked it and ran to the bathroom. Her mouth watered as she stared into the toilet, thinking about all the bacteria swimming therein. It wasn’t long before the tingling burn struck her nose and she heaved into the bowl.

After the tirade from her stomach, Siri sat on the floor of the bathroom and leaned against the tub. He was gone. Jordan was gone. How long? A week? A month? Who paid the bills now that he was gone? Did she have money from a life insurance policy? It was surreal. He had just been there, days before, so she thought, hugging her as they remembered that terrible movie. Night of the Living Dead. She said the title out loud then shook her head.

“It wasn’t that stupid movie,” she said. “It was that documentary about this house, about me,” she looked at the discarded scotch bottle, gleaming from the bed. “I am the killer. I killed him. And then I killed myself.” She nodded as if convincing herself.

She pulled herself to her feet and looked in the mirror at her red-eyed reflection. “I’m supposed to be dead.”

You are dead.

“No, I’m not, I’m alive.”

Okay, whatever.

She went downstairs and looked at her computer where the cursor blinked at the end of a sentence she had written. How long ago had she written that? She didn’t even know what day of the week it was, or what month for that matter.

The front door swung open and she jumped. Scrambling into the kitchen she grabbed a nine inch chef knife, made by Cutco. Without a clue who would be breaking into her house, she made her way back to the entry way. Jordan was in the process of slipping out of his coat.

“Hey honey,” he said. “I got out early and hopped a different flight.” He turned and looked at her, then took a step back. “You look like hell.”

“You’re dead,” Siri said. “You’re dead. I killed you. I don’t remember when, but you’re dead,” her voice was a low growl in her throat.

“Siri,” Jordan said with a laugh. When she didn’t drop the joke, he sobered. “What’s wrong with you? What happened while I was gone?” He took a step closer, but Siri pulled the knife out from behind her back. The light from the foyer glinted on the long blade.

“You’re dead!” She screeched. “I’ll prove it!” Lunging at him and grabbing a fist full of his hair, she jerked his head back and slit his throat. The blade ground against his trachea.

Jordan gasped, mouth opening and closing as he struggled for air that would not reach his lungs.

“You’re dead,” Siri whispered. “See?”

You die next. The voice said.

Siri went to the kitchen and dialed 9-1-1.

“There’s been a murder,” she said calmly. “And a suicide.” Before she hung up the phone, she dragged the sharp blade across her wrist.

***

When Siri woke up, she couldn’t move. Her face felt swollen, and she could hardly open her eyes. Something held her: her chest felt tight, like she was laying in bed and someone had tucked the sheets around her.

“Siri, will you be good today and take your medicine? You won’t have those nasty nightmares if you take your medicine,” a woman with a wicked grin said.

Out in the hall, the doctor commented to an intern, “She killed her husband and tried to commit suicide,” he grunted. “She called in the murder and suicide before she slit her wrists. This is her second time here.”

He turned away as Siri started to scream about her and Jordan’s deaths.