Red is the Color of Freedom

Tara thought she'd earned her freedom but as she learns, evil always rises again.

TW: Domestic abuse, violence

With blood dripping from the tip of the knife held in her manicured hand, Tara turned her back on the kitchen. The rattling gasps of her dying lover resounded against the stained linoleum floor and red streaked cabinets. The sound drew a dark smile from her thin lips.

Leaving a trail of crimson drops on the beige carpet behind her, she strode over to the linen closet and pulled it open. She grabbed a plush towel and several washcloths before closing it again. The sticky handprint on the handles made her grin again.

Red’s the color of freedom.

Leaving Saul to die alone in the kitchen, she sauntered off to the bathroom. When her eyes met her reflection, the smile didn’t come back. Blood congealed in crackling rivulets down her face, her blonde hair was matted with deep red, and it seemed as if not an inch of her nude body didn’t have a fine mist of his life. It didn’t disguise the mottled bruises adorning her pale flesh or the burn scars on her rib cage. She didn’t look very long, she never did.

The hot shower and sweet soap washed away more than just the blood. Her broken past swirled down the drain in a bright torrent of tinted water. She felt like a new life opened up before her, a chance to be whole at last.

After making sure she was clean, she washed the knife. Tara had no rationale for why she needed to clean it, she just did. After the silver surface no longer showed streaks of gore, she got out and wrapped herself in the thick towel. When she met the mirror’s inquisitive gaze, the only trace of blood this time around was the dark red fingerprints on the white towel.

With the knife dangling in a casual grip at her side, she meandered down the hall. The dark splashes in the hall and on the walls as she approached the kitchen made her smile again.

Freedom, freedom, freedom.

The kitchen brought her excitement to a sharp end. She stared at the large pool of shiny red drying on the linoleum. Too much blood for a human to survive losing. But, where was Saul?

Tara’s breath came in shallow gasps and she leaned against the wall, trying to stop the world from spinning. She stabbed him thirty-six times, he could not have survived. No one could have.

Blood splatters dribbled down the nearby cabinets and walls, but there were no streaks on the floor to indicate where he might have dragged himself to. Standing in nothing but a towel, Tara felt vulnerable and crossed one arm protectively over her breasts while the other tightened on the handle of the knife.

The lights flooding the kitchen with artificial light plunged into darkness. Tara uncrossed her arm and found the light switch. A couple of useless flicks of the unseen switch confirmed her fear. The power was dead.

The hallway to her back felt too open, the kitchen before her a yawning cavern of danger. She backed up until her back pressed against the wall, trying to slow her breathing and listen to the inky blackness. Somewhere, the floor creaked and she swore she heard the rustle of fabric against plaster. Tears stung her eyes but she didn’t dare make a sound.

“Tara.” The word floated out of the darkness like a teasing song, soft but full of deadly promise.

Throwing all caution to the wind, she turned and fled towards the front door. The porch light oozed around the edges, giving just enough illumination to give her a target. Feeling a small surge of hope, she flung herself at the door.

Strong arms folded around her, yanking her from her run. Her back struck the floor, knocking the knife out of her hand. A heavy, moist weight pinned her in place and she smelled the rancid scent of coppery blood and decay. Saul’s lips moved inches from hers.

“My love, how could you do this?”

“Love? You don’t love me. You don’t hurt what you love.”

"But I loved you. I really did love you."

The rush of his breath over her nostrils made her gag and she shook her head, trying to escape the foul odor. She beat uselessly at his tacky chest, feeling the shirt damp with his still oozing wounds.

“Let me go. I killed you.”

His lips moved to her neck, right below her ear, tickling her when he whispered, “My love, evil always rises again.” His teeth grazed her skin, sending cascades of sensation rushing through her body.

Anger filled her. She couldn’t take this anymore. Red was the color of freedom, she was free, she wasn’t his anymore. With a howl of fury, she slammed her head against his. The blow caused him to roll over with a groan, giving her a brief reprieve from his entrapment.

Not wasting the moment, she rolled over, the towel discarded in her hurry, and spotted the glint of porch light on metal. Tara leaped to her feet and scooped up the blade. Not daring to see if Saul were rising too, she bolted towards the door once more.

His hand shot out and grabbed her ankle, yanking her foot out from under her. Her free hand grazed the doorknob as she fell, right before her jaw clacked against the floor. Agony flared into white stars dancing across her vision, but she held onto the knife for dear life.

Saul’s clammy fingers clawed at her calf, but she kicked with both feet, trying to shake him off. She wormed her way towards the exit, every excruciating inch a battle with his fingers digging into her skin.

With a snarl, he lunged forward and gripped her bare waist. He flipped her over, slamming the back of her head against the hard floor. By the pale light, she could make out his bloody features twisted in dark rage. His eyes, glazed with death’s cataracts, burned into her soul.

“Saul,” she begged, but his expression didn’t waver at her repentant plea.

He pinned her legs between his knees and raised his fist in a tight ball behind him. She could see it in his face. He wouldn’t stop this time, not until she lay dead beneath him. Not willing to die yet, she sat up as forcefully as she could muster and jammed the knife into the side of his neck.

The sudden attack caused him to tumble sideways, releasing his hold on her legs. She wiggled away from his gurgling wheezes and grabbed the door handle. She turned the smooth knob and jerked it open, bathing the living room in the warm porch light.

Tara didn’t check over her shoulder as she staggered out nude into the night. The country road leading from their house to town was full of sharp thorns and unforgiving rocks, but she dove for it anyway. She understood Saul would keep coming, but all she could do was run. And she would keep running until he either caught her or her legs gave out.

Red was the color of freedom, and death. Perhaps one and the same.