One More For Dinner
⚠️ Trigger Warning: This story may include references to physical violence, psychological trauma, coercion, dismemberment, and themes of betrayal and moral obsession.
Reader discretion is advised.
TUESDAY
Shannon awoke to the soft pitter-patter of rain against her bedroom window; the sound threaded its way into whatever was left of her dreams. For a moment, she lay still under the weight of her comforter and floated in that thin space where nothing was required of her. The familiar awareness slowly slid back in: her body, the house, the day, the responsibilities, and Rawr, her chihuahua.
Rawr was exactly where he was supposed to be; perched on his velvet cushion like a tiny, judgmental gargoyle, big dark eyes fixed on her as he wagged his tail.
“Morning, Rawr,” she rasped.
In her mind, his reply was smug and fond all at once.
You slept in, bitch. We got work.
Her lips formed a reply aloud, “It’s Tuesday. We’re fine.”
She pushed the covers back and set her bare feet on the cold wood floor with a shock. As she stood to face the mirror, she felt Rawr’s gaze follow her closely. The woman who stared back at her looked poised, soft-spoken, but in a way, unsettling. Her hair was smoothed into place. Her pajamas were neat, no wrinkles. The only betrayal was in the eyes; the faint tightness around them, like someone who’d learned too young that safety was never guaranteed.
Shannon tried to hold back a memory of her childhood. Voices rose in the next room. Infidelity. Her mother insisted she was overreacting, her father insisted she’d misunderstood, both insisted the truth was something other than what she’d seen with her own eyes. Lies dissolved families. She’d learned that before she lost her baby teeth.
“Don’t start,” she told her reflection, “We haven’t even had coffee.”
She smoothed an invisible crease from her shirt.
You’re the one thinking about them. You know how I feel about liars.
“I know,” she said. “Me too.”
The kitchen greeted her with small, domestic details she’d curated like armor. Floral curtains framed the window, a candle burned gently, and a grocery list was written in precise, looped script. The air smelled of tomato and garlic, and something faintly metallic.
Shannon opened the refrigerator. The shelves were well organized. Large glass jars were labeled in black, stacked in symmetrical rows. One of them, pushed to the back, was marked with a letter ‘N’. Not for Nic, or Nicholas. Not any of the names that had come out of his mouth. Just an initial, as much as he’d earned.
“You were a lot of work,” she said as she grasped the jar. “The least you can do is be tender.”
He wasn’t tender about anything, especially not the truth.
She set the jar on the counter and cracked it open. A rich, savory smell rose into the air; indistinguishable from any high-quality breakfast meat. Shannon sautéed the pieces with vegetables and hummed to herself as the pan hissed. The tune was indistinct, mostly half-melody, one of those hooks from the nineties that never quite left the memory. It threaded in with the rain on the roof, the sizzle of the pan, the faint whistle of the kettle. It built a kind of fragile peace.
Rawr watched from the counter, his tiny body tucked in like a loaf, ears alert. In her mind, he continued to narrate.
You see how they all end up the same? Strip away the lies, strip away the posture, it’s just meat in the pan.
“Less talking about meat while I’m eating it,” she said mildly.
Oh, now you’re squeamish?
She plated the food and sat at a small table by a window; rain streaked the glass beside her. First bite, she closed her eyes. The texture was good. The seasoning was better. She’d become particularly good at this. Her fork hovered for a moment over the plate.
“Thank you for your contribution, N,” she said softly, “You almost made it to Tuesday.”
Almost.
When the plate was empty, she washed it immediately, the circular rhythm of the sponge on the ceramic soothed something twitchy in her chest. The kitchen returned to spotless; counters and floors wiped with bleach, stove scrubbed, pans rinsed and stacked with the others in the drying rack. Trash was double-bagged, so no scent lingered. Routine kept everything quiet.
Shannon dressed in a comfortable, nondescript outfit: a neutral jacket, jeans, waterproof boots, somehow still flattering. Nothing that would stick too clearly in anyone’s memory. Rawr waited by the door, his leash coiled beside him.
“You’re very invested in this walk,” she said as she clipped the leash to his collar.
Bradley.
The name hit like a soft bell. Bradley Lake Park. Sanctuary, stage, and hunting ground.
“We went yesterday,” she reminded him.
We’ll go every day. You don’t skip church.
She laughed, under her breath, “Fair enough.”
Shannon’s Audi R8 was a small, violent joy in a life that otherwise smoothed into calm. The car purred awake under her touch, the cabin warmed quickly as the rain poured outside. The freeway between Bonney Lake and South Hill was a crawling string of headlights and rolling fog. Holiday lights coiled around lampposts and storefronts; an artificial cheer tried to outshine the low gray of Washington winter. Shannon turned on the radio, and ‘Short, Short Man’ by Gillette hit the speakers with zero apology.
“Oh, yes,” she said with a smile that finally broke through, “We’re doing this.”
She turned the volume up just enough to feel it in her ribs. Rawr perched in the passenger seat in his booster, expression unimpressed in real life, delighted in her head.
Now this is a classic.
Rawr bobbed his head. Shannon sang along, lyrics about men who came up short in every way that mattered. It wasn’t subtle, but then again, neither was betrayal. The song’s petty, gleeful cruelty fit into all the dead spaces.
They’re always louder when they’re lying. The quiet ones are the ones you watch.
Traffic thickened as they climbed toward the retail sprawl, brake lights splattered ahead like drops of neon blood. Children in puffy coats pressed their faces to the windows as they passed. People gestured with coffee cups, laughed into phones, and argued over nothing. The civilized world hummed along, unaware of any danger.
The rain had settled into a steady, fine mist that made the world look slightly out of focus. Shannon found a parking spot and let the song play to the last beat before she killed the engine. Silence fell in its wake, broken only by the rasp of the rain and the distant shrieks of children on the playground. The park was busy with parents who wrangled their kids; joggers stretched, and dog owners fumbled leashes.
“Ready?” she asked.
Always.
The air hit Shannon’s face cool and damp as she opened the door. Rawr hopped down onto the wet pavement, shook himself, and trotted ahead with the arrogance only small dogs seemed to have. Muffled Christmas music played from a portable speaker. Lights along the walking path flickered through the mist, caught in the puddles like blinking stars. She walked with the ease of invisibility. Every morning, whether it rained or not. Routine. No one questioned the woman; they saw it all the time. Rawr tugged left toward the lake. She followed and let her eyes drift over the crowds without lingering too long. Men with dogs. Men with kids. Men alone, headphones in, the world tuned out around them.
No, No. Maybe. No.
“What about that one?” she murmured and nudged toward a tall man in black who threw a ball for a golden retriever. No ring. Hands clean. Face open.
Too earnest. That one would cry about his feelings. I don’t need that in my house.
She snorted softly. “Noted.”
They walked the loop once. Twice. On the third pass, she saw him. Mid-thirties, maybe. Dark coat, dark hair, a little scruff on the chin. Dog at his side, a medium-sized mutt with a white chest and mismatched eyes. The man watched Rawr with open amusement, then he looked at her. Curious, interested, slightly hungry, she knew that look.
She’d seen it on her father’s face when he thought no one was watching. She’d seen it on N’s face hours before his jar was placed in the fridge. Her eyes glanced down, casually, to his left hand. No ring, just a faint, pale stripe a shade lighter than the rest of his finger. An indentation that hadn’t smoothed out yet. Shannon smiled.
Well, well, somebody lost something recently.
“Hello there,” she called, her voice in a friendly register, “Lovely evening, isn’t it?”
He smiled back.
“I couldn’t agree more,” he said. “Your dog’s got some personality.”
“Doesn’t he just?” she replied, and glanced down at Rawr, who sniffed theatrically at the other dog. “I’m Shannon. This is Rawr.”
“Geoff,” he said, “This troublemaker is Milo.”
“Nice to meet you, Milo.” She crouched to scratch the dog behind the ears. Milo leaned into it immediately, traitorously charmed.
He trusts you already. Idiot.
“So,” Geoff said as they fell into step together, “Do you come here a lot or did we just get lucky?”
“Every day,” Shannon answered, “Rawr insists. He’s big on routine.”
“Smart dog,” he said, “I should take a page from his book.”
They walked the loop together, and conversation flowed easily and surface-level at first. Weather, holiday traffic, how dark it was in Washington this time of year.
“So,” he said, “Is your…uh, partner into the dog park life too?”
She replied with amusement, “Just us. No partner.”
There was a quick flash of something in his expression. Calculation, opportunity? He relaxed a bit. She bounced the question back.
“What about you?”
“Nah,” he said a bit too quickly.
Liar. Left hand. He still touches it when he’s nervous.
Sure enough, his thumb rubbed the ghost of a wedding band on his ring finger.
“It might be nice to have some company for dinner tonight,” Shannon said lightly, as if the idea had just occurred to her. “I make a mean lasagna. Interested?”
His face brightened, “Lasagna? I’d never say ‘no’ to that.”
“Perfect,” she said. “Rawr approves of you, so you’re already halfway there.”
No, I don’t. But I approve of your blood type.
She chuckled under her breath and gave Geoff her address. By the time they parted ways at the parking lot, a plan was already formed inside her head. It didn’t even feel like a plan anymore. Just Tuesday.
Her house was tidy, tastefully decorated, with neutral, soft lighting and plush rugs. Grocery lists and a single photo of Rawr in a Halloween costume hung on the fridge. She moved through the kitchen, set out ingredients, and layered pasta and sauce as if it were a ceremony.
Center him. Make him feel like you’ve been waiting for him all week.
“He’ll think that no matter what,” she said as she sprinkled cheese. “Men like him always do.”
The special drink came last. She mixed it with care; measured, a squeeze of citrus, a sprinkle of something that would burn pleasantly on the way down, and not so nice once it dissolved in his bloodstream. When the doorbell rang, everything was already in place: table set, candles lit, music low. The lasagna rested on the stove and filled the entire house with its comforting, nostalgic scent. Rawr scampered to the door ahead of her.
“Showtime,” Shannon whispered.
“Geoff,” she said, pleased at how normal he looked framed in her doorway. “You made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said as he stepped inside and stamped the rain from his shoes. His eyes did the quick sweep of her home that all men did, checked for clutter, chaos, proof of someone else’s presence. He found nothing. Rawr circled Geoff’s feet, sniffed, then trotted around him.
“He approves,” Shannon said. “Come on in.”
“This looks incredible,” Geoff said, with genuine awe in his voice.
“It’s kind of my specialty,” she said as she plated generous lasagna portions. “Family recipe. Do you want to try the house cocktail? I’ve been playing with the mix.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I trust you.”
He shouldn’t.
She smiled. The glass felt cool in her hand as she carried it to the table. The liquid inside glowed faintly amber under the light.
“Here you go,” she said, “A little something to take the edge off.”
He lifted it, sniffed, and smiled. “Smells dangerous.”
“Only if you’re a lightweight,” she teased.
He took a sip, then another, more confident gulp.
They ate and talked. The lasagna did its work to soften his shoulders and blur the edges of his wariness. She refilled his empty glass. Dinner was a careful dance of casual questions and banter. He spoke of work in tech sales, about his recent move, and his hobbies. He lied well; he’d had practice. Every time his gaze slipped away, she knew it was his tell. Geoff dodged a question about his ex.
She left him. He’s not hurt about the loss. He’s hurting about the consequences.
“Breakups can be so hard this time of year,” she said.
He took another drink. As he set the glass down, his fingers fumbled slightly. The rim clinked against the table.
“How can you tell who’s honest?” he asked, “You seem like you’d be good at that.”
“You just learn to see patterns.”
The room began to tilt, gradually at first, then more insistently. He blinked, shook his head a little as he tried to focus.
“Shannon,” he slurred, “This feels…weird. I feel—”
“Dizzy?” she offered softly.
He pushed his chair back and tried to stand. His legs didn’t cooperate. The table seemed to lurch forward.
“What did—”
“It’s amazing what one can uncover,” she said, “Especially when you pay attention.”
He reached for the table, missed, and went down hard, the world folded in on itself in a spin of ceiling and floor. Shannon’s face hovered above him, and Rawr’s small silhouette watched him with calm, unblinking eyes. Then a black darkness swallowed his vision.
Sound came back first. A slow, irregular drip somewhere above him hit what sounded like concrete. The faint buzz of a lightbulb. His own breath was rough and loud. Intense pressure bit into his ankles, his wrists. His head throbbed, and a hot, nauseating rush of blood. He opened his eyes; the world spiraled. He sucked in a breath, a hoarse, panicked sound tearing from his throat. He was hung upside-down, naked, suspended with thick ropes that cut into his skin.
The room around him was a damp, mold-stricken parody of a basement. Walls mottled with black-green bloom smelled of rot and bleach. The air was cold enough to make his exposed skin prickle. He looked down—up?—toward his own body, his heart slammed harder as his vision sharpened. A chunk of his left leg was gone, clean-edged, flesh, fat, and muscle carved away to bone in a neat, obscene arc. The edges were raw, and blood still oozed sluggishly.
He screamed. The sound bounced off the walls. A door opened, and footsteps approached slowly. Shannon stepped into his field of view, her hair tied back, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Her eyes were different now, all the warmth stripped out of them. Rawr trotted at her heel and then sat just outside the splash radius.
“Good evening, Geoff,” she said casually, “I hope you liked dinner.”
He choked, “My leg, my fucking leg—”
“Language,” she said mildly.
She stepped closer; an ordinary kitchen knife caught the weak lighting.
“You’re a despicable liar, Geoff,” she said, “How dare you betray your vows, your promises. Do they not matter just because you’re not wearing the ring today?”
The venom in the words was at odds with her even tone. He gazed at her, then at his empty finger, the pale band of skin. Shame cut through the terror for a moment.
“I—It’s not—,” he stammered. “We’re separated. She—she left.”
“Separated is still married,” she said.
“Please,” he gasped, “Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”
He struggled against the ropes, and the world swung nauseatingly. Pain spiked through his mutilated leg like lightning.
“Of course you won’t,” she said.
He’s so loud. You’d think losing blood would shut him up a little.
Shannon glanced down at him affectionately.
“You were quite the delicacy for Rawr,” she told Geoff, and turned her gaze back to him. “He has expensive taste. I couldn’t just feed him kibble forever.”
Geoff’s eyes widened, horror cut deeper than the physical pain as comprehension finally landed.
“You…you fed—” His voice broke into a sob. “You’re insane.”
She shrugged, “I’m honest.”
His screams started up again when she stepped closer, the knife glinted as she raised it. The sound was high and shredded; it ricocheted around the room over the drip, the hum of the light, the steady, unbothered pants of the tiny dog. Shannon reached out with her free hand and touched his face, almost kindly.
“Lies dissolve families,” she said softly. “But they don’t dissolve you, do they? They just leave you hanging there, rotting, making everyone else live with the smell.”
The knife bit in again. His world exploded into red, then narrowed. The screams stopped being individual sounds and became one long, continuous note inside his head. Sensation tore and blotted, pieces of him disappeared into a pattern he couldn’t follow. He caught fragments, the sick sound of something splattering on the floor, sharp little teeth, the wet sound of chewing.
He tried to retreat, to pull his mind back from his body, to be anywhere else, but he was trapped with himself, with her, with the dog, the knife, and the drip. Eventually, mercifully, even the pain ran out of room. The last thing he saw was Shannon’s face blurred through tears, upside-down and far away. He felt the sensation of falling, then everything went white.
WEDNESDAY
The rain was different. It wasn’t a normal soft drizzle. This was a steady, relentless downpour; thick drops knocked at the windows. Shannon opened her eyes slowly as the world swam into shape around her, muted and gray. She stretched and rolled her neck until it cracked. Rawr sat on his velvet cushion and stared at her.
Girl, that rain is giving me cozy trauma flashbacks.
“You’re dramatic.”
Me? YOU woke up sighing like a Victorian widow.
Shannon snorted softly. “Morning, Rawr.”
Mm-hmm. Now, get up. We got leftovers.
The kitchen lights hummed with a soft golden warmth that contrasted sharply with the storm outside. The floral curtains hung limp, weighed down with moisture. The whole house smelled like garlic and herbs, and something faintly metallic. Shannon opened the refrigerator. A jar labeled G sat in the center, as skillfully placed as a museum exhibit. She lifted it with a reverent care.
“Morning, Geoff.”
He was chewy. I’m still thinking about it.
“You ate it raw,” she reminded.
I ate the vibe.
She laughed, shook her head, and emptied the jar into a hot pan. She added onions, bell peppers, and fresh herbs. As the mixture cooked, the smell thickened, savory and rich. It filled the small kitchen with the warmth of a family breakfast. Rawr hopped onto the counter and leaned forward with tiny paws daintily pressed together.
“You’re too invested in this,” she said.
Baby, I’m your sous-chef. Respect the role.
The vegetables cracked beneath the spatula. Steam curled upward and gathered in the corners of the room like ghosts. She plated the meal and ate while rain drummed steadily against the windows, each bite collapsed tenderly on her tongue.
“You know,” she murmured, “Geoff probably thought he was charming.”
He thought he was a romantic lead. Turns out he was more of a snack.
She nearly choked, “Jesus, Rawr.”
He didn’t meet him either.
After breakfast, Shannon’s Audi pulled away from the curb, tires sliced through puddles. The windshield wipers worked double-time and swiped water back and forth in frantic arcs. ‘Freak Me’ by Silk came on the radio. The timing was suspicious. Shannon narrowed her eyes at the console, then glared at Rawr.
“Did you touch something?”
Spiritually, yes. Literally, no.
She rolled her eyes. The sultry beat crawled through the car, deep and slow. The rain, the low vocals, the gray morning, everything blended into a thick atmosphere. Shannon hummed and tapped her fingers against the leather steering wheel. Traffic was worse than usual. Brake lights smeared red through the rain. Fog blurred the edges of the road. The world appeared to melt away. Rawr watched the scenery streak by with exaggerated boredom.
You know what I love? The way men think that a dog park is a dating app with mud.
Shannon lifted an eyebrow, “That accurate?”
Oh, babe. Babe. You have NO idea.
The rain had calmed to a mist by the time she parked. The air smelled like wet pine needles. The paths glistened, dogs shook rain from their fur dramatically, and owners huddled under hoodies and umbrellas. Rawr strutted forward, sniffing along the grass.
A man appeared on the third lap. He stood alone near the lake, holding a leash loosely while his dog, a muddy shepherd mix, snorted around in wet leaves. He had that look of insecurity disguised as humor. He glanced up, noticed Shannon, and did a double-take. Rawr stopped.
Found one.
Shannon approached with a warm smile. “Hi there. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, “Uh… if you like being damp, sure.”
His smile was sweet, but untrustworthy. Shannon crouched to pet the shepherd.
“What’s his name?”
“Cooper,” he said. “And I’m Devin.”
“I’m Shannon. And this is Rawr.”
Cooper leaned into her scratch with full devotion. Rawr watched, deeply unimpressed.
Cooper would sell you for a cracker.
Devin smiled at Rawr.
“He looks… intense.”
I could end him.
She suppressed a smile.
“He’s discerning.” Shannon said as she brushed moisture from her jeans, “You live around here?”
“Yeah,” Devin said quickly. “Most days I walk here.”
“Most days?” she asked, voice higher than normal.
“Yeah. Depends. Things have been…complicated.”
There it was. That vague, slippery word married men used when they wanted to sound single without technically lying. His left hand twitched—and she saw it. The faint indentation. The ghost of a ring.
DING! DING! DING! We got ourselves a winner.
“You know,” she said lightly, “I’m cooking tonight. Warm dinner for a chilly day. Want to join me?”
Devin hesitated, “I—I don’t know…”
He shifted his weight. Shannon tilted her head, her smile deviously soft.
“I make a very good lasagna.”
Devin finally nodded, “Sure. Sounds nice.”
Oh, baby boy. You have NO idea.
Shannon moved through her kitchen like a dancer, sliced, stirred, layered. The air was filled with garlic, tomato, and melted cheese. Rawr observed like a cooking show judge.
He smelled nervous. The guilty kind of nervous.
“He’ll relax,” she said as she slid the lasagna into the oven.
You always say that.
“And I’m always right.”
The doorbell rang. Devin stood dripping on her porch, cheeks flushed from the cold and a sort of shyness.
“Come in,” she said warmly. “You’re soaked.”
He stepped inside, and Rawr gave him a long, slow blink of disapproval.
“Cute dog,” Devin murmured.
Flattery will not save you, sir.
The smell of dinner was comforting, the lights were soft, and the table was perfectly set. Devin eased into a chair, hesitant but hungry.
“This looks incredible.”
“It tastes better,” she promised.
She poured him a drink, the same amber cocktail as before. The glass fogged slightly around the top, the scent citrus-sweet with a floral undertone that masked something sharper beneath. He lifted it, sniffed.
“Oh wow. What’s in this?”
“A secret,” she said.
He drank. A second sip. A third. Then he set the glass down with a shaky thunk.
“Shannon…this is…strong.”
“Is it?”
“I feel…odd.”
She served him a plate, “Eat a little. It helps.”
He tried. Fork to plate. Fork to mouth. Chew. Swallow. Blink. The world seemed to tilt to the left.
“Shannon,” he said quietly, “are you sure you didn’t—didn’t—Why is the room—”
His words fell apart, syllables slurred together. Shannon watched with serene attention. Rawr leaned forward.
The descent begins.
Devin blinked slowly. The lights above the table elongated and stretched like melted wax. Shadows pulsed. Shannon’s face blurred at the edges; her smile drifted slightly like a reflection in disturbed water.
“I’m…not…feeling…right,” he whispered.
“You’re fine,” she said.
“No, I’m—why are there… TWO of you?”
Shannon blinked a reply, “There aren’t.”
His vision doubled her again; one Shannon smiled calmly, the other tilted her head in the opposite direction, and both watched him slide out of reality. The room distorted, the walls pulsed like lungs, the table leaned toward him, Rawr grew momentarily larger, then smaller, then larger again.
“Please…”
Devin tried to stand. His chair scraped; his legs wobbled, and his knees buckled.
“Shannon…”
“Yes, Devin?”
“What’s…happening…?”
“The truth,” she said.
He collapsed and hit the floor with a wet thud. His vision narrowed to a flickering tunnel. Lights strobed; Shannon’s silhouette slid toward him like a shadow. Her voice echoed in two tones.
“One for the lasagna…And one—”
For the lies.
Devin’s consciousness tore down the middle as his vision went black.
He woke with a choked gasp. Upside down, blood rushed to his skull. Pressure crushed his wrists and ankles. Dim light hummed somewhere nearby. The room smelled like mildew and rusted metal. His vision swayed, left, right, left.
“Wh—where…”
His voice cracked. Something dripped onto his face. A new panic surged as he glanced at his own body. Part of his thigh was cut out, like a shark bite. A jagged scream tore from his mouth. Shannon entered the room, calm and serene. Rawr trotted beside her, tiny paws tapped the damp floor.
“Good evening, Devin,” she said gently. “You made a mess when you fell earlier. I had to…adjust things.”
“PLEASE!” he screamed and thrashed so hard the rope burned his skin. “PLEASE—WHAT DID YOU DO—WHAT DID—”
“You lied.”
“I didn’t—Shannon, please—”
“You’re married,” she said.
“We’re separated—”
“Separated is married.”
He sobbed, “Please. I swear. I swe—I didn’t mean—please—”
Rawr yawned.
This is tedious.
Shannon lifted her knife. The metal gleamed in the dim light; tiny droplets slid toward the handle.
“Let me help you, to be honest,” she whispered.
He screamed as the knife descended. Sound warped, swelled, collapsed, and echoed like water rushed through his ears. Shannon’s face flickered with blurry resolution. Rawr’s teeth flashed. Pain exploded, then dulled, then exploded again. His consciousness slipped; a drowned man who tried to grasp at nothing. His last thought was swallowed by the dark, which dripped and echoed into a bright white.
THURSDAY
The rain was a soft, fine, misty drizzle that clung to everything it touched. It coated the windows in a pearly sheen, turned streetlights into blurred halos, and made the world outside Shannon’s bedroom appear like it was underwater. She opened her eyes to stillness. Rawr sighed dramatically.
We're doing this again, or what?
She rolled onto her side. Rawr perched on his velvet cushion and watched her like he’d been champion of a staring contest.
“Morning, Rawr,” she said hoarsely.
We should start charging rent. We’re basically a full-service bed-and-breakfast… with extended checkout.
“That’s gruesome,” she murmured.
You’re welcome.
The kitchen felt smaller, like the walls had leaned in overnight. Floral curtains hung limp and damp, their pattern dulled by the gray morning. The refrigerator hum was louder, insistent. Shannon opened it. A jar labeled ‘D’ sat on the top shelf.
“Good morning, Devin,” she said quietly, fingers wrapped around the cool glass.
Rawr jumped onto the counter in a single confident hop, his tiny nails clicking on the laminate. His imagined commentary arrived a beat later, wry and satisfied.
He was anxious. He marinated in his own guilt on the way down. Great for flavor.
Shannon snorted a laugh and popped the lid off the jar. A scent rose out, rich, savory, familiar in a way that should have disturbed her.
“You’re impossible,” she told him, as the contents of the jar poured into a warm pan.
And yet, here you are, taking notes.
The pan hissed as hot oil met the cold meat. She added onion, garlic, and a handful of herbs as the steam enveloped her face with a moist, fragrant heat. The sizzling sound was hypnotic, like rain on a tin roof. Rawr leaned forward as his nose twitched.
I swear to God if you overcook my breakfast, I’m calling PETA.
Rain pattered fast and rhythmically on the windows like TV static as Shannon mixed, sautéed, and plated the food. She moved through the steps with the calm, choreographed precision of routine. She chewed slowly, eyes unfocused, as her thoughts drifted. Each bite was warm, dense, and grounded her.
“We’re getting efficient,” she said between bites.
We’re getting righteous.
Shannon wiped the plate clean, rinsed it, washed it, dried it, and put it away. The kitchen returned to order as if it had never been disturbed. She lit a candle to cover any scent that lingered and scrubbed the label from the empty glass jar. The ‘D’ washed off easily, but the memory would not.
By the time she slid into the Audi’s leather seat, the rain had become a fine spray and blurred the world to watercolor. Wipers brushed it from the windshield in rhythmic strokes. The radio snapped on. ‘Poison’ by Bell Biv DeVoe echoed brassy and sharp from the car speakers. Shannon looked at Rawr as he sat upright in his booster seat like a tiny, furry king.
“You’re doing this, aren’t you?”
I like a theme. And nothing says ‘trust issues’ like this song.
Shannon let the beat sink into her fingers as she tapped the steering wheel. The lyrics about dangerous women and bad decisions spiraled through the car, ironic and satisfying. Traffic flowed in a steady stream. Headlights streaked past, auras smeared by condensation. The heater carried a warm, faint scent of leather, rain, and the ghost of homemade lasagna. Rawr watched the world slide by through the passenger window.
You notice how everyone looks the same from here? Little boxes. Little lights. Little lives.
“You’re in a mood,” she said.
Patterns solidify around day three. Habits become rituals. Rituals become religion.
Shannon smiled as she replied, “And what’s our religion, exactly?”
No gods. Just consequences.
Bradley Lake Park looked slightly different than normal. It didn’t have the usual crowded atmosphere. There were fewer families and nearly no children screamed, laughed, or cheered. More solitary joggers walked the paths, and bundled-up dog walkers held leashes with their shoulders hunched against the chill. The mist hovered low and turned the lake into a sheet of dull silver. Shannon stepped out of the car, and the chill slipped instantly under her jacket. Her breath fogged in thin, eerie wisps. Rawr jumped out of the car and trotted ahead, tail lifted like a signal flag. His nose went to work as he sniffed away at the grass.
Let’s see who’s playing Single Man Theater today.
They walked the looped path once. Twice. On the third pass, she saw him. Medium height, dark jacket, a beanie pulled low. His dog, a sleek black lab, pulled eagerly at the leash as he splashed through puddles. The man laughed into his cell phone, with sharply animated gestures. As Shannon and Rawr drew closer, the man’s laughter cut short. His face shifted into something smoother, more charming. He quickly slipped the phone into his pocket and readied his smile. It takes one predator to feel the pulse of another, no matter how polished the disguise.
Left hand.
She looked. No ring, a pale band of skin, an indentation, of course.
“Hey there,” she called as she matched his smile. “He’s gorgeous. How old?”
The man looked relieved at the interruption. “Hey—thanks. He’s three. This is Jax.”
Jax bounded up to Rawr immediately and sprayed water everywhere as his tail wagged. Rawr tolerated exactly three seconds of this before he stepped back and shook himself like he’d been touched by something contagious.
Consent, Jax. Ever heard of it?
“I’m Shannon,” she said. “This is Rawr.”
“Evan,” the man replied. “Nice to meet you.”
They fell into step along the path; the dogs wove around each other on their leashes. Mist crawled over the surface of the lake while ducks floated in clumps like small, quiet conspirators.
“So,” Shannon said casually, “You come here a lot?”
“Depends,” Evan said. “On my schedule, on the weather. On the ex-wife.”
He laughed a little too loudly at his own joke, then grimaced like he wished he could pull the words back into his mouth.
“Ex-wife?” she echoed lightly.
“Yeah,” he said. “Well. Mostly. It’s complicated.”
There it was again. That word. That little verbal bandage slapped over a bullet wound.
Take a shot every time they say ‘complicated’, and you’d be on the floor before they are.
“You’re not still living together, are you?” Shannon asked, as if this was idle curiosity.
“No,” Evan said quickly. Too quickly. “No. God, no.”
His thumb found his ring finger by reflex and unknowingly rubbed at the pale groove where his wedding band once sat.
“So, you’re—what?” she asked innocently. “Divorced?”
He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, but enough for her to notice.
“Basically,” he said.
Basically is not legal, sir.
Shannon laughed, “I understand ‘complicated.’”
“Makes two of us,” he said with relief, “It’s nice to talk to someone who gets it.”
“Well,” she said as her gaze moved to his eyes, “I make a mean lasagna. I was going to have a quiet night in, but I wouldn’t mind sharing. Interested?”
“Absolutely,” he said as his face lit up like a Christmas tree, “That sounds perfect, actually.”
Hook, line, and alimony.
Shannon’s house seemed to shift around her as she moved; her steps smooth, hands sure, mind quiet. Lasagna assembly had become muscle memory: sauce, noodle, cheese, repeat. The kitchen filled with the deep, reassuring scent of melted cheese and simmered tomatoes. Rawr watched from a stool with crossed paws.
You’re faster now.
“Practice,” she said.
Devotion.
She set the table with automated grace and without thought. Forks aligned, glasses placed, napkins folded. Everything was in its right place, just as it should be. The special drink came last. Same glass, amber glow, and subtle twist of something that didn’t belong. When the doorbell rang, she smiled.
“Hey,” Evan said when she opened the door, his hair speckled with raindrops, “Wow, it smells amazing in here.”
“Come in,” she said warmly. “You’re just in time.”
He stepped inside and looked around with appreciative eyes.
“Your place is really nice. Cozy.”
“Thank you,” She said as she took his jacket, hung it, “Sit. I’ll get you a drink.”
Rawr sat on the end of a rug and stared at Evan disappointingly.
This one thinks he’s charming. You can tell by the way he breathes.
She brought out the cocktail and set it on the table.
“What’s this?” he asked, lifted the glass, and deeply inhaled the aroma.
“House special,” she said, “Try it.”
He took a cautious sip with wide eyes.
“Wow,” he said, “That’s really good!”
“Careful,” she teased, “It’s stronger than it tastes.”
Foreshadowing.
They ate; they talked. It moved even quicker this time. She knew the game.
“So, you’re ‘basically’ divorced,” she said and savored the sound.
He winced, “Yeah. It’s messy.”
“Lawyers?” she guessed.
“Hers,” he muttered as he took another drink, “She took everything. House, car, money.”
“And your ring,” Shannon added.
His hand jerked, then he laughed, “Yeah. That too.”
He ate another bite of lasagna, drank again, and then set the glass down with a slam.
“What’s…in this?” he asked and squinted at the drink like offensively.
“Secrets,” she said.
He smiled halfway. The room leaned, just a little. He blinked as the lights above the table stretched, elongated, like their edges were pulled toward the walls. Shadows deepened, then jumped back. Shannon’s face blurred slightly, then sharpened eerily.
“Whoa,” he said quietly. “Okay. That’s…weird.”
“What is?” she asked, voice calm as still water.
“You just…you just moved.”
“I’m sitting right here.”
“No, I mean—you were there and then—”
He gestured with a hand that wobbled in the air like a loose string. “Everything’s—”
He blinked again. The edges of the room decayed, lines softened, colors bled. The white of the walls turned faintly yellow, gray, then seemed to ripple as a stone dropped into the surface of a lake. The table looked longer. Rawr looked bigger, and his teeth looked wrong; too sharp, too many. Evan squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again; his breath fell faster.
“What did you…put in…”
“You’re just not used to being honest,” she said, “It has side effects.”
He swallowed hard, “I’m… I’m honest.”
His heart fearfully skipped a beat. Shannon gave him a look that landed heavier than any accusation could. He tried to stand as the floor rolled under him like a wave. His legs were suddenly made of wet paper. He crashed backward into the chair instead; the impact sent a shock of vertigo through his skull.
“I don’t feel…right,” he gasped.
“You won’t for long,” she said gently.
Her voice doubled in his ears, one layer soft and kind, the other flat and distant, as a shout echoed through a tunnel.
Poor baby. Reality’s catching up.
The ceiling above him rippled with hairline cracks as the light fixtures dripped brightness in slow, melted beads. The walls seemed to bend inward like they had taken a deep breath.
“I…,” he started.
He was on the floor. He didn’t remember the fall. One moment, he sat in the chair and clung to the table like a lifeboat, and the next, he was faced with the underside of the chair, and the ceiling in his periphery spun like a carousel. Shannon’s face hovered into view, upside down and sideways.
“Just let go,” she said, voice echoing, “You made your choices.”
“You…you don’t…understand. She…she hurt me too…”
His tongue felt like it might come loose from his mouth and slither away.
“Maybe,” Shannon said. “But you lied anyway.”
The room trembled. The overhead light fractured into a halo of bright, jagged stars. Rawr’s tiny silhouette appeared at the edge of his distorted vision.
Night-night, Evan.
Everything peeled away. Color, the sound, and edges. The last thing he saw was the sharp, clean glint of steel, then nothing but white.
FRIDAY
Shannon woke before the rain. The sky outside her window was a flat, bruised gray, the color of a faded storm. The air felt heavier, with a thick tension. Everything in the room had sharp edges. Even the silence bared its teeth. Rawr blinked at her slowly as he lay on his velvet throne.
Well, someone’s on a streak.
She sat up. Her bones felt hot, tender, and used.
“Morning, Rawr”
You look refreshed. Like God pressed reset on your trauma while you slept.
She smirked and ran a hand down her face.
“You’re awful.”
And yet deeply correct.
The kitchen wasn’t messy, Shannon would never allow that, but something about it felt more lived-in. The floral curtains hung crooked, maybe from a window draft. The refrigerator hummed with a low, resonant vibration. She opened it. A jar labeled with a black ‘E’ stared back at her; the condensation created a halo over the letter.
“Morning, Evan.”
Rawr hopped onto the counter with the quiet arrogance of a creature who understood power better than most men.
He tasted hopeful. I could smell the delusion on him.
“That’s not a flavor.”
It is if you cook it right.
Shannon warmed oil in a pan; the sizzle erupted into a full-bodied crackle. A rich, savory smell arose, tinged with faint woodland earthiness from the herbs she added. The scent wrapped around her like a heated blanket. Rawr planted himself in front of the stovetop.
You’re even faster now.
“Am I?”
You’re not even thinking about the steps. You’re floating through them. It’s giving off Michelin-star vibes.
She plated the meal with precision. Every bite tasted like victory, routine, and inevitability. When she washed the plate afterward, she caught a glimpse of herself in the window’s reflection. Her hair was gently mussed, her eyes bright, and a small, sharp smile curled upward without permission. She looked comfortable. Too comfortable. Rawr noticed it too.
Don’t get smug. We’re good, but we’re not immortal. Yet.
Tires shushed over the sheen as Shannon’s Audi glided onto the wet asphalt. The air smelled like fresh rain and exhaust. ‘Hypnotize’ by The Notorious B.I.G. came on the radio. Shannon’s eyebrows rose.
“Really?”
Confident music for confident minds.
The beat rattled through the car, low and satisfying. She tapped the steering wheel. Holiday traffic had thinned to scattered brake lights and short blinks of turn signals. The clouds shifted; thin edges revealed shades of pale gold. Rawr turned his tiny head toward Shannon.
Do you feel it?
“Feel what?”
Rhythm. A good hunt purrs.
She pulled into the parking lot, inhaled slowly, and she felt…something. The park was quiet. Brisk cold had scared off the casuals and left only determined joggers, dog owners, and liars. The path sparkled with frost. Breath rose in delicate little clouds. The lake looked like glass dipped in smoke. Shannon and Rawr walked the familiar loop, her boots and his paws crunched gently against icy gravel. A man appeared at the bend near some picnic tables. Tall, with long, dark hair, a runner’s build under a thin jacket. His dog, a twitchy terrier, barked continuously. Rawr sniffed the air.
He reeks. He didn’t tell his wife where he was this morning.
Shannon approached the man with smooth, measured grace.
“Cold morning,” she said with a smile.
The man smiled back, “Yeah, but he insisted.”
He nodded at the terrier, who yapped continuously like it had discovered a conspiracy.
“I’m Shannon, he’s Rawr.”
“Chris…and Buster,” he said, and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Ask him.
“So, do you come out here often?”
“Every few days,” he said casually, “Whenever I’m not…busy.”
His mouth twitched as if he’d said too much. Her eyes lowered casually, uninterested. Left hand. Ring line. Indentation. Pale stripe. Classic.
“So,” she said lightly, “I’m cooking tonight. Lasagna. Would you…?”
“Yes,” he said instantly.
They’re so predictable. It’s embarrassing.
Shannon barely remembered the drive home. Her body moved on autopilot; it glided from action to action. Sauce, noodles, cheese, layer, repeat. Her hands were sure and perfectly timed. Every movement felt rehearsed a hundred times. The kitchen was filled with warmth, aroma, and steam. Rawr sat on a stool like a game show host waiting for a contestant to say a naughty word on live television.
You’re in the zone. I love this for you.
Shannon replies in her baby coo voice.“And I fucking love you, Rawr. You’re the only man for me!”
Shannon barely smiled. She was in the zone. The doorbell rang exactly when she knew it would. Chris stepped in and shook off the rain.
“Warm in here,” he said.
“I like it cozy,” she replied.
He had no idea. Dinner went fast. Too fast. He complimented the food. She thanked him. He talked about his job. She nodded. He tried to flirt. She smiled.
He’s boring. Let’s speedrun this one.
She poured the drink. Chris sniffed it, eyebrows lifted.
“Wow. What’s—”
“Try it.”
He did. One sip. Two. Three. Then he blinked.
“Did…did the lighting just—?”
“No,” she said calmly. “That’s just you.”
The ceiling lights softened around the edges. The shadows deepened. Chris’s gaze trembled.
“I’m…sorry,” he said. “I think…dizzy.”
“That happens.”
He tilted. The wall leaned. Shannon didn’t move. Chris slid off the chair. The world fractured into vibrations. Rawr approached the man’s fallen body.
Pathetic.
Chris reached out and stammered, “Wh…what did…you…?”
“You lied,” she said.
The floor pulsed underneath him like a heartbeat. His breath hitched. Then, reality peeled back. Lights smeared. Shadows crawled. Faces multiplied. Rawr’s silhouette stretched into something long and wicked. He tried to blink, and then, black.
He woke upside down. He screamed before he realized he was awake. Shannon stepped out of the shadows; a knife in her hand gleamed with calm purpose.
“No need to drag it out tonight,” she said simply.
Efficiency, queen.
The last thing Chris saw was Shannon’s steady eyes. Then, a blinding WHITE.
SATURDAY
The rain had finally stopped. The world outside Shannon’s window looked scrubbed, rinsed clean. The edges were sharper, colors slightly more saturated. The sky was still mostly gray, but streaks of pale blue peeked through, like veins beneath pale skin. She opened her eyes to silence, then Rawr yawned theatrically.
Day five. We’re in franchise territory now.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Her body felt oddly light, like she’d been hollowed out and refilled with something that buzzed like electricity.
“Morning, Rawr.”
We should get a punch card. “Kill six adulterers, get the seventh free.”
“You’re disgusting,” she laughed.
You love it.
“Yes, and I fucking love you, Rawr!”
The kitchen felt warm. Not messy or cluttered, she’d never allow that, but it felt like a real home. The candle stub on the counter had finally burned out. The floral curtains held faint water stains along the hem. The fridge hummed a low, contented note when she opened it. A jar labeled ‘C’ sat on the shelf.
“Morning, Chris.”
Rawr hopped onto a stool, his small body a dark blot on the pale fabric.
He was bland. A filler episode.
“Not every story gets a twist ending,” she said, popping the lid from the jar.
The smell wound up, dense, familiar, a bit smoky from the sear she’d given it last night. She added butter to the hot pan this time. The sizzle exploded immediately and echoed around the kitchen like applause. Fat popped like bacon; little droplets leaped toward her wrists. She barely flinched as she watched them evaporate on contact.
You’re getting indulgent. I respect that.
She plated the breakfast and ate it as she stood at the counter, her fork scraped gently against porcelain. Each bite was efficient, mechanical, and satisfying. Fuel, not communion.
“Too easy,” she said quietly.
Are you saying you’re bored?
“Not bored,” She rinsed the empty plate in the sink. “Just thinking ahead.”
The Audi slid onto the road, the tires whispered over damp pavement. The air smelled clean, rain-washed concrete, pine, with faint hints of chimney smoke. ‘Bitch’ by Meredith Brooks came on the radio mid-song. Shannon barked out a laugh.
“Okay, that one’s on you.”
If the shoe fits, sweetheart.
She sang along without really meaning to; the lyrics rolled out of her mouth like muscle memory.
“I’m a sinner, I’m a saint, I do not feel ashamed…”
Her fingers tapped the steering wheel in time. The clouds above broke apart in ragged strips as light melted through in pale bands. Rawr’s nose twitched while he watched her.
Look at you. Soundtrack to self-acceptance.
“Don’t get sentimental now,” she warned.
Oh, I won’t. I’m saving that for when we hit double digits.
The park was crisp. The air felt cold, thin, and clean as she stepped out of the car. Rawr pranced on the dew-glittered path alongside her on short, confident legs. Her breath puffed in white bursts that quickly dissolved into the air. The lake looked like polished metal as ducks cut sharp Vs into its surface. There were fewer people today. No big families, no clusters of kids, just the faithful dog walkers, couples, loners. The ones who needed the routine as much as she did. They walked the loop once. Twice. On the third pass, Rawr slowed.
There.
A man stood near one of the park benches and scrolled on his phone. His dog, a stocky pit mix in a bright red harness, leaned into the leash. He watched the other dogs with bright, eager eyes. The man jolted when he noticed Shannon, then recovered with a sly grin.
“Hey,” he said. “Cute dog.”
“Thanks.” She smiled back, “You too.”
His eyes lingered on her, almost too long. Rawr’s voice slid into the back of her mind, unhurried and confident.
Left hand.
She looked. No ring. But there it was again, the pale strip of skin, the subtle groove, the absent weight.
“Busy morning?” she asked.
“Just…texting a friend,” he said.
Liar. He’s deleting something.
“Must be nice,” Shannon said. “I’ve just got Rawr.”
“No partner?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “Just me.”
The man became visibly relaxed. They talked. Names, dogs, work, the usual. Within ten minutes, her invitation hung in the air between them like a spotlight. Lasagna, warmth, company.
“Yes,” he said, without hesitation.
They got into the car, and Rawr flicked his ears up.
I’m starting to think they WANT this. Like some subconscious guilt drive. Self-selected sacrifice.
“Somebody has to clean up,” she murmured.
The evening moved like it was fast-forwarded. Shannon barely registered the drive home, the shower, the clothes she chose. Her body handled it. Her mind rode above it, quiet and focused. Sauce simmered, noodles layered, cheese melted. The house filled with familiar warmth and scent, comforting in its repetition. Rawr watched from his stool, small body motionless except for the occasional twitch of his nose. She stirred the sauce hypnotically.
You’re not thinking about them at all anymore. Not their names. Not their faces. Just their category.
“Is that a problem?”
No. It’s an evolution.
The doorbell rang. Another smile, jacket on the hook, cocktail glass glowed amber. Another compliment. Deja Vu wasn’t even the right phrase. Deja Vu had edges. This felt like she had slid deeper into a track already carved, the groove so worn it was easier to follow than step out of. They sat. They ate. He lied. She didn’t bother to peel it all apart. The specifics didn’t matter now. Ring. Tan line. Complication. Compartmentalization. Rawr yawned.
We know this monologue.
She refilled the glass. He drank. He smiled. He complimented her. His pupils widened. The room began to blur. The sound of the fork against the plate stretched out, echoed, warped, turned metallic. The overhead lights pulsed in time with his heartbeat. The edges of Shannon’s face feathered, then snapped into place, like a camera that struggled to focus.
“Do you…feel that?” he asked, his voice thin.
“What do you feel?” she replied.
“Like I’m…falling and not moving.” He laughed weakly. “I must be…wow…”
His hand slipped off the table. His elbow followed. The table seemed to rise toward his face, then tilt away. Shadows smudged across the floor like spilled ink.
“Shannon?” he whispered.
“Yes?”
“Did I…do something…?”
She considered for a moment.
“Yes,” she said.
Repeatedly.
The man’s head lolled. The ceiling rotated lazily above him. Shannon’s silhouette loomed, then stretched, then multiplied. Sound tunneled; his breath, his heartbeat, the clink of the glass. All of it got sucked toward a bright, narrow point. The floor disappeared. Gravity unhooked, and then, darkness.
He awoke upside down. He saw the ropes, the mold on the walls, the missing bleeding segments of himself. He saw Shannon, he saw the knife. He couldn’t even form a sound before she stepped forward.
“I don’t have the patience for a speech tonight,” she said.
We’re on schedule.
The blade flashed. Pain bloomed. The man’s worldly vision shuddered and collapsed into blinding, merciful white.
SUNDAY
The morning air felt unnervingly still, as if the world had paused to hold its breath. Shannon woke to a quiet so pure she could hear the blood rush gently against her eardrums. She blinked at the ceiling. No sound. No sigh, no quip, no sarcasm. A cold thread slid down her spine.
"Rawr?" she whispered.
He sat on his velvet cushion, exactly where he always sat, but motionless and statue still. He stared at her with cold, dead, black eyes. Her heart gave a quiet, involuntary stutter.
"Morning," she breathed into the silence between them.
Rawr blinked slowly. The hush seemed to pulse around them. Shannon moved through the house like she was underwater. Her steps felt heavier. The hum of the refrigerator sounded louder, a dull metallic drone that vibrated in her bones. She opened it. There was no label this time. She had not bothered writing one the night before. Or maybe she had and wiped it off. Or maybe the jar had never had a label at all. She could not remember, and that scared her more than she expected.
"Morning," she murmured to the mystery jar.
Rawr hopped onto the counter and continued to stare blankly without intent. Shannon cooked mechanically. Pan, oil, heat, meat, stir, season, plate. The sizzling sounded harsh today, too sharp in the stillness. The aroma felt thicker and clung to her throat. When she ate, the flavor barely registered, but she swallowed each bite down.
"Rawr?" she whispered again.
He looked at her, but her mind was silent. A storm of panic fluttered in her ribs.
"Say something," she pleaded.
Rawr's head tilted slowly.
Soon.
The leather seat in the Audi felt arctic cold. The radio refused to tune in and gave only static on every station. The air smelled faintly metallic, like the inside of a battery. Rawr curled in his booster seat, quiet and alert, pupils dilated. Shannon gripped the steering wheel too tightly. The world outside looked washed out and colorless, drained of life. Even the holiday lights seemed dimmer as they flickered like they were drained of power.
"Are you okay?" she whispered.
Rawr blinked.
The park was nearly empty. Fog clung to the surface of the lake like a ghostly spider web. Trees stood stiff and skeletal. The air felt colder than it should have, a static cold that did not move. Rawr did not walk ahead today. He stayed by Shannon’s ankle, unusually close. She scanned the few people scattered along the path. No smiles today, no flirtations, no easy marks. Just strangers in winter coats. Then she saw him. He sat alone on the bench near the water, dog at his feet, head bowed, hands clasped. Rawr stopped. So did Shannon.
Soon.
"Soon what?" she asked, as her voice trembled.
The man looked up as she approached. His smile was small, uncertain, and almost gentle.
"Hey," he said. "Cold morning."
"Very," she said.
They talked about names, weather, and dogs. Her mind felt disconnected from her body. The world seemed slightly too bright around the edges and eerily too dark in the center. Eventually, she asked.
"Dinner?"
He hesitated, then nodded. Rawr was still and quiet, and that scared her.
Her house felt different. Too hot, too bright, too loud in its brutal silence. She cooked. He watched. Rawr cowered in the corner. When she handed the man a drink, her fingers trembled. He drank it anyway. A twisted distortion began. The lights began to blur and flicker. Shadows stretched and snapped. Shannon’s face multiplied and fractured, pieces slid over each other like broken reflections. The man gasped, confused and frightened.
"What…what’s happening?"
Shannon did not answer. She was watching Rawr, and he watched her back, his tiny body still, his eyes gleaming. The man collapsed. She touched his skin. She dragged, tied, and hung him, but she did not remember doing it. She only remembered the pale white tanline on his ring finger.
He awoke upside down and screamed. Shannon stood near him, Rawr in the doorway. Something felt wrong; her hands shook, her breath stuttered.
One more.
Shannon swallowed hard.
"Yes," she whispered.
The knife descended as the man’s world exploded into blinding white.
MONDAY
Shannon opened her eyes. Silence again, no rain, wind, or birds, just a stillness she felt under her skin. The morning light pooled through her curtains, tired, pale, and diluted. Shannon blinked at the ceiling, took a deep breath to let the quiet settle into her lungs. Rawr, curled on his velvet cushion, silently watched her. She sat up slowly and felt the stiffness in her spine, the slight tremble in her hands. A whole week of mornings, of being awakened to this ritual she had built brick by brick. She didn’t know if she felt powerful or empty, maybe both.
“Morning,” she said softly.
Rawr stretched, tiny spine arcing, then settled upright.
One more.
She exhaled a warm, steady breath.
“Okay,” she murmured, “One more.”
The kitchen felt hollow, like the air inside had seeped out overnight. The floral curtains were faded and still damp at the bottom. The lights buzzed faintly. Everything looked pale, overused, thinned. She opened the refrigerator. The jar inside had no label; another nameless echo. Shannon hesitated before she picked it up. No name meant no memory, which meant she wasn’t keeping track anymore. Her stomach tightened. Rawr hopped onto the counter, tiny nails ticking softly.
Don’t think. Just cook.
She obeyed. Oil hissed, garlic snapped, meat browned. Steam curled up like ghostly fingers. The aroma had become familiar in a way nothing else in her life ever had; a scent that meant control, closure, consequence. A scent that had stitched itself into the wallpaper. She plated the meal and sat at the table. The first bite was warm, the second was a comfort, the third had no taste. Rawr drooled and watched her chew.
You’re tired.
“A little.”
You’re doing well, though.
“…Am I?”
Almost done.
She swallowed another bite; it felt like gravel.
The Audi hummed down the road and cut through low fog that hugged the asphalt. The radio played a faint, distant buzz, not quite static, not quite a station.
It’ll feel different today.
“How?”
You’ll see.
She gripped the wheel tighter. The holiday lights on the houses seemed duller than they should be, like someone had lowered the brightness of the entire world. Even the sky looked washed in desaturated winter gray. She felt like she drove through a heavy, slow-moving dream.
Bradley Lake’s parking lot had only a few scattered cars. Frost clung to the railings and glittered under the weak morning light. The lake was eerily still, like a watercolor painting. The frigid air bit at her cheeks as Shannon opened her door. Rawr hopped out lightly, and they walked the familiar path. Her boots crunched on the ground, breath fogged and dissolved. Rawr stayed close with determined steps. There were fewer dogs today, fewer people, just a few tired joggers. The world felt muted, like freshly fallen snow.
Shannon scanned the park and expected another man, another lie, another ritual to close out the week. The path was full of strangers. Real strangers, normal ones, untethered. No ring lines, no fidgeting hands. No complicated stories waiting to be revealed, just people. Her stomach tightened.
“What now?” she whispered.
They walked further. A bend in the path. The lake on one side. A line of bare trees on the other. fog rolled low. And then, she saw her.
A tall, well-dressed woman about Shannon’s age walked toward them, hands gently tucked into her coat pockets. Her posture was relaxed; her gaze was forward. A small dog, almost Rawr’s size, trotted beside her with a light bounce. Shannon’s heart stilled. Something electric raced up her spine. Recognition without context. A mirror without glass.
They drew closer. Close enough that Shannon could see the faint smudge of mascara under the woman’s eyes, the almost imperceptible tension in her jaw, the way her dog watched the world with an intelligence that felt familiar. Rawr slowed, and so did Shannon. The other woman didn’t slow down at all. They passed within a breath’s width.
The mystery woman didn’t speak. Shannon didn’t speak, but the other woman’s dog did. Clear as thought. Soft as a whisper, undeniably real.
That bitch ain’t shit.
The woman didn’t turn. She didn’t blink. She didn’t acknowledge Shannon’s existence in any way. She just answered her dog’s whisper, quietly and confidently.
“Hmmm, yeah… fuck her.”
END
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