The Stranger in Our Bed. Samantha Lee Howe

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       Prologue

      The rain fell in big fat droplets and poured down into my eyes. My hair was plastered to my head – blonde turned into dirty wet streaks that clung to my cheeks. I’d been here before, another time, another moment of betrayal and sadness. Déjà vu. Fear sank down into the pit of my stomach. I was drowning in the endless possibilities of ‘future’. What about my daughter? So small, so helpless, so alone.

      Oh God! Melody. She was in the house …

      I wanted to run, make sure Melody was all right, but I couldn’t move. My limbs were frozen, my whole body weak. I might have been suffering from shock – and no surprise.

      I ran my hand over my face, clearing the water from my eyes. And then my fingers touched the sore sticky wound on my forehead and I found myself staring at the red stain on my palm. The rain eroded the blood, as though it could wash away the evidence of my crime.

      I was standing on a precipice, swaying slightly. I closed my eyes, blocking out the sight of the hole in the ground at my feet. Nothing moved. I didn’t want to look down at the picture of death below, even though I was responsible for it, but the shape of the body crumpled in the void was still visible behind my eyes. I shook my head, trying to dispel the unwelcome thought along with the guilt I carried.

      When did this all start? How had my life taken this terrible turn?

      The shovel weighed heavy in my hand, a presence in its own right, further evidence of my guilt. Like the horror of my situation, the shovel’s weight was too much to bear; I dropped it down beside the makeshift grave.

      Like a guilty child whose hand is caught in the cookie jar, I wiped my soiled palm on the leg of my sodden jeans.

      There was nowhere to run, and no escape from the truth.

      I jumped as I heard a distant, persistent wail. Sirens approached. The screeching grew louder.

      I opened my eyes and lights came on in the big house behind me. The back door stood open. My only witness was framed in the glare of the kitchen light, blurred by the slicing rainstorm.

      I turned to look beyond the house, facing the rain. It blinded me, as did the flashing blue light that pierced through the trees lining the long driveway.

      The sirens dropped off, but lights still flickered above two police cars. In the house, I thought I heard Melody crying. And then, my legs began to work.

      Unaware of the black shape slowly getting to its feet in the pit behind me, I started to walk towards the first police car.