Sorry for the absence...

Hey everyone.  Sorry for the absence.  It's been a busy month.  My novel is finished!  It is currently with my editor Neal Hock and a few select beta readers.  I'll post an update here in a few weeks about where and when it will be released.  Right now I'm working on two short stories that will be available as Kindle singles soon; one is done and the other is under construction. 

But in the meantime I have a little goodie for you- here's a short, short story I whipped up today.  It suddenly came to me out of nowhere like stories do most times and I had to write it down.  It's perfect for posting here, a quick read that might leave you with some imagery, a sick stomach, and maybe a little to think about.  Thanks for checking in with me!

“Do you know what love is?”  I asked him this as I pressed the knife against his throat.  His eyes were reaching for something above me, like something would drop down out of the ceiling and stop what I was doing.  Stop the blade from cutting the tender skin of his throat. 
His throat.
The words that had come from there.  My God.  The sick, lying words that had come from his mouth to lure her away from me.  What had he really said?  I’ll probably never know.  Jane can’t tell me, because she’s gone.  This blade that’s so steady in my grip cut her flesh too, and I wonder how he feels about that.  If he sees any meaning in it.  I guess I don’t care. 
“There’s money on the dresser…”  His words are lost as I press the knife further in and cut them off.  Cut too deep and watch the blood well out just a little.  It makes my stomach churn and spiral with butterflies.  Is that wrong?  To want this?  To want the end? 
“I asked you a question,” I said.  His eyelids fluttered, and then he looked at me.  Really looked at me for the first time. 
“Just take what you want…”
I leaned closer.  “How many women did you do this to?  Five?  Ten?  How many?”  My mouth was so close to his face he shut his eyes, and I sat back not wanting to end it too soon.  “How many people did you hurt?”
He swallowed, which was a feat since the edge of the knife was pressed so close to his adam’s apple I figured it might shear it off.  I could hear his breath and wondered how it felt to feel afraid.  I wasn’t afraid any longer.  I had been once.  When I first found out about the two of them.  I’d noticed the signs but kept them pushed far enough away that they didn’t seem real.  Her new perfume and a new set of panties that I’d found accidentally.  Women who have been married for fourteen years don’t buy those kind of panties. 
I looked at him again.  His long dark hair that must have drawn them in.  He looked like an artist.  I could see him brooding in a coffee shop, a book of poetry splayed open before him on the table and his eyes on the window, watching the rain outside instead.  I could see how they’d been attracted to him.  But it didn’t make any difference now.  His tricks were up.  There’d be no more coffee shops for him.  No poetry either. 
“Please,” he said beneath me.  I could almost hear her voice saying the same word.  It sickened me so much I had to stop myself.  Stop before I could say what I needed to say.  His soul needed a sendoff, and I was going to give it to him.
I sat forward again.  “You picked the wrong woman to do what you did to her.  You didn’t know she’d be married to a man like me.”  I leaned closer still so that my mouth was only an inch from his ear.  “I saw things the others couldn’t.  No other husband noticed the things I did.  I found the spot you put her and the others in the ground by the gravel pit.  I saw what you did to all of them, how you cut them.  I knew that Jane was the last since the knife was buried beside her.  The pieces of her.  I knew you’d be moving on.  Glad I caught you before you did.”
I shifted back into a sitting position and looked into his eyes.  The eyes of something evil, and I was not afraid.