The sky was painted a light blue, with streaks of white cirrus clouds stretching across the horizon. Bees buzzed around the newly planted tulips in the yard of the house with the blue roof at the end of the street. The recently painted blue roof was decorated with small yellow birds, and one smaller blue bird, perching on its gutters. The yard had been freshly mowed in the wee hours of the morning. A large Golden Retriever sat on the front porch, gently tied around a Doric column near the steps. A few older women jogged by the house.
“I’m so glad we finally have some normal neighbors on this street,” the older woman in the green pullover said.
“It certainly doesn’t hurt that he’s good-looking either,” the young woman in the expensive name brand shoes giggled.
“Such a polite young man, that Mr. Anderson,” the older woman said.
“I wonder if he’s got himself a woman yet,” the young woman thought out loud.
“You shouldn’t wonder such things,” the older woman said, “It’s none of our business what that man does with his spare time.”
The two women took another moment to admire the well-maintained house- at that moment, a man in a blue button-down shirt opened the freshly painted white door. He walked towards the dog at the foot of the porch. He stared at the dog, his eyes full of admiration, then he slowly crouched down towards the dog's collar, as if to soak in the moment.
The dog felt the tight clutch of the man’s hand, and seemed as though to say, with its eyes, “Too tight sir, too tight.”
But then the grip loosened and the man looked up, meeting eyes with the two jogging women. He knew the women; one was from the white house down the road. The one with the Subaru that was always parked in the driveway. He remembered the Hillary Clinton sticker on the ladies’ car and cringed internally. The other he vaguely remembered as the women who had brought him a basket of cookies on the day he moved in. They were oatmeal raisin. He also remembered throwing the cookies in the trash. He hated oatmeal raisin.
He waved to the two women, making sure to smile big. His mamma always taught him to smile at ladies, said it made him appear more confident.
The women smiled back at Mr. Anderson, the younger one holding her lips in the curvature for far longer than the older women. Mr. Anderson returned the gesture by nodding his head in her direction. The older woman tugged on the young woman's elbow, as a signal to keep moving. Then the two ladies continued to jog down the road.
Mr. Anderson took one last long look at the dog, patted its head, then strolled back inside, whistling a short little tune.
***
Inside the house, Mr. Anderson moved toward the kitchen and began preparing breakfast. He split eggs in the pan on the stove. While the eggs cooked, he chopped up a few tomatoes, some green peppers, onions, and chives. He enjoyed the sound of his knife striking the cutting board. While he had been preparing breakfast, a few loud noises coming from downstairs had become audible. Mr. Anderson grew annoyed of the loud banging. He wiped off the stainless steel knife, placed it on the cutting board, and made his way toward the basement.
“Excuse me, but you’re making quite the racket.” Mr. Anderson said politely.
The young lady threw a small salad plate at him. It made a loud noise as it crashed against the wall.
“Lately, you’ve been so violent. I just can't imagine why,” Mr. Anderson said.
“You’re evil!” she hissed.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Don’t act like you don't know what you've been doing to me!”
“Oh dear. Ever since that incident with the stairs, you’ve been so distant.”
“Incident!? You pushed me!”
“Dear, until you can learn to control your tongue and your temper, I will have no other choice than to leave you down here,”
He clenched his fists.
He started to make his way up the stairs. As he reached the door, his hands unfurled, and his tone became soft and rich, “If you need me, I’ll be having breakfast.”
The door closed gently behind him.
He plated his food, and made his way to the table.
“Let’s take a look at today’s newspaper,” he flipped through it quickly, “boring, no one cares, more environment issues, more terrorism, some sports, blah blah blah... Ahhh there they are: the obituaries.”
“Oh such a shame Mr. Dotson, you were so young.” His eyes focused to the bottom of the page. “I see here you left behind a ‘loving wife and a beautiful new dog. Golden retriever was a good choice Mr. Dotson. Pure breeds are just so beautiful.”
He stood up from the table. “Such a pretty young thing to be left behind, mourning your absence must be hard on such a petite little frame.”
Just then there was a knock on the basement door.
“Dear? Do you need something?” Mr. Anderson inquired.
“Please. I’m so hungry,” the girl pleaded.
“I’ll be with you in a moment, my darling.”
Mr. Anderson scrambled to the door, preparing a plate of breakfast on the way. He placed a small pea shaped item inside the middle egg. A smile stretched from cheek to cheek on his face. He opened the door.
“Do eggs sound appetizing, my dearest?”
“Food sounds appetizing.”
“I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time sleeping.”
“You’re the reason I can’t sleep, you… you animal!”
“Hold your tongue, I’ve made you breakfast. Eat up.”
She grabbed the plate and quickly ate the eggs.
“You shouldn’t eat so fast my love; we know what it does to your stomach.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Now listen here, I am trying my best to keep you happy.”
“You can’t keep me here!”
“I know you’ve been having trouble adjusting to your new environment- transition takes a toll on everyone, but you must try to get some rest.”
“You can’t make me!”
“I worried you’d say as much, that’s why I made sure to it that you'd get your rest. How're the eggs?”
She looked down at the empty plate. Just then, her stomach made a low and nearly inaudible grumble noise.
“What are you talking about?”
“I figured you wouldn’t want to sleep, after what happened with the stairs last time, so I put a little extra something in your eggs, so you could finally get some beauty rest.” He cleared his throat. “Darling, it’s what’s best.”
“What did you,” she started slurring her words, “what did you do to,” her question trailed off, her body went numb, and she fell to the floor.
“That’s better.” He clapped his hands together.
“You’ve been so moody these past few days, darling.” He picked up her shoulders and started to drag her unconscious body over to the mattress in the corner. “Hopefully when you wake up you’ll have a better attitude and start appreciating what I do for you.”
***
Her eyes batted open.
“Ahh. I see you’re awake.”
“What?” She said wiping her eyes.
“You’ve been asleep all day. I thought you might miss supper.” He placed a small plate of chopped potatoes in front of her. “Dig in.”
“Who are you?”
“Honey, it’s me, Jonathan.”
“I don’t know a Jonathan.”
“You’re just tired.”
“Where am I?”
“You’re home.”
“Where’s George?”
“Oh darling, haven’t you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“Why, he’s dead. He's up and left you.”
“What, that can’t be!”
“Oh but it must be, the papers have already printed his obituary. They wouldn't make such a mistake.”
“How?”
“The papers say it was a hit and run,” he unbuttoned his shirt, “but there was certainly no running involved. Poor guy didn’t have a chance.”
He removed his blue dress shirt.
“What did you do to my George?” She screamed.
“Mrs. Dotson, you see it’s quite simple. George had something he didn’t deserve, something I wanted, and now it’s mine.”
“I’m not yours!”
“Darling, don’t flatter yourself.”
“What?”
“Yes my dear, you are a pretty young thing, but you seemed much too plain to catch my eye. Not to mention what I've discovered since then- you being much too rude for my liking and all.”
“What are you saying?”
“That magnificent pure bred beauty on my front porch; she was always the real trophy.”
“Trixie! What have you done with my baby?”
“Trixie? What kind of unsophisticated trash name is that? Surely not a suitable title for a dame such as her.”
“Let me go! You can just keep her!”
“Something more along the lines of Juliet or Elizabeth,” he pulled the smooth edged stainless steel knife from his belt buckle, “something elegant.”
“What are you doing?” The girl began to crawl away. “Don’t come near me!”
“Or maybe Dorothy.” He stood up, and began to close in on the girl. “Mama always wanted to call me Dorothy. She liked that name. But I wasn't her Dorothy.”
“You don't have to do this to me.”
“Now we can share our Dorothy.”
“No! Please no!”
“Everytime I see her, I'll think of mama.”
His blade was swift. Her body fell hard to the ground. Her red liquid painted the wall like a canvas in a Jackson Pollock showcase.
“Oh goodness, now I have to clean up this mess.”
He climbed the stairs to the basement door.
“Damn! I forgot to ask you what brand of dog food she likes best.”