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The Bloodstain

Posted by Steven Van Patten on

“Would you be surprised if I told you, I don’t remember anything that happened last night?” he asked.

“Well, what’s the last thing you remember?” She asked.

“I was drinking. We were at the party.” He answered.

“OK, well nothing really happened after that,” She said with a shrug.

“Then, what’s this on my shirt?” he asked as he held out a white dress shirt, the one he had worn to the party. There was a dark red spot on the sleeve about the size of a quarter.

“What? You were drinking wine.” She dismissed.

“This isn’t wine—it’s blood.” He countered.

She stepped closer and tilted her head as she looked. “Oh yeah, look at that,” she said after a few seconds.

“Oh, yeah, look at that?” He mocked. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Wait,” she snapped, as her hands found her hips. “Are you accusing me of getting you drunk, hypnotizing you and making you kill one of my co-workers again?”

“Well, no,” he answered, managing to sound contrite. “Because we agreed that you were going to stop doing that. “

“That’s right!” She shouted, prompting him to take an involuntary step back. “I have apologized. Why do you keep throwing this up in my face every time you find something wrong with your clothes? It was just the one time.”

“Well, actually it was twice, honey,” he corrected.

“Belinda doesn’t count. You were supposed to just scare Belinda,” she explained.

“Yeah, but when you scare a 86 year-old woman…”

“That’s not the point,” she cut in, clearly annoyed. “My instructions to you-- after I hypnotized you-- were very clear. Go scare Belinda. Not kill her. Scare her!”

“Never mind,” he sighed.

“Just go put the shirt in the laundry,” she ordered. “I’ll deal with it later.”

He agreed, and turned to go do as she’d instructed. As he made his way over to the laundry basket, he heard a ‘sling’ sound. Metal against wood. Before he could ask himself why she would be going for one of the knives in the kitchen, he felt a sudden excruciating pinch in his back. Then came the sensation of warmth, as a thousand times the amount of blood that created the original stain began to seep out of the fatal wound.

Hopelessness washed over him as he turned to see her face one last time. “But, I love you,” he fought to say as the darkness began to take him.

“Oh yeah,” she scoffed. “You love me so much that you can’t even handle the simplest of post-hypnotic suggestions. And then you’ve got the nerve to have an attitude about it, like I’m the crazy one! I’m so done with you.”

He collapsed. As the pool of crimson evidence swelled across the floor underneath him, she just shook her head in disgust.

“Now, who in the hell am I going to get to clean this up?”


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