The Avenger

Kat pulled her silver Acura up to the curb and peeked out her window. A small, white house with blue shutters stared back at her as she unbuckled her seatbelt to get a better glimpse. She leaned back quickly as she saw a bush in the front garden move, but rolled her eyes a moment later, realizing it was just the wind.

“Get a grip, kid,” She whispered to herself.

Kat slumped in her seat, trying to decide if she wanted to get out or stay in. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly and then placed her left hand on the door handle.

“So thanks again, Jules, it was great seeing you,” a man’s voice boomed out.

Kat pulled her hand quickly back, drew her breath in and flopped farther in her seat, making herself invisible. It’s him, she thought her face turning bright red. Shit, I have to do it now.

A young woman’s voice spoke sweetly, “No problem, it’s always a pleasure!” She followed this with a slight giggle. It’s the bitch.

Kat turned to the passenger side, her fingers shaking, removed her father’s 35 magnum from her black nike swim bag. She rolled down her window and stuck the pistol out, aiming it for the man whose back was to her. Kat stared at the woman standing on the third step of her porch in front of her husband. Her hair, a beautiful strawberry color shone even more brightly in the sun, and her clothes, a thin white tank top with shorts accented her slim figure. Kat crinkled her nose in disgust eyeing her full chest. Stupid woman can’t even wear a bra. The woman shrieked suddenly, eyeing Kat and began pointing, “Ross, Oh my God, Ross!”

Get his name right, slut.

Kat breathed hard, pulling back the security lock on the pistol, ready to pull the trigger on this filthy man, who she had slept with faithfully for 32 years, cooked him dinners he was too busy to eat, gave him two beautiful children who had both grown up to become successful lawyers. She had even signed them up to take salsa lessons together this year as a tribute to their retirement together. Bastard, has a whore younger than our daughter.

He began to turn around. Kat wanted to watch, she wanted to look into the man she had married on a beach in Antigua years ago, a man who promised to devote his life, his body to her. But she couldn’t. Kat shut her eyes and squeezed them tight, as she pulled on the trigger and heard an explosion that sounded like a bomb. She had never heard a gunshot before, often asking her father, a retired cop what the sound was. Now she knew. She heard a man scream, a shrill sound that was so distant and unfamiliar that Kat had to open her eyes and see what she had done.

The man who had blood pouring from what seemed like every angle of his body lay limply strewn across the woman’s rose bush. His eyes were wide open, his clothes soaked in blood and his left elbow twisted behind him. It was a rather awkward position.

Kat saw all this but only one thought went through her mind. That man is not my husband.