The Red Lady

She didn’t know what she was doing anymore. That much was certain.

As she swirled her spoon in the dark drink, Amber stared blankly at the glass cup, her eyes barely blinking the deeper she lost herself in the liquid of her thoughts. Sinking into her worn and cushioned seat, she swallowed hard and tried to even out her breathing when she felt her vision begin to sting and water.

I will not cry.

I will not cry.

I refuse to cry.

At least, not over the asshole she had left in their house.

No. Her house.

It was her money that paid for the damn thing, after all. He was broke. Didn’t have a dollar to his name when they first met, but now look at him.

Rich. Powerful. Entitled. And all because of her.

Sniffing loudly, she then briefly closed her eyes, her hand still stirring in even motions.

Love.

She had been blinded by it and now, her ass was sitting in a Godforsaken pub because she couldn’t see the damn signs.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

That was more complicated than she was willing to admit.

The sound of her metal spoon grazed against the inside of the glass, creating a clicking sound that radiated throughout her drink. The ripples pooled in the middle before reverberating back to the sides where the sheer force caused the dark content to slosh up and out. The spray landed softly on the scratched up table...but she didn’t notice it.

Using her other hand to brush back her unruly mass of red hair, Amber finally opened her eyes, a shaky breath squeezing past her lips when she dropped her arm back down to her side and leaned forward. Returning her gaze to her drink, a humorless smile pulled at the corner of her lips, her practiced movements now beginning to slow down.

It’s funny how a life can change in an instant.

Any life.

One moment, she was happy and delusionally in love with a “nice guy”, who she got married to a few years later. The next, she was sitting at her dining room table, sporting a new black eye and a busted lip, wondering where her life had gone wrong.

Fingers trembling, Amber stopped stirring entirely, her eyes clouded with unwanted memories.

She could handle a lot.

She had worked her way up from poverty and abuse only to fall back into it.

When she had confronted her husband over his latest affair, he snapped and punished her for “speaking out of turn”. After slamming her into walls, floors and their lovely long table, her bruised body slumped onto their rich carpet in pure exhaustion and agony, but the burning anger in his eyes told her that the torture had only just begun.

So, when he had left the disarrayed living room to go to the kitchen for what sounded to be a butcher knife...she too decided that enough was enough.

It was time to lose some dead weight.

Reaching over for a broken shard of what was once her beloved grandmother’s vase, she grabbed a large piece before falling back into a slumped, sitting position. Pretending not to be able to fully support herself, she stayed right where she was, waiting for his return with a growing grin.

Anticipation covered her in sweat until she heard him re-enter the room.

A chill swept up her spine when the slow footsteps grew closer.

But she wasn’t afraid anymore.

Remember...she was a strong girl who has dealt with his abusive kind before.

Poised, she dropped her smile and breathed deeply before looking up at his contorted face, her eyes meeting his with a calmness that he obviously didn’t expect. He thought she’d scream, yell, scurry away or cry...something...but she did none of those things.

She just stared at him. One eye was partially obscured by her tangled mass of hair while the other heavily peered into what little soul he had left.

He hesitated. His raised and armed hand completely froze at her expression, but that didn’t last long.

Plunging the big knife down, he aimed straight for her forehead, but he would never reach it. Using all of her strength, anger and energy, she gripped the vase shard tightly before lunging forward and striking him in his nearest thigh.

The scream that ripped from his mouth made her smile return.

As if in slow-motion, she watched his head fling backwards, his eyes and mouth wide open in horror and agony, before he instinctively dropped the knife, fell a few steps back then reached for his new injury.

A light flickered in her usually dead eyes.

Adrenaline pumped through her limbs when she turned her attention to the now discarded butcher knife, which she mysteriously found herself holding a few seconds later. Limping towards her husband, who was too distracted with trying to remove the buried wedge, Amber remembered everything he had done to her.

Every last thing.

Tears leaked from her wild-looking eyes when she gritted her teeth then cried out in an animalistic, guttural sound that reverberated within the walls of her house and made him look up at her in confusion and fear.

Throwing herself forward, she raised the weapon high above her head and did what he couldn't.

She finished it.

Closing her eyes, Amber’s breathing hitched and her heart pounded in her chest.

Love.

Marriage.

And death.

Letting out a strained moan, she then stopped stirring the spoon and looked down at her shaking hands. She didn’t even bother to clean up after herself so the blood had already seeped into her crevices and nails, becoming one with her. Her face and her neck, as well as the baggy sweatpants, loose yellow shirt and dark brown jacket also held traces of what was sure to be a bloody crime scene. Stringy, damp pieces of her already red hair contained dried crimson patches that just added to the effect.

The Red Lady, she thought. That’s what they’ll call me...

The bartender didn’t know what to make of her when she entered his establishment a few hours ago.

He only let her in because of their shared past history—where she would constantly have to hear about his opinions concerning her life or the platonic flirting the two regularly engaged in—but apparently, none of that stopped him from calling the cops on her.

She could hear the sirens now.

Loud and blaring as they pulled into the parking lot.

Raising a finger, she touched the spoon then tilted her head to one side, her eyes weary when she heard the door swing open a few minutes later, but she didn’t move to stand or turn around. She just kept poking at the utensil in abandoned thought.

Soon, a female cop stood beside her, her movements careful.

She didn’t have a gun in her hands, which surprised her.

“Amber Stapleton?”

The redhead nodded slowly.

The woman looked at her profile, taking in every detail of her languid expression, her clothes and her body language. “Do you mind if I have a word with you?”

Amber shrugged her shoulders. “Have a seat,” she said lowly, her voice hoarse.

And she did. After adjusting her belt, the cop looked at the door then moved over to the opposite side of the booth where she sat down softly.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“I have a vague idea.”

“Do you know a Christopher Stapleton?”

“I used to.”

Meeting her watchful eyes, Amber shrugged again before her eyes suddenly flickered. “Tell me,” she began, not in the mood to play pretend anymore. “How’s my husband doing?”

The cop spared a glance over to her partners, who were still standing by the front entrance, escorting the employees and how-ever-many-customers-there-were outside. Their faces were the picture of authority and business, unlike the woman who, beneath heavily contoured brows, wore a neutral expression.

She also had kind eyes.

Amber smiled.

She was glad that she was talking to her.

She has enough problems with men as it is.

Or did.

Under the redhead’s gaze, the cop blinked rapidly before falling back into a masked expression. She observed the state of the prime suspect again, but slowly, taking in her wrinkled and bloody attire before returning to meet the young woman’s piercing, but calm, eyes.

“Why don’t we take a trip down to the station and you can tell me all about how he’s doing?”

Amber scoffed lightly before returning her attention to her cup. “Did you know him?”

“Pardon?”

“Did...you...know...my...husband?”

The cop shook her head.

“Well, then,” Amber said lowly. “You were lucky.”

“Why do you say that?”

The battered woman looked at her fully. Her lashes fluttered when her eyes began to well up and she could feel her body begin to seize when two important images began floating around in her mind. Her wedding day and the bloody mess she left in her once beautiful house. “Because you’re alive in ways I’ll never be again...”

The other woman swallowed hard but she never wavered. She was fixated on the redhead before her and it was because of her words that she began looking at her differently; looking at her and the situation deeper.

She soon noticed a few things that she didn’t the first or second time.

Bruises on her neck and around her hairline…

Twitchy and afraid eyes…

A semi-busted lip…

A frail form...

The cop shook her head and cursed silently before slowly leaning in, her attention moving back to the redhead’s eyes.

“How do you feel?” she asked, a small frown pulling the corners of her mouth down. “How do you feel knowing that he’s gone forever?”

Taken aback, Amber blinked rapidly, her mind twirling. “I feel…” she began, the perfect description coming to her a heartbeat later. “...Free. I feel free.”

She then smiled widely, a bout of laughter tickling the back of her throat at the absurdity of it all.

Love.

Despair.

And finally, murder.

Knowing that it was time, the cop considered her for another moment then gave her a small sad smile before standing up and moving over to her side, a hand reaching for her handcuffs.

As the pair walked towards the door, the male officers glared at Amber, eyeing her from her red hair to her bloodied outfit to her scuffed and crimson splattered shoes, but she didn’t care.

She was free.