Crooked

It didn't take long for me to regret the decision I'd made. But I was stubborn and there was no going back, not now. My feet stomped hard against the damp ground as I walked, ignoring the cackling voices behind me as they faded into the distance. I would not be treated as a pet anymore, like an animal that could be controlled and punished by others. I would not be forced to perform acts of violence against my will any longer, and I sure as hell was not going to let them make me feel guilty for leaving. It was my choice; the only choice I'd ever made for myself.

The air was cold and biting, and tears stung my cheeks as they seeped out and trailed down my face, despite my efforts to keep them at bay. I'd only gotten a few miles away when I began to miss them; to miss him. He'd always looked out for me, treated me as an equal, and kept me safe from harm. He'd been warm and loving. But that was before.

As I continued to push myself forward through the fierce wind, I reminded myself of what he'd done, of who he'd become. He was no longer the man I knew. He wasn't the person I'd once loved with every fiber of my being, not anymore. The tears came faster, warming my cheeks slightly before chilling them again. I thought my eyes might freeze shut, that icicles would form from my lashes. I was cold down to the bone, but I couldn't stop. I wouldn't. I had to get away from my past.

In the distance, I saw smoke. It rose slowly and twirled through the sky before disappearing into the low, gray clouds. I didn't know if it was a house or a small fire, but I headed toward it anyway. I had no destination to speak of, and my body was desperate for heat.

When the cottage came into view, I glanced around to see that it had no neighbors. A single, tiny cottage sat at the edge of a small creek that ran into a nearby forest. Beyond the forest, I thought I could see a glowing haze of warm sunshine.

I knocked softly on the door and waited. No one came, and I heard no voices beyond it. I knocked again, harder this time, and heard a rustling inside. By instinct, my right hand reached behind me to brush against the handgun which was tucked into the back of my pants. As always, I took a mental inventory of the knife in my right boot, the brass knuckles in my left one, and the tiny dagger in my belt.

A man opened the door, looking confused. He looked older than me, but not by much, with flecks of gray in his hair. His shoulders were broad, his arms muscular.

"So sorry to bother you," I said, "but I've been walking quite a while, and I am so cold. I saw the smoke from your fire." I peeked behind him into the house where I saw a large pot boiling over the fire. My stomach grumbled at the sight of it and I realized then that I was both starving and freezing. How stupid I was to storm off the way I had so late in the day.

"Please," said the man, "come inside."

We sat across from each other at the table, and he gave me a steaming cup of tea and a heavy blanket to wrap around myself. The tiny house was warm and cozy, lit dimly by the fire. The atmosphere caused me to become instantly lethargic. The man served me a bowl of stew from the pot over the fire and I thanked him wholeheartedly.

"Where do you come from?" He asked.

I hesitated. "North," I said. "Near Herring Lake."

"Ah," he nodded, "that is quite far. What brings you this way?"

"Nothing but the desire for a change of scenery."

"I see." He eyed me suspiciously as I ate. Soon I felt warm down to my bones, and I began to sweat. I shed my heavy coat and fleece jacket and carefully kicked off my boots. I leaned back in my chair and enjoyed the feeling of being warm with a full belly, of being able to sit still and relax for a moment.

"Thank you," I said, "for your generosity and hospitality. It's good to know there are still decent people living in the world."

"What kind of man would I be if I left a woman to freeze out in this cold?" He smiled.

The comment, while it wasn't meant to be anything but vague chatter, irritated me. "Would you not have let me in if I were a man?" I was genuinely curious.

"Possibly not," he frowned. "I suppose I'll never know. Maybe I'm not as decent of a person as you say."

I sipped my tea, peering at the man over the rim of the cup. "What's different between a man knocking at your door opposed to a woman?"

"I can't say," he said. "I imagine a man would seem more of a threat. A man wandering alone in this place is suspicious. A woman, however... It's concerning. The cold and the vastness of it all, it's no place for a woman."

"I wonder," I added, "if you had been a woman, if you'd have let me inside."

"I suppose I would."

I smiled. "But if the tables were turned, then; if you were a women and I a man?"

He chuckled. "If I were a woman, I would not feel inclined to invite a strange man into my home. Perhaps I wouldn't have even opened the door. Perhaps I would have hidden, pretended no one was home."

I nodded, setting the teacup on the table. "Women should fear men?"

"No," he said, "but don't they?" The question seemed genuine, which, again, irritated me.

"I'm not afraid of you," I said, grinning as I crossed my arms over my chest. The conversation was intriguing to me. I'd become increasingly interested in the topic and the way this strange man viewed the world, and how his views compared to my own. It had been many years since I'd had a conversation like this one. A conversation that was not made up entirely of the instructions I'd been given and how I was going to carry them out.

"I am glad of that," he said, pouring us more tea. "I am not afraid of you either."

"Because I am a woman?" I grinned.

He laughed heartily. "Perhaps." He raised his mug and I lifted mine to clink against it. I sipped the hot liquid before returning the cup to the table and leaning forward to rest on my elbows. I wasn't ready to drop the subject.

"A woman has just as much potential for treachery as any man, don't you agree?"

"Indeed," he nodded, "but I believe women work in different ways. A woman's ill-doing is typically a mental or emotional manipulation, is it not? And a man, being of much simpler mind, resorts to more physical assault."

"An interesting observation." I leaned back, admiring the man across the table. His face was weathered, half-covered with a thick salt-and-pepper beard. His eyes were bright, but with heavy bags beneath them that made him look tired and much older than he probably was.

"May I ask your name?" He inquired.

I hesitated. I'd been trained, after all, to conceal my identity from strangers, and to give them as little true information as I could. I'd been conditioned not to trust anyone, save for the handful of people I spent my days with over the years. But I was on a new path now, wasn't I? I was intending to lead a new life. And maybe this was the place to start.

"Isabelle," I said. A fake name. I'd have to start somewhere else. "And yours?"

"John," he said. A small twitch at the corner of his mouth and a quick, hardly noticeable diversion of his gaze told me that he, too, was lying.

"Pleasure," I said, extending my hand to shake his across the table. I saw his eyes drift down to our hands, gripping together in a firm handshake. I smirked as his gaze settled on the black mark near my thumb, just above the wrist. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as he stared at it, his eyes widening, his breath stopping short in his chest. Had I dropped a pin at the moment, it would have rung out as it struck the ground, echoing off of the bare walls of the tiny house.

"What's this?" he asked. He looked back up at me and I could see the fear seeping in as he realized what I was.

"Don't be afraid," I said.

The man pulled his hand away from mine and headed for the door, opening it and standing to the side.

"I'll ask you to take your things and go," he said. "Now."

"Please," I replied, "I mean you no harm. I just need a place to rest my head for the night, and I will leave first thing in the morning."

"I'm afraid I can no longer accommodate you, madam. Please be on your way."

I sighed. "It is rather cold out there. And it will soon be dark. What kind of man would you be to throw an innocent woman out into the cold this way?" I felt no remorse at using the man's own words against him. He'd seen the mark and, consequently, had lost all respect for me as a human being. He'd seen it and made his decision about the kind of person I was and the things I was capable of.

"Innocent?" His voice came almost as a whisper. "That mark on your hand proves that you are no innocent woman. Now please, leave my home immediately."

We stared at each other, a tense silence filling the cabin around us, only broken by the whipping wind outside the open door.

"Go," he pleaded.

"I will not." If I left then, I would freeze to death. I had no idea where the next nearest warm bed would be, and I was not interested in finding out. "What you think I am, what I used to be... is not the person sitting here now. The mark remains, but my insides have changed."

"I do not believe you."

"You don't have to believe me," I said, "but it is the truth. Let me stay and prove it to you."

He shook his head, but closed the door anyway. He said nothing as he crossed the room and pulled another blanket from a shelf above the fireplace. A small cot sat in the corner, and he threw the blanket onto it before gesturing toward me.

"You may sleep there," he grumbled. "Please be gone when I wake." With that he disappeared into the other room and locked the door between us.

Walking for hours through the wind and cold had taken a toll on my body. Wrapped in the warm blanket, my eyelids heavy with exhaustion and my stomach full of food, it took no time at all for me to drift off to sleep. But I wasn't asleep for very long before I felt the man's presence above me.

When I opened my eyes, he was standing over me with a manic look on his face. His hands came down to wrap around my throat, and I let them stay there for a moment as I stared at him. I should let him kill me, I thought. After all, I'd sworn to myself that I would never harm another human being as long as I lived, and I'd have to hurt this man to save myself. But then I remembered our conversation. I remembered what he'd said about women being less threatening than men because they aren't typically physical in nature. I remembered the way he seemed to take advantage of the fact that I was female, assuming that he was the more dominant of the two of us, that he was the dangerous one and I was but a fragile little lady. And I was overcome with the urge to show him just how wrong he was.

My hands wrapped around his wrists and I watched the terror invade his face as I pulled his strong, rough hands off of me rather easily. I pulled my legs up and kicked him hard in the stomach, launching his body across the room. Then, I stood up and approached the man, my body buzzing with adrenaline.

"I was willing to be a decent person," I growled down at him. He cowered against the wall like a rodent and I could feel the rage bubbling inside me. "I would have been gone by morning. I would have folded the blankets and cleaned the dishes before I left. I would have, possibly, left you a polite note. A letter expressing my gratitude, promising to do all that I could to keep you and yours safe if you should ever require my services. I was willing to go peacefully and leave you to live out a normal, happy, healthy life."

"I'm sorry," he said, "you don't understand."

"I do." My voice boomed, rattling the tiny dwelling. "You see, I am no ordinary woman. I can see inside your mind. I know what you have been through, and what you have done. I can see the images that flood your memory; of your family, beaten and broken; of your pain and loneliness. I felt pity for you. I felt guilty for your loss, although I had nothing to do with the murder of your wife, or your children. I felt sorry for you, and I was willing to leave you alone. To simply pass through as any other traveler and be on my way without bringing you any more strife." I knelt down to look into his eyes and continued. "What did I, personally, do to you? Did I offend you? Did I insult you, or hurt you in any way?"

I could see the confusion and disbelief in his expression. He was searching his mind for an answer; how did I know all of those things about him? How could I possibly see the moments he held only inside his own thoughts? "No," he stuttered.

"Then why," I yelled, "would you ever put your hands on me?"

"I– I don't know. The mark. Your people."

"My apologies," I interrupted him, holding up a hand. "I do not require a response to the question. I simply need you to understand that the punishment you are about to receive is a direct consequence of your actions. I, a simple, gentle woman, have done nothing to wrong you. And you thought you had the right to take my life while I lie asleep? How dare you."

"I— I–" the man's eyes welled up with tears, his throat tight.

"Stop sniveling, and meet your death with at least a glimmer of pride, John." I watched his chin quiver as he tried to set his jaw in defiance. "You have lied to me, see, and I know your name is not John, but I do not care. If you'd like to be buried under a stone that reads, simply, here lies the coward John..."

"My name is Michael Twins," he whispered.

"Ah," I nodded. "Here lies Michael Twins, who met his death at the hands of a woman."

Slowly, I pulled the gun from my waist and pointed it at his head, cocking it back before touching the barrel to the bridge of his nose.

"Your final words, please, Michael."

After a deep breath, he muttered, "you proved me wrong, and yet... you proved me right."

I pulled the trigger. As Michael's life left his body, I felt a shudder of unwanted satisfaction. Of course, I didn't have to kill this man. But I did it anyway.

I didn't bury Michael Twins. I didn't immortalize his life or his final words. But I did use his blood to write COWARD across the wall above his lifeless body, so he would always be remembered for what he was.