I tell everyone David and I are happy. We are, for the most part, and saying otherwise feels dramatic. We met in college, and we’ve stayed together since. We don’t really fight. There are squabbles about how he tracks in mud when he comes in from gardening, but that’s usually the worst of it. We have sex at least once a week. Nothing particularly kinky, but it gets us both where we need to go. We still go on date nights on special occasions. We both work from home, which at least means we’re using the huge house he insisted on buying a year after we got married. He makes more than me, so fair enough. Everything is pretty alright. I can’t really say otherwise.
David had convinced me to move from the city we had met down to the county. He said it was because the prices were so low. In his view, we escaped the constantly loud, cramped apartment we shared for a long winding driveway leading down to an old two story brick house. The age was less obvious with all the renovations we had done by now, but something about these places lingers regardless of how new you can get the outside to look. There was some life in the small Midwestern town he tucked me away in, but you couldn’t tell it past the turn down our driveway. It was like discovering a fairy clearing in the middle of the forest. The ivy was a constant battle, winding up any walls it could find. When I first saw the place, the sprawling garden had been neglected by the previous tenant, but its former glory was still obvious if you had an eye for potential. David did.
I was hesitant. Being able to walk to a coffee shop or convenience store whenever I felt like it was worth the constant humming that came with the city. He told me it’s the best we’d get for the price, and he loved the idea of getting the best we can with the money he had saved. Once, after we had had way too much to drink after date night, he admitted that he mostly just loved the idea of having a space for his own little realm to do whatever he wanted with. He told me he felt like everyone had always chosen everything for him. Until me, anyway.
I chose David because he was kind. He was also funny. Most of all, he was stable. Nothing in my life had ever been really stable, so when the tall, blue-eyed boy in my coding class starting looking at me a little too long and laughing a little too hard at my bad jokes during our study group sessions, I pretended to be a little bit more clueless than I may have actually been. We started to meet up one on one for a little extra help. He was patient. He spent hours explaining things to me, never condescending nor frustrated. In comparison with the constant yelling that filled my life before I managed to make my way into college, he seemed like an anchor.
I broke up with my high school boyfriend the week after meeting Dave. Nothing had actually happened yet, but I wasn’t stupid, and I didn’t want any reminders of the shithole part of the city I managed to crawl out of. I may be a scholarship kid, but I didn’t want to feel like one for the rest of my life. When he finally asked me out, more nervous than I had ever seen him before or since, I decided to never look back. My family didn’t come to the wedding. That was alright with me. If his consistency drew me in because of how I grew up, I was the opposite. In comparison to his parent’s high expectations and upper middle class glamor, my chaos felt free to him, I guess. He was always measuring up to everyone’s expectations, don’t get me wrong. He loved botany, but still went into IT just like his dad had wanted. He was good with tech, and it made his family happy. He wanted to go to a different university, but him being a legacy student was too important to his parents. I was the curveball.
“You make everything feel like an adventure, Maria.”
I wasn’t going to correct him.
It didn’t take long to get where we were. We only dated for a year before making everything official, just long enough to graduate and get a little more comfortable. He never seemed to question that I was the one, and I didn’t want to shatter whatever was happening by questioning why that was.
“Comfortable” is both the best thing about us and the worst. It’s been 4 years together now, around 3 married. Almost every day started to feel exactly the same. Get up, make a pot of coffee because I wake up easier than he does, and then log into work. I do most of the daily cleaning after work since I work shorter hours as a virtual assistant, then we sit together on the couch once he wraps up his stuff. Sometimes we play on our phones, sometimes we watch a movie. I hardly remember which most of the time. I could guess what he’s doing with 99% accuracy in any given time, his general schedule burned into my brain just as much as I knew my ABC’s. I love him, but I have no fucking clue how he considers this in adventure. More than I care to admit, I catch myself imagining what else I could’ve done if I hadn’t said yes without much thought.
We had everything I thought I wanted now. Our house was a cottage core dream. I had a husband who adored me. We even have a little dachshund named Rudy that his mom got us as a wedding present.
Regardless of how ashamed I felt acknowledging it, I was so incredibly bored.
I guess I was the one who started David’s night runs if you really think about it. I recently joined a spin class in town after realizing it’s been years since I was close with anyone local, and it had actually managed to score myself a fair amount of new friends. Dave and I didn’t have kids like most, but it turns out complaining about whatever tedious little thing comes to mind over a glass of wine is pretty universal. Katie, a stay at home mom who seemed to have everything together, welcomed me into the fold. Lynn, Sarah, and Kylie weren’t far behind. I found myself in town more than I had ever bothered before. My new friends were all bottle blondes who were a little too into Scentsy, but they were sweet, and most of all, they still knew how to have fun. A few of our movie nights were replaced with classes, a night at Katie’s, or anything else, really.
David started to notice my absence as I grew closer with my new friends. Very few of his hobbies included going anywhere. He had his flowers and tomatoes, of course. We both worked from home, and he would video chat with friends back home. He had yet to really venture out of our property for more than groceries, going to the local Olive Garden when he felt like being “fancy,” or the occasional hunting trip. He had bought a few acres of woods behind the house, so even the deer didn’t always mean leaving. He had two hunting friends he met in online Facebook groups, but that was about it. Sometimes we’d have those guys over for dinner, but I couldn’t really relate to anything they were talking about, even more so than when the girls were bragging about something their kids did this week. Hell, I can at least appreciate that little Mykenzie learned how to swim, but my brain would not let me care about what pheromones are best to get a deer horny enough to get shot or however that works.
I had only ever owned a gun since we moved and he started a little collection he displayed in his office. Sometimes it felt like my husband had decided to go all out cosplaying as a “country boy.” He bought a truck we never would’ve had in the city. We still have yet to haul anything, and the gas mileage is abysmal. He suddenly decided to get really into beer despite never liking it before. The small shed near the back of the yard still looked like a little troll could live in it, but it did keep all his newfound hobbies contained to one area, at least, and that suited both of us. I was glad he had Mike and Carl to talk to, but I couldn’t hold a conversation with them beyond the weather, so I’d go hide with a book after we ate when they came over for dinner. David said he missed me, but wouldn’t come with me on my nights out, so he couldn’t miss me that much.
I lost about 30 pounds faster than I noticed, and he started to find it. Even Rudy had gained a few pounds since I was home less. I don’t think Dave knows how much food to put in his food bowl since it was always me doing it, and my explanation didn’t seem to help. Between him losing some stamina and me staying out later, we started sleeping together less and less. He didn’t actively complain when I’d turn him down, but the silence afterwards made it obvious that this wasn’t what he imagined when he wanted to get away from the city. I felt bad. It wasn’t his fault that I was getting bored, and I did decide to move here with him even if it wasn’t my first choice. I wanted stability. He’s more than delivered. Hell, I was even starting to kind of like it here.
In sickness and in health, like we had said.
We started taking Rudy for walks together, and honestly, it was nice. I suggested it, of course. I told Dave we needed to spice things up by being a little more active, but I don’t think I expected it to work as well as it did. There was a small forest behind our garage, and after a few weeks, we had a steady trail. We didn’t talk much during them, just listened to the sounds of nature that had always been drowned out before. Frogs, birds, crickets, and whatever else. Dave had started being able to tell me what bird species were around based on their mating calls, which was at least kind of fun. He could mimic quite a few well enough to impress me, and some would make Rudy go wild, suspiciously trying to find the bird who dared to come so close to him.
Rudy was always Dave’s dog more than mine. He is a content little black and brown wiener dog, and even though I find myself being the one to usually feed him and take him out, he was usually to be found on or next to Dave. Even his coworkers knew Rudy because of how often he’d be sitting in my husband’s lap during zoom meetings. I don’t think his coworkers know MY name, to be honest. It was nice to do something with all three of us, like we were a proper family. We started holding hands more as the path became ingrained in us like a drive home from work, and that led to more touching in general.
Dave started talking Rudy out to walk without me after a while. He told me that the calmness of the swaying trees made him feel what he had been chasing by moving out here. Dave started walking without Rudy sometimes too. The dog being so long with stubby little legs wasn’t really conducive to especially strenuous hikes, and Dave told me that he didn’t want to hold back on account of that. I think he didn’t want to tell me I was holding him back too. I didn’t stop the spin classes on account of a little hiking, and, being about a foot shorter than him, my own stubby legs were tired when I let him set the pace.
He was so comfortable that he started going for walks at night. Sometimes he’d be gone for hours, which is when I started to worry. I don’t care if you’re a 6’4” man like David, there is danger in sprawling woods after dark. He promised that he was mostly staying on our property, and he knew all the landmarks around anyway. I guess my warning of bears finally got him a bit paranoid because he came back winded and nervous after apparently hearing “movement” in the underbrush. He wouldn’t or couldn’t describe it better than that, but if what was probably a raccoon would get him to take me seriously, I’ll take the opportunity. The small handgun he had in his collection became part of his little ritual, and I decided to stop arguing with him about it. He was losing the weight he put on, and his newfound energy helped the lull we had hit in the bedroom. Between the extra time in the sun trying to create a new type of rose and the walks with Rudy, he had a great tan to compliment the newfound muscle definition…Why mess with that?
I got my answer soon enough.
I had gone out with the girls for the night, and by the time they dropped me off, my drunk ass was fully prepared to go wake him up to make good use of our recently improved bodies. Our bedroom is upstairs, and there is no way it will be much of a surprise by the time I make my way up there. I am not a subtle drunk, and the creaking was loud even to my dulled senses.
He isn’t in bed. Hell, I made the bed this morning, and it looks completely untouched.
Wait, what? I look over to the clock on his nightstand and it’s 3:26am. He may walk late, but never this late. Any horny feelings are replaced with a dull dread. More than I should’ve been feeling, really. He’s been taking the gun, and he should have his cellphone, but does he even have reception if he’s out there far enough? He would’ve texted me. He always lets me know whatever he’s doing, which is one of the things I love about him even when it’s something silly like “I’m picking up McDonald’s, I know you had a long day and I don’t feel like making dinner either.” This is not silly.
I text him “where are you” and it won’t deliver. The world is spinning a bit, but it’s not because of the wine anymore.
I hear a whining, and I come back to reality enough to realize Rudy has been staring up at me with his big brown eyes, looking at me for an answer. He doesn’t seem to know where Dave is either.
I think about calling the cops, but I don’t think they’d even bother coming down at this point. Your husband being a few hours late is probably not an emergency to them, and I doubt being drunk would help them take a semi-hysterical woman in her 20’s seriously.
I call Katie instead. She really tries to be helpful, but other than a generic “husbands are weird sometimes, go to bed and if he’s still gone in the morning we’ll figure it out” she has nothing for me. She said I don’t even know if he’s really outside and he could be out with Mike, even, but that damned truck is still parked outside, and, even if it wasn’t, I know him too well for that. I think about going out there myself, but stumbling around in the woods drunk sounds like the opposite of helpful right now. Instead, I walk down the stairs on autopilot, and curl up with Rudy on the couch for as long as I can stay up. All I can do is wait. The feeling is unfamiliar, even through the numbness of panic. He is never late.
I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I do glance at the smart tv screen and see that it’s almost 7 when I jerk my head up to the sound of Dave bursting through the front door.
“What the fuck-“ I start before actually getting a look at him. There are rusty stains on his white tee shirt, and matted up in his curly blonde hair. It barely even looks blonde on the right side of him, more auburn than anything else. Thin, shallow cuts are randomly criss-crossing his arms, with a deeper, jagged one still lightly bleeding under his cheekbone. He’s missing a fucking running shoe. I yank my gaze back up to his face, still in shock, and see his semi-focused blue eyes. I’ve seen that look before, but not on him. I recognize that look from the last time I ever talked to my father. He was on the tail end of an especially bad bender, and I remember thinking he was too far gone to keep arguing with anymore. He looked feral.
There was silence. Then the air came back into the room, and I realized I was crying. Rudy let out a low growl.
“What even happened,” I finally choked out.
“What?” he started, cocking his head sarcastically. “I thought you wanted to spice things up.” The look on my face must have spoken better than I could, because he immediately backed off once we made eye contact. “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispered, “You were right. It’s not completely safe out there. Something big, but not a bear, and I don’t think it was a bobcat. I don’t really know what. I lost my phone once it hit, and I couldn’t find the other flashlight.” He paused, scanning my face, before adding “I was out pretty deep.”
“Did you shoot it? What do you mean you don’t know what it was? We need to go to the hospital-“ I spilled out before he interrupted me.
“I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. I tried to shoot it, but I don’t know if I hit it or not. Either way, I’m back now,” he says flatly.
“Obviously it’s important that you made it back, but is that blood or mud? You’re hurt. I’ll drive, please just get in the car.”
His face twisted up into a half grimace. “Let me take a shower and we’ll go from there. I’m fine. I promise. Get a little more sleep, you look exhausted.”
Everything in me wanted to argue, maybe even yell at him, but he looked like shit and I knew his matted up hair couldn’t be comfortable.
“We’ll talk later, Maria. Love you,” he adds, noticing my eyebrows trying to reach my hairline. As an afterthought, he reaches out and caresses my shoulder lightly, his skin feeling way too hot. I have to force myself not to recoil at the sensation.
He pops off his singular shoe and throws it in the basket I keep by the front door, then walks up the stairs without another word, limping slightly. I have a million questions, but I guess they’ll have to wait. Rudy grumbles, still next to me, and I realize that he hasn’t trotted off with Dave like he would’ve done any other time.
Great. Even the dog knows that something is extremely wrong with my husband. Dave had literally never raised his voice at me, and here he is shutting me down.
He’s sort of right in some ways, though. I barely had any sleep, and even if I hadn’t spent all night terrified, I have a horrific Sunday morning hangover that I hadn’t noticed until now. I briefly considered trudging up the stairs to lay down, but the bathroom is connected to our master bedroom, and I don’t want to deal with bizzaro-Dave while I’m trying to calm down. Rudy seemed to agree, whining in the direction of the stairs.
“Shhhhh, everything is gonna be okay, little dude,” I whisper to him, but I’m mostly talking to myself.
It’s the afternoon before I open my eyes again. The sense of dread takes a few seconds to return, but it’s still definitely there. Katie had texted me to check if he came home. I just message back a simple “yes.” Either way, I can’t ignore this forever.
“Might as well be fully awake if I have to deal with this,” I complain to myself. Rudy must’ve gotten bored during the nap; he’s scurried off somewhere. Probably with Dave. I walk into the kitchen for coffee without looking where I’m going, and almost slam my face into his chest. I let out a little shriek in surprise, and when I look up, he looks amused.
David had changed out of his ruined clothes and into flannel pajama pants and a band tee. That was the first charge I noticed. The second was more subtle, but once I realized what was off, I couldn’t stop staring The bloody cut on his face wasn’t there anymore. At all. Not even a hint of a pink line was there. I look at his arms and realize not even the thin stripes are there anymore. Unless I had just slept for a week without interruption, that wouldn’t be possible.
“I thought you were bleeding,” I manage, but it feels like a massive understatement now that I’ve said it out loud.
“I told you I was fine,” he smiled. “Are you sure?” he asked, a hint of amusement barely audible in his tone. “You had just woken up and I know you were freaked out.”
I mean, yeah, I was sure, but either the alcohol and panic attack had caught up with me or my husband suddenly developed the ability to magically regenerate multiple layers of skin in less than 6 hours. One seemed more likely than the other. I frown slightly, and he smiles back at me again.
“Hey. I’m sorry, baby,” he says gently. “I really didn’t mean to scare you like that, but look at me,” he vaguely waves his hands towards himself. “I’m fine. Do you want to go to town and replace my phone with me? I’ll get you better coffee than our shitty little coffee machine will.”
I took him up on it. A part of me is ashamed that I’m pretending like everything is normal, but it might as well be. Other than his shiny new phone and the stained t-shirt I found in the trash, there was no concrete evidence that anything had changed. Dave looked fine. To be honest, he actually looked better. It was hard to point out whatever it was, but he was a little leaner. His jawline was more defined. He felt intense.
The sex we had the night he got home was the roughest he had ever been with me. It was exciting. Trying to sleep after was hard, though. He didn’t break a sweat, but he felt like a space heater. I rolled over and tried to ignore the heat emanating off his body.
It started with the squirrels. It was the middle of the afternoon, a few days after everything happened.
Rudy cocks his head up from his spot next to my desk, and I realize I could hear a man yelling outside. There is nobody around for at least a mile, between the woods and the long driveway, so even though I had never heard the sound before, I had a feeling I knew who it was coming from. As I get closer to our back door, the sound is blaring.
“Dave?” I yell for him, barely overpowering the sound. He stops for a moment, and when I stick my head out the back door, I realize he’s gardening. It’s 3pm on a Tuesday, but I brush it off. I suppose it’s not unheard of for him to get done with a project early, and it clearly isn’t the main problem anyway.
“It’s the fucking squirrels,” he says, livid. “They keep getting into everything and do you have any idea how hard it is to keep them out of here?”
To be honest, no, I don’t, but I still didn’t expect squirrels to be the reason my husband is the angriest I’ve ever seen him. The rabid eyes are back.
“Can I help?” I ask, watching him scan the yard like he’s looking for an enemy sniper.
“No,” he replies back quickly enough to bruise my ego a little bit. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Uhhhh, okay babe, let me know if you need anything,” I say awkwardly, turning back around.
I know he’s been restless since I told him I don’t want him going on his walks for a while, but this was a lot. I try to get back to work. He isn’t yelling anymore, so I manage to get the thought out of my mind for a little while.
That night, I stepped on a mangled squirrel carcass on my way to my car. It’s disgusting, but I guess Rudy is helping with the problem, at least.
I find at least 8 more tiny destroyed squirrel bodies over the course of the next day. Rudy has only managed to catch a bird once, but the walks must’ve made him faster. I feel bad for pausing them, but I had no confirmation that whatever had attacked Dave wasn’t out there still, and I didn’t want to rush anything. Dave had way too much energy and constantly seemed to be pacing, but things had at least felt precariously stable.
David was already complaining that I hadn’t let him go on at least his night walks since he came back. He told me he wouldn’t go as far this time. He would bring better than the little handgun. Nothing was comforting enough to sell me on it.
It turns out that he wasn’t going to wait for my permission anyway. I woke up to the empty bed a few days later. I could see Dave’s flashlight flickering in the tree line. I was pissed, but he was close, and I decided to go down to his office to see if he had at least kept the other promise too.
The handgun from before was in its place, and the other one he liked to brag about was gone. Good enough, I guess. I wasn’t going out there this late to confront him. When I wake up, he’s in bed with me again, smelling faintly of pine.
Rudy has been whining a lot for the last few days, and I was starting to feel like it was my fault. He had been spending all his time with me, running off to go hide when Dave came in the room. If he can go to the trails, I can too. Besides, it was bright out, and this week had given me my own share of nervous energy to burn off.
The trail was extremely quiet, but maybe it was the lack of Dave’s humming or bird calls. He hadn’t come up from his office much at all lately, and I didn’t want to interrupt him with this. Even Rudy was quiet. At about a half mile in, we came across a ripped open raccoon. When we came up on the second, I decided we were turning around. Nothing was making noise out here besides the leaves rustling in the wind and Rudy occasionally letting out a little nervous whine, looking at me for answers.
I wish I had any for him.
When we passed the shed coming back into the yard, a sickly sweet smell hit me in the face, making both the dog and me jerk our heads up in surprise. I made a mental note to bring it up to David once he got off work. When I brought it up over dinner, he interrupted me by flatly telling me he’d fix it.
We made some popcorn and put some shitty reality tv on Netflix. Bad tv did always take our minds off whatever we were stressed out, and the couch was comfortable. I put a blanket between us so I didn’t have to touch his skin directly. Was he always this hot? I decided to sleep on the couch by myself.
The next morning, Dave’s boss called me. “Hi, this is Maria, right?” a man greeted me, sounding worried.
“Uh, yeah, how can I help you?”
“I’m really sorry if this is a bad time, but I looked you up from David’s emergency contacts.”
“Okay?” I say slowly.
“This is his boss. Do you know why David has been out the last two days? He hasn’t answered any calls or emails. I’m putting them in as sick leave, but I really need to know what’s going on. I’m getting worried. He had never been anything less than on time and on top of everything until two weeks ago, and-“ the man rushed through.
“Um.”
He pauses when he hears my tone.
“Yeah. Sorry,” I say quietly. “Dave’s been really sick, I didn’t realize he forgot to call out. I’ll keep you guys updated.”
I know it was rude, but I hung up on him. Until about two minutes ago, I was fully under the impression that David was in his office working.
I creep down there, half expecting to find him, and the whole place looks completely untouched from the last time I had checked on the room. There’s even the same exact dirty plate from days ago.
The same dread from the night he went missing fills me again, but it isn’t dull this time. I turn on my heel to go look for him, but, almost on a whim, turn back around and grab the little pistol. It’s loaded, and Dave had made me practice shooting a few times when he first got it. After seeing the raccoons, I’m staying safer this time. I stuff it into the back pocket of my pants.
I think to myself that I shouldn’t let Rudy come either, but I realize I haven’t seen him today. He has still been hiding every time Dave is around. That’s best for now. I don’t have to worry about him getting out trying to follow me.
That goddamn truck is still in the driveway, and I immediately run to the tree line the second I realize it. There’s only one place he always is if he’s not in the house.
I don’t remember running that fast, but it hits me that the forest air I’d usually smell once stepping on the trail doesn’t smell like forest air. An undercurrent of sickly sweet rot has started to overpower everything. I look down and realize there’s dead raccoons about every five feet. I almost throw up at the sight.
It occurs to me, even with my brain muddled by panic and completely overwhelmed with a raccoon massacre, that I smelled this recently. I spin around to look behind me, and, even in the daylight, I can see the fluorescent lights on in the shed.
There is, in fact, a second place he could be if he’s not in the house.
The shed is unlocked, and he doesn’t stop me from opening it. I do throw up at the smell this time, vomit hitting the torn up concrete floor that used to be gunmetal gray. It’s the same rust brown that was on his white shirt now.
There are small, mangled animals everywhere. I can’t recognize what they all are anymore, but I recognize the crumpled up little dog in the corner. He isn’t torn up like the others.
I can recognize now that a lot of the damage looks like bite marks. I can recognize my husband’s crying face looking down at me, despite his eyes reflecting the light in a way that doesn’t look quite human. He’s always been tall, but I don’t think he was ever this tall. He steps towards me.
“Maria, I’m scared. I didn’t mean to,” he almost whispers. He paused before adding, “I’m so sorry.” I reach up to touch the same cheek I had touched countless times, blonde stubble prickling me. His skin burns me, leaving a numb sensation on my fingertips. Now that I can see him clearly, there are still specs of blood on him. It doesn’t matter. In this moment, his big blue eyes, even bluer against his bloodshot sclera, still remind me of a lost little boy.
“I need help, Maria,” he pleads with me quietly.
With one hand, I lightly wipe away a tear that had escaped his watering eyes. With the other, I reach into my back pocket.
I’ve rerun that moment over and over in my mind so many times now that it feels more like a movie than anything connected to me. I tell myself that it was to protect everyone: myself, and even him in a way. It would be wrong to say what I saw in the shed was the man I knew, and he would’ve only lost more of himself. I tell myself that it was self defense, even if he wasn’t actively hurting me at the moment. He loved Rudy. If he could do that to him, what could he have done to me? I tell myself the relief I felt was because the danger was finally over.
I don’t think about the alternative.
David went missing after he went on another one of his night runs. Nobody really questioned it. His hunting friends told the police that he was acting erratically lately, and his boss explained that his high work performance had suddenly and drastically nose dived. Mental illness was whispered about; manic episodes or late onset whatever. The girls told me to not lose hope. It’s not unheard of for someone going through a breakdown to suddenly run away only to reappear once they come out of it. I pretend I don’t see the look on their faces. He had guns. Two were missing. The search parties, police and otherwise, checked the area, of course, but he knew the woods well and finding a quiet spot that nobody would find for a good long while wouldn’t be hard. Everyone felt bad for me, even though nobody wanted to acknowledge it to my face. Everyone thought Dave and I were happy.
It’s been several months now. I expanded our garden quite a lot. Some of the blisters I got from all the digging have scarred, leaving small, angry lines on my palms and some fingers, but I’m the only one who has noticed. The flowers are growing better than they ever have. I think he’d be proud that he’s still a part of that.