Prologue
Just past two AM, the car pulled into the driveway and lurched to a halt. Right when the windshield wipers stopped, the windshield became opaque from the downpour. Jack was reluctant to get out of the car, but did so quickly and unsteadily on legs that had been at rest for far too long. He walked to the door; hunched forward to keep some of the wet away, fumbled with the keys and let himself in. He had just gotten back from a series of what had probably been the longest and most boring meetings of his life, and was glad to be back home.
He dropped his suitcase and jacket at the door and made his way upstairs, as they promptly made their own small puddle on the tile. He opened the door to the master bedroom and saw, by the dim light of a lamp, his wife sitting on the bed staring blankly at the ceiling. She noticed him, let out a strangely humorous moan and started limping quickly towards him. He chuckled and limped towards her in the same manner, arms outstretched to hug her. "Yeah, I'm tired too. Why'd you stay up so la- Fuck!"
He pushed her off and collapsed against the wall, clutching at his wound. He turned his attention to the absence of flesh on shoulder, which was staining his shirt a bright red, and looked at his wife's mouth, which contained that lost part of him. "Shit! What the hell are you thinking!" She swallowed and got up, reaching for him and moaning louder. He backed out of the doorway and made his way down the stairs, all the while staring at her in disbelief. "No! Not funny! Look at this I'm fucking bleeding all over the place!"
This continued into the kitchen, where he grabbed a knife from the
block. "Piss off or I'll use it! What's wrong with you!"
This didn't seem to deter her at all, and when he could back up no
more, he slashed her in the arm. Much to his surprise, she didn't
seem to notice and made to bite him again. Before he could think, the
knife was in her temple. He stared at her shocked, as she lied there
and stared back at him in an endless gaze. She was dead. Six years of
marriage ended by whatever the hell that was. Probably the most
disturbing part was the lack of blood.
"Crazy bitch."
He hastily dressed his wounds, and went to lie on the couch by the TV. He needed to think of what he was going to do, what he was going to tell the court, how he was going to do in prison. All of these things seemed to lose importance as he drifted off into slumber. Fifteen minutes later, his life ended.
And then it began; only this birth was much different than the first.