8 months ago:

God, it was everywhere! All over her hands, face, cloths even in her mouth. And that sound, what was that God awful sound? It was something between a screech and a laugh. She scrubbed at her hands and arms trying to remove the sticky substance. She cringed as she watch the running water turn a pinkish red color. Shyla looked up into the mirror and felt utter horror. It was her. She was the one making that sound. She stopped and felt her whole world shift as she realized that not only was she covered in his blood, but she was watching herself act like a hysterical fool, both laughing and sobbing, but there was nothing she could do. She had finally reached the breaking point and now there was no going back ever. But part of her didn't want to.

Two hours previously:

Shyla sat quietly in the little bar watching her intended victim drink away his sorrows. She laughed quietly at that thought. Poor fool had no idea that his sorrows were really only beginning and that by the end of the night he would have wished he had never walked into the bar. He was already on his fifth drink and skimming the faces in the crowd for someone familiar to drown his sadness with. Shyla took that as her cue and grabbed her drink while walking over to his table.

"Mind if I join you?" she casually asked.

He barely looked up from his drink as he replied, "Suite yourself." although the words were slurred.

"My names Brook. God, I hate drinking alone." No better time then now to try the small talk.

He laughed although it sounded forced and a little two dry. "Worse things then that in life sweetheart."

"Like what?"

"Try coming home to your wife of fifteen years and finding her in bed with your best friend of twenty. Hope they enjoyed it while it lasted." Now there was a morbid statement laced with sarcasm.

The conversation went around like that for what seemed like forever, but was really only about an hour before he was so waited that he was more then grateful when she offered him a ride. He could barely walk let alone give her directions, but his mind was so bogged down from the whiskey that he never questioned the fact that she already knew where she was going. When they finally arrived at their destination she helped him out of the car and to the front door.

"Thanks for the ride." He tried to unlock the door, but dropped his keys instead.

"Let me help you with that" Shyla said as she bent to get them.

"No." he said sharply. "I'm fine."

"I insist." Shyla had her gun in one hand and his keys in the other. "After you." She pushed the door open and followed him inside. She was immediately greeted with a metallic smell and sweat. "Been a busy man haven't you." It was more of a statement then a question. She gradually pushed him further into the house until the were right outside the master bedroom. He hesitated, but she didn't relent.

Shyla liked to think that she was prepared for the scene before her, but she hadn't been. There was blood all over the walls, bed and floor. The man had been shot once in the head and lay still on the bed under red soaked sheets. The rest of the blood belonged to the woman. She had three visible gun shots and many more that Shyla knew where hidden beneath the gore. It was obvious that he had attacked her in the bed and then like a prowling hunter let her scurry around the room looking for an escape as he slowly drained her if her life.

"They had it coming." He croaked out from alcohol induced lungs. "They deserved far worse. I was only repaying them their debt." Shyla had to choke back the bile that was rising in the back of her throat. Then out of nowhere he charged at her. They struggled for the gun and without even knowing she could, shyla fired her gun until there were no more rounds left. He staggered to the ground and lay motionless.

Three hours later:

Shyla removed all evidence of her having ever been in his house. She knew when the cops found the traces of blood in the sink, they would assume that he had washed the blood off of his own hands. They would never find his body and would assume that his blood at the scene would prove that his wife had indeed fought back and that after he realized what he had done he fled. It would be a closed case of an out of control domestic disturbance that led to murder and me ham. Shyla closed the door to his home and drove back to the Center.