RBT

 By Tifany Tay Jing Wen    

       The man looked around his two-bedroom flat, there was nothing much to see; it was so tiny that a doll’s-house would not be a bad analogy for it.   The inside was no better, a cluttered mess of unwanted garbage.  The paint on the walls was peeling, dust bunnies gathered under the bed; dirty clothing strewn across it, unwashed dishes heaped in the sink and holey shoes dotted the floor.  Not to mention the uncountable amount of useless trash.  A typical bachelor flat.      

       “This is probably why people jump into marriage so early,” 27-year old Richard Taylor grumbled to himself.  Heaving a sigh, he got up and trudged off to get dressed.  Richard could not help but feel a twinge of satisfaction as he surveyed himself in front of the grimy glass in the mirror.  After brushing his hair and donning a decent suit, the only decent one he had, he actually looked tolerably respectable.

        Flying down the steps, two at a time, he strode up to a second-hand car which looked like it belonged to a museum dedicated to obsolete technologies.  It was 13 April, his daughter’s fifth birthday.  He was going to see his little Donna again; that thought brightened his face considerably.  Then remembering Vera, his ex-wife, his expression darkened. 

       Richard, then only 21, had met Vera Wong at college overseas when she was only 18.  It was a mandatory love-at-first-sight occurrence.  After only three months of dating, Richard’s proposal was accepted.  A shotgun marriage which both parties soon regretted bitterly.  Perhaps it was wrong to say that their marriage had been entirely soured; there had been some sweet moments too.  The two young lovebirds still stared at one another with glazed eyes a year after matrimony; that was when Donna Karan Taylor entered their lives.

       Everything was perfect then for young Richard: a loving wife, an adorable daughter and a stable job at the city bank.  It started slowly at first, a few mild quarrels which soon became heated arguments.  Things turned nasty shortly, even physical.  For the first time, Richard took off his rose-coloured glasses and looked at Vera through proper eyes.  He could see how love had blinded him; the boyish fancy which he had thought was true love.  Sunken into depression, people often shot him curious ‘this man must be mad’ looks when he mumbled unintelligibly to himself in public.

       The car cruised along a deserted highway, bringing him back to the present.  His thoughts flashed back to the last visit, when he tried sneaking in to see Donna again.  His wife flew at him with a broomstick, screaming vulgarities.  His teeth ground together, fists clenched with such intensity that his knuckles turned white.  “I will pay you back for this, I swear I will.” His eyes had flashed, the threat in his voice low and menacing. 

       If looks could kill, Vera would have been killed several times over.  Drawing up at the step of a tiny terrace house, he sucked in a deep breath and got up.  Footsteps echoed audibly on the pavement as he dragged his feet to the door.  It swung open.  “Come on in.”  His ex-wife’s tone was brusque, at least it was better than chasing him out.  She did not offer him anything to eat or drink.  Apparently, she was trying to display the term ‘unwelcome’; at least Donna was happy to see him.  “Daddy!”  She sang, throwing herself into his arms. 

       It was not much of an occasion; just a silent dinner, slightly more lavish than usual.  The coldness of the ex-couple formed an almost visible line between the two of them.  Richard, remembering his previous threat, wondered how he was going to carry it out.  Death would be too easy a road for her, much as he wanted to kill this hated woman.  Taking away what she loved most, that would be the best ploy, except he did not know what to start on. 

       His gaze roved idly around the shabby room, over the dinner of steak and potatoes with gravy.  Inevitably, his eyes would rest on his beloved daughter at intervals.  He did not miss the way Vera looked at the child either.  The motherly love and adoration in her gaze was evident; it was like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time.  A bolt of intuition struck him.  His hand clutched the penknife in his pocket.  He began to plot …  

       Vera was worried.  She could spot that malicious gleam in his eye.  “He must have something up his sleeve, not anything good, that’s for sure.  The way that man looks at me; I swear he wants to kill me.  He must be mad.”  She was not entirely unperceptive either.  Butterflies in her stomach, Vera was unable to control her emotions.  Her heartbeat raced, pounding almost painfully.  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary: she wondered if she was making a mountain out of a molehill.  Her hands, which had been balled up into fists throughout the dinner, relaxed.  Her jaw unclenched, and exhaled a sigh of relief.

       In her anxiety, she realized that she had been holding her bladder.  With an urgent need to release herself, she excused herself to go use the bathroom.  Richard had suggested that they played the traditional game of passing the parcel.  The lights were dimmed to give it an atmospheric effect.  A horribly familiar scream sounded; a bloodcurdling shriek of agony.  Donna!  Vera felt the blood drain her face.  Numbness from the shock left her unmoving and immobile. 

       She finally managed to force her unsteady legs to walk.  A quick shadow slipped around her.  Her pulse quickened and her body froze; the furniture seemed to freeze along with her.  Someone, or something, handed her an object; cold, wet and slimy.  Her left hand, trembling, raised to flick on the light switches.  She gasped.  Donna laid in a pool of blood; limbs twisted in an unnatural way.  Her eyes were wide, bloodshot.  A penknife was driven into her heart. 

       Her ex-husband was nowhere to be seen.  The penknife… Vera’s heart stopped.  It had the initials R.B.T. on it: Richard Brandon Taylor.  Life, love, meaning; it was all over for her.  Remembering for the first time, the object in her hand, she looked down.  A heart-stopping scream broke free from her lips.  Vera’s knees gave way, and she collapsed.  The world turned black.  Her hand was stained with red, blood red.  In her hand, clutched a heart; a human heart.

       Outside the house, someone, or something, lurked in the shadows.  It crowed, a call of triumphant victory.  Then started laughing hysterically; laughing and laughing into the dead of night…