The front door was closed but unlocked.
She stood at the kitchen sink methodically skinning a large dirty russet. She wasn’t hungry – dinner was two hours ago. No, she wanted him out in the open, out where she could see him.
He thought he was being slick, following her home from the market, staying a safe distance, slinking among the trees. Let’s see if he had the balls to finish the job.
She felt his hands around her neck. Skinny, weak.
Give the man a fighting chance, she thought.
She gripped the vegetable peeler tight.
Hey, at least he tried.
The Weekday One Hundred 