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right?”
    He stepped back against the wall. “I’ll be waiting, if you need anything.”
    â€œYou might want to check on Cookie.” She pretended to duck her face and blush. “This could take a while.” She rubbed her stomach and tried to look queasy.
    The image of her distressed bodily functions had the desired effect. He fled down the hallway back to Cookie.
    Winnie went into the bathroom, closed the door and discovered she could even lock it. It was not much of a lock, but it would deter him. She could be out the window and running across the backyard before he broke the door open. For the first time, she felt a twinge of hope. She would get out of this. She gave a couple of groans for his benefit as she unlocked the window. The cheap pre-fab metal frame was tight and hard to move. She reached across the toilet and lifted, but it was the wrong angle. Finally, she stood on the toilet seat, bent her knees and pushed with all her strength. The window lifted slowly, butsilently. She flushed the toilet and turned on the faucet all the way. She climbed up onto the toilet seat and punched the screen with both hands. It popped the track and flew into the grass six feet way.
    Winnie hoped he was too busy with his lizard to look out the kitchen window and notice a flying screen. The window was small; she would have to go out headfirst. She pulled herself up onto her stomach on the ledge. The metal was sharp and dug into her stomach, but the air was cool and fresh. She wiggled forward. She braced herself with her hands against the stucco wall. She would fall on her face in the scratchy cactus beneath the window, but she would be free.
    The door broke open. He grabbed her legs. She screamed. He dragged her back into the bathroom. The window frame gouged and scraped her stomach. He fell backwards and her chin hit the toilet as she fell on top of him.
    â€œFucking bitch!”
    Her jaw throbbed. She scrambled to her feet and saw streaks of blood soaking through her shirt. He had his knife out. He swiped at her.
    â€œI hate you!” he cried.
    â€œI hate you too!” she screamed back.
    She pulled the roll of toilet paper from its holder and threw it in his face. She kicked him, connecting with his shin, his knee, whatever was there. He yelled and lunged at her with his knife. She jumped out of the way and tripped over the edge of the bathtub and fell. She grabbed the shower curtain to stop her descent and pulled it down with her. Her head hit the porcelain hard and for one instant she knew she was going. Then she was gone.

5.
    Storm clouds filled his head. Rain collected under his eyelids. He had the flat, small features of a Midwestern farm boy, and he could feel them swelling, growing heavy with the coming thunder.
    â€œWhy me?” he thought. His refrain throughout his life. “Why me?”
    Her fucking husband game show host. Her stupid famous mother. Her easy easy life. The people who had it all never appreciated it. This was going to be harder than he thought. He had planned everything, but he had not expected her to fight. He looked down at her passed out. She was half in the bathtub and half out. He gnawed at his fingernail. He sucked and pulled at the tiny crescent, finally ripping it off. His cuticle bled, his finger pulsed. He started on the next nail—what was left of it. He was going to stop this habit. He was. He tucked his fingers into a fist and slammed it into his thigh.
    He forced himself to grab her and pick her up, slick with sweat, smelly and half-dressed, but she weighed less than a rolled up 5 x 7 rug. He carried her into the back bedroom he had prepared and put her on the single bed. He got the rope and tied her down. He was prepared to do it, but he had not believed he would have to. She would not listen to him and then she fell in the bathroom. It was not his fault. He shifted her to tie the rope and her head flopped to one side and made her neck allwrinkled and