CHAPTER 4 (3.75pp, double spaced, New Times Roman 12point)

On June 23, 2011, I began writing a novel about a woman who starts a film company to trick actors into killing the man responsible for the deaths of her husband and children.


CHAPTER 4

The phone rang just as she finished putting on her coat. She rolled her eyes at Tom, smiling at the same time. He winked at her.

"This better be important," she said when she picked up the phone.

"I need to see the tape tonight," Gerald said, "Or the deal's off."

Laughing she said, "Okay, okay. Give me half an hour."

"It's okay, babe," Tom said, his body already pressed behind her, his lips on her neck, "I think the girls and I can survive a little while without you. But no complaints if you don't like what I order for you."

"Oh, you!" she said, "Don't you dare order the duck! I hate duck!"

Twisting her body around to face him, she put her arms around his neck and engaged him in a long kiss. Only Penny's twill reminded them that they weren't alone.

Turning her head to look at Penny, Trina said, "There are children in the room!"

Kirk giggled at that. Laughing, she disentangled from Tom.

"Okay, little monsters," Tom said, "We're going to beat mommy to the restaurant. And for an extra treat, you're going to get dessert!"

Penny and Kirk started squealing, while Trina stood with her mouth agape. To get her giggling, Tom reached down and swung Trina in a helicopter. Helen watched it all, never realizing how fragile her family was.

But she was also looking in. No matter how many times she tried to stop it, she saw herself go out the door in her car and her husband and children in his car. She watched herself turn left on the street instead of right like her husband did. Then she faced them all, burned and bloodied.

"No!" Mrs. H screamed, "No!

Her face was wet when she shivered awake, still saying, "No."

Moaning, she clutched her sheets until she could breathe again. Rubbing her face with the back of her hand, she got shakily out of bed.

Some nights it was easier to sleep. Other times she needed to light the candles.

Wrapping the sheet around her, she sat on the couch. While she tried to hold on to the good memories of her family, she always returned to the night of the car accident, which only fueled her anger at the man responsible for their deaths.

Curling her hand into a fist, she banged it against the couch. *I will make you pay*, she thought, *no matter what the cost*. Gritting her teeth, she punched the seats, then she grabbed the frame and threw it across the room.

Enraged she screamed, running over to the broken glass, crying. Carefully taking the photo out, she pulled out an extra frame from under the TV stand, cleaned up the broken glass, and inserted the photo in the new frame, her hands shaking.

She didn't notice her finger stinging until she returned to the couch. Glancing down she saw a thin trickle of blood. Sucking on her finger, she looked back at the photo, curling on the couch and falling asleep.