Three Pregnancies

Three pregnancies, Katrina thought… three pregnancies for this jerk and three miscarriages. He hardly knows I'm here with that damn computer glued to his lap. All he ever does is sit there and click his life away…god knows who he’s talking to!
Katrina Miller’s last miscarriage occurred over six months before, but the lasting effects of losing her third child were still taking a toll. She’d been unable to get out of bed for over a month after. She wasn’t sick, at least not physically; she just didn’t feel like going to work anymore. Eventually, her boss fired her. It seemed to her that the whole world had gone to shit. She couldn’t trust anyone, except Jim…Jim.
She moved closer to Jim for a quick peek over his shoulder. She managed to see that he’d been reading an email message, but he felt her presence and slammed the lid closed.
"What are you doing?" He shouted. "Spying on me?"
Katrina jumped back a few paces. She tried to think of something to say, but a lump bulged in her throat and words failed her. She turned and slowly and walked into the kitchen without answering. It was almost time for dinner.
            Jim followed her into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her. He knew that his wife had been having a tough time and he felt bad for jumping all over her just because she was curious. He gave her a tight squeeze and kissed the back of her neck. Then he walked to the stove and lifted the lid on one of the pots.
“You need some help Hun?” He asked.
“Nope,” Katrina said; “I’m just boiling some spaghetti for dinner. I already made the sauce this afternoon. You should go wash up.”
Crises averted, Jim left the kitchen with a renewed bounce in his step. He took a shower and changed out of his work clothes. By the time he returned to the kitchen, his plate of spaghetti was waiting for him on the table.
They ate in relative silence. Katrina asked Jim how his day went, but he didn’t like to talk much about work, so the discussion was short-lived. Jim never asked her how her day was…not anymore. He finished his dinner, placed his sauce-stained plate in the sink and retired to the living room, where he planned to spend the rest of the evening playing on his computer and watching the news. Once the kitchen was set to rights, Katrina settled into her usual chair, opened her worn, well read copy of the New Testament, and waited.
The drug that Katrina put in Jim’s food took about an hour to take effect. Katrina began to worry after awhile that she hadn’t used enough of the narcotic. She cast glimpses at her husband over the top of her book, looking to see if he began to look drowsy, or tired in any way. There was no gradual decent into unconsciousness. Jim was wide awake one second, and lying flat on his face in front of his chair the next.
When Jim fell from the chair, the lap-top fell under him; so, Katrina had to maneuver him to the side in order to pry it out. She sat back in her own chair and looked at the computer monitor, her eyes narrowing as she read the message in the trash folder.
It was dark in the bedroom when Jim woke. He strained his eyes to see something in the blackness, then squinted against the light when a single match ignited, casting an ominous glow across Katrina’s face. She lit a candle and set it down on the dresser next to a large, white box. Justin tried to move, but found that he'd been tied to the bed. He tried to pull his arms and legs free, but the bindings were too tight.
"What are you doing, Katrina?"
“Who’s Jessica?” She said. She stood in front of the bed, looking down on him…towering over him.
“What?” Jim said. “What are you talking about?”
“Jessica,” Katrina repeated. “Who is she?”
Jim searched his wife’s face for a sign that she was bluffing, but he couldn’t find one.
“Have you stopped taking your medication again? Hun, you know that the doctor said…”
“Shut up!” Katrina screamed as she brought her fist down between her husband’s open legs. “You don’t get to make this about me…not anymore.” She turned from her tied up, slightly injured husband and walked back to the dresser. She reached into the box and pulled out a severed female's head by its long, black hair and held it out to him.
"You told her that you wanted some head," she said. "Here you go."
She threw Jessica’s head and it landed between her husband's open legs. The terror caught in Jim’s throat…he wanted to scream, but he couldn’t.
“I’ll let you two spend a little time together and then I think that Jessica will deserve a little head herself; don’t you think?”
 As her husband finally managed to find his voice, Jessica Miller walked out of the bedroom where they’d spent many years making love to each other, closed the door behind her, and smiled for the first time in months.