Evil Roots
LIAM OPENED HIS EYES AND JOLTED UPWARD AS IF HE’D BEEN ELECTROCUTED. Bridget, standing beside the king-sized bed, shook him like he was a salad that needed more dressing. Liam winced in pain — Bridget wasn’t helping his shoulder arthritis. He looked at his wife: her grey hair blended with the white concrete wall behind her, and her green nightgown — a massive tank top that covered her naked body — blurred against her pale skin as if he were gazing into a kaleidoscope.
Her fury, her hurt, her fear and shame was pure focus. She dug deeper into her legs. The blood began to run down her thighs, soaking through her dress and forming a small puddle in the pew.