Terry's eyes flew open.  Fumbling around on the bedside table in the dark, he grabbed at the shrieking phone.

"Hmmm?"

"Mr. Terrance Marwick?"  The deep voice on the other end of the line was crisp and professional. 

"Mmmm.  Yep.  That's me."

"Mr Marwick, this is Detective Fraser from the City Central Police Station." 

Terry slowly sat up.

"Sir, I need to inform you that a Ms. Carrie Ann Shepard escaped from our custody tonight."

"What?  She's free?"  He clambered out of bed.

"No sir.  I mean, well-- Sir, I've been instructed to inform you that you have absolutely nothing to worry about.  We will be placing your house under twenty-four-hour surveillance.  An unmarked car is currently being despatched to your residence, and we need your permission to station an armed officer inside the house with you.  Sir?  Sir, are you there?"

Terry shook his head.

"No!  I've had enough.  No more!  I won't take this any more.  She will not make me a prisoner in my own home.  She's already destroyed me once, I won't let her do it again." 

Terry threw the phone back down into its cradle and wrenched aside the heavy drapes that covered the window beside the bed.  The room filled with a dull light from the full moon, and the street outside was silent and empty.  Terry knew that before too long, police cars and reporter's vans would be blocking off both ends of the street.  He'd already been the main attraction in that media circus once, and wasn't about to stick around for another showing.

Leaving the drapes open, he grabbed his jeans and t-shirt off the back of a chair and quickly pulled them on. 

He ran through the house, his mind racing.  This was happening all too fast.  There were too many things to do, but first he had to get himself out of there. 

He grabbed the keys off the kitchen counter and skidded to a stop, his eyes drawn like a magnet to an area on the floor in front of his feet.  Moonlight, streaming in through the narrow kitchen window, shone directly across the path he was looking at.

They had tried to hold him back, to shield him from the sight, but he'd struggled past, coming to an abrupt halt, just in front of where she lay. 

Her life's vital liquid, once red and vibrant, had pooled out on the floor around her.  Thin rivulets had oozed into the grout, and trickled across the kitchen; a checkerboard of red against the harsh whiteness of the tiles.

Terry dragged himself away from the memory of five months ago, and headed through to the garage, picking up a few items from a nearby shelf and stowing them in the back of the new sports car.

There was very little traffic on the highway as he headed south, the engine screaming as the speedo climbed to 180.  Regular checks of the rear view mirror showed that nobody was following him as he drove on through the night.

He slowed the car down as he neared a town.  Thin streaks of red caressed the early morning sky like long, thin fingers reaching out toward the new day. 

Red fingers.

Emma.

They had found two of Emma's fingers under the dishwasher, four others lying on the kitchen floor around her.  She must have been trying to reach for the phone when the axe sliced across her hands.  The agony she'd felt would have been overshadowed only by the horror of knowing what was still to come.

Terry steered the car into the small town of Allendale just as the sun made its appearance over the mountain ranges in the distance.  Towards the far end of Main Street, a gaudy red flashing 'vacancy' sign beckoned. 

He collected a key from the sleepy receptionist and made his way to the room.  Once inside he slid the drapes closed, ensuring nobody could see in.

Settling back on the bed, against the faded red headboard, he reached over to check that the phone was in working order, then closed his eyes as exhaustion threatened to overtake him.

He was ready.

They had found the axe lying next to Emma in the blood-splattered kitchen, wiped clean of all prints.  Despite this, the police had enough evidence to pin the murder on Carrie Ann Shepard, the woman who, the police stated in their final report, had been stalking Terry for weeks.  They'd concluded that she had become obsessed with him after they had met at a party, and as a way of ensuring his love she had disposed of the one person who was standing in the way of her ultimate happiness.  Terry's wife, Emma.

The knock on the door resounded throughout the room like a shot.  Terry's heart pounded in his ears as he stood, walked over and slid the deadlock.

Carrie Ann Shepard stood on the doorstep, glancing nervously about.  Her long, curly blonde hair was dishevelled, a result of spending the night on the run.  She turned back towards him and they stood there, looking at each other in silence.  Her large brown eyes had always given her a look of both innocence and surprise, and at that moment her apprehension was all too obvious.

Terry took a step backwards, into the room.  Then he smiled.  Carrie gave a whoop and flew through the door, into his open arms.  He kicked the door closed with his foot and swung her around.

"Oh God, I missed you," Carrie said as she burrowed her head into his neck.  "It's been so long.  Oh Terry, I've missed you so much.  I didn't know how I was going to cope.  Five months.  It's been a lifetime."

"Well, we're together now, my sweet," he said as he kissed her forehead through the mass of curls.  "I'll take care of you now."

She looked up at him, a questioning frown on her face.  "What do we do now?  The police are going to be looking for me.  I can't stay with you.  They'll find me."

He smiled down at her and brushed a large curl off her face.  "Don't you worry your pretty head about it.  I've got it all under control.  Nobody knows I'm here, so we can spend a little time together before you have to leave.  I've got you a passport and a ticket to Australia, and I'll join you there just as soon as it's safe." 

She leaned forward and kissed him, letting her lips linger for a moment before pulling back and smiling at him. 

"I need to use the bathroom."  She kissed him again. 

"Don't be long."

"I'll just be a minute, then I'm all yours." 

The second the bathroom door closed and he could hear the water running in the basin, Terry snatched up the phone, dialled 111 and asked to be put through to the police.

"Police.  What is your emergency?"

"Help me.  Please."

"I'm sorry sir, you'll have to speak up.  I'm having a little trouble hearing you."

"Help me!"  Terry whispered into the phone.  "I'm staying in unit 11 at the Allendale Motel and there's someone outside my room.  She's got an axe!  Oh God, she's trying to get in.  Oh shit, it's her.  The one who killed my wife.  Please, hurry.  No!  No!  Aaahhhh--" 

Terry reached down and pulled the phone out of the wall.  Then he pulled the covers off the bed, and tossed them onto the floor.  Grabbing an axe from his bag, he opened the front door a little and hacked at the wood around the lock.  Closing the door, he wedged a chair under the doorknob, and then perched calmly on the end of the bed, waiting. 

Carrie walked back into the room, smiling seductively. Her smile faltered when she saw the phone lying on the floor, and the bedding strewn around the room. 

Then she saw the axe lying across his lap. 

She bolted for front door, but he was ready.  In two large strides he was directly behind her.  Reaching out, he grabbed a handful of hair and yanked backwards.

Carrie's scream was cut off as her legs flew out from under her and she went down hard, landing on her back.  Air exploded from her lungs, and she lay there, gasping.  Terry stood over her, his face full of contempt.

"You stupid bitch."  He reached down, grabbed a handful of hair and pulled her head around so she was looking up at him.  "You really think we could be together?  I can't believe you could be so naļve."

Carrie's voice was a whisper.  "I th-th-thought you l-l-loved me.  You t-t-told me you l-loved me, Terry." 

"How the hell could I love you?"  Terry barked out a laugh. "You were just stupid enough to fall for everything I said.  Come on, Carrie, all I wanted was freedom from that neurotic cow I was married to.  That, and the insurance money.  You just made my dream a little more achievable, that's all."

Carrie rolled onto her stomach and started to crawl toward the door, her fingers clawing at the carpet.  Terry crouched down, rolled her over and straddled her hips, pinning her hands to the floor with his knees.  He picked up the axe that had dropped to the floor, and slowly drew the sharpened edge down the side of her cheek.  Carrie screamed, wriggled her hands free and lashed out, scratching long red welts down his face.  He pulled back, letting out a hiss of surprise.

"I'm going to make you regret you ever did that," he said.

"You bastard," she whispered.  "You lied to me.  I hope you rot in hell." 

He just stared back at her, his face emotionless.

Carrie watched in silent horror as he pressed his left hand flat on the floor, next to her.  Then he raised the axe above his head with his right hand, and in one fell swoop, brought it down, severing his fingers. 

Beads of sweat ran down his face and his breath came in grunts, as he turned the axe around and slashed at his own chest, cutting through the fabric of his t-shirt until it was soaked through with blood. 

He turned shakily back to her.

"Oh no," she said.  "No, Terry, please.  Just let me go and I'll disappear forever.  Please, Terry?  Please don't hurt me."

Outside in the distance, the sound of sirens grew louder.  Raising the axe again, with his good hand, he swung it downwards, lodging it deep in her stomach.  Carrie's eyes bulged, and she let out a low grunt as the air whooshed from her body.  Blood spurted out of her stomach and mouth. 

He slid backwards off her.  She was still feebly trying to struggle away from him, unaware that the axe was wedged in the floor beneath her.  Wriggling it free, Terry swung it up again, and dropped it down into the middle of her chest. 

Carrie's eyes glazed over and the muscles in her face went slack.

The first blow had landed just below Emma's right shoulder, the force throwing her across the dining table and onto the floor.  Stunned and terrified, she had dragged herself to the kitchen, trying desperately to get away from him and reach the phone on the counter.  She'd managed to pull it down onto the floor in front of her, only to have it slide out of her grasp as the second blow sliced through her right leg.

Terry could hear the sound of feet running towards the room.  Quickly he clenched the axe between his injured hand and his chest, and with his good hand wrapped Carrie's limp fingers around the handle, ensuring a couple of good prints were embedded in the blood. 

Emma had died slowly, he'd made sure of that.  After the first blow he'd watched in amusement as she tried to save herself, her annoying whiny voice constantly begging him to stop. 

The coroner had found seventeen separate axe wounds.  She had been played with, as a cat would with a mouse - each blow dragged out until shock and the immense blood loss took its toll. 

The police pounded on the door. 

Terry pushed himself backwards until he was sitting hard up against the far wall, cradling his bleeding left hand in his lap.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he put his head back and closed his eyes.