Chapter 1

"I'm a nasty piece of work, chief. Ask anybody"

John Constantine.

I hadn't meant to kill him.

Leighton stared at her hands, stained with blood. Slowly the adrenaline faded away and she regained consciousness. November was neither her nor Micheal's sort of month. They fought relentlessly, massive fights about trivial matters that usually ended with Micheal's fist bashing her face in.

Leighton didn't know how long she was curled up with her dead husband's body on her reliving those last few defining moments of her life. The blood stained balls of her hair lay haphazardly on the carpet. Brief flashes of her morning played her mind. Micheal dragged her out of their bed by her hair straight to the kitchen. Muttering dangerously that she didn't get up to prepare him breakfast.

Her head banging against the wooden countertop as he yelled at her, spit flying in her face, she was barely awake but she was screaming for dear life. Micheal had thrown her across every surface of the kitchen yelling profanities at her. Cutlery was strewn across the floor, rattling every time her body came in contact with them. She caught glances at the sink, the dishes from last night sat outside the empty sink.

Micheal had promised that he would take care of it. They had watched a movie last night. Leighton made popcorn after dinner and she curled up next to him and watched a movie. She remembered him coming up behind her while she prepped the dishes, with a gentle hand and a kiss on her shoulder he told her to leave it and go to bed.

The dishes never got done, as she turned to go to bed Micheal had enveloped her into his embrace. Leighton had looked at those dishes and accepted the blows , how he dragged her and slammed her against every surface, because she knew at the end, he would pick her up and everything would be alright. He'll apologize and clean her up, telling her that it will never happen again.

Slice

A roar came after, "Look at me!" Micheal stood over her, there was a gash on her leg where he sliced her calf thinly. He looked murderous, eyes shone pure anger and hatred. His body taunted with stress. His brawny arms that she often took solace in were lethal as she back pedaled away from him grabbing a knife and holding on to it.

Micheal was seething now. Leighton never defended or opposed him, she lay dormant until he got his fill of her, but there she was with the knife in her hand. He stomped over to her with intentions of grabbing her throat. She struggled but with a swift punch to her temple she limply fell to the side and allowed him to lift her off the ground by her throat. His hand made contact with her face. Her head pulled to the side, she felt the full force of it and she got brief flashes of the first slap. Four years ago was the worst. She didn't expect him to be so strong but there was weight and strength enough to stun. Micheal's hand was empty, it was like being hit with a hunk of meat nonetheless and afterward she endured his words of hatred.

Micheal's held on her throat tightened and she looked into his eyes. "You don't get to mess with me today" and he continued to squeeze, "Lazy!' squeeze, she was struggling to breathe her vision was blurring.

Her hands reached up, he was going to kill her. Before neither of them knew it Leighton made a brief reconnaissance and drove the knife into his abdomen. . She expected him to leap to the side and avoid the jab, but no. There was a pause and he stood rigid before he crumpled to his knees with Leighton over him.

"No, no, no, no - what have I done?!" her hands roamed over him to where the knife lay.She tried to apply some pressure knowing it was unpropitious. Her eyes wild with panic. Her nose stuffy, "Micheal? Micheal, please! Answer me!"

"Leighton.." he coughed blood, some spewed on her face and he grabbed her small hands with his, she looked at him. "L-leigh-leighton'

A sick part of her looked at the protuberance from his chest and thought about the shock that would appear in his blue eyes if she reached out and twisted it in his chest. His last moments on this very plane would be the image of the woman he caused so much pain to, twisting the knife that she put there. Exultation.

She cried as she held Micheal's' body, Sobbing big heavy tears as he died in her arms, some were relieved tears, others were for what she did and how it would affect her life but none were directly for him. She messed up her own life by staying with him. She should have left when the first slap hit and the ringing in her ears died down.

There was a loud bang and police officers flooded the apartment. And that's how they found her, clutching Micheal's very dead ghoulish body. It must have looked like a scene out of a badly written Friday the thirteenth movie Leighton in a disarray- chunks of her beautiful black hair missing and scattered the floor, splatters of blood painted the wooden kitchen counters and the windows. Cutlery everywhere, pieces of glass shattered from the cupboards where Micheal bashed her face in.

At some point she stopped slouching over Micheal- her grip didn't loosen but she leaned back and watched the officers in their face- horror stricken as they assessed the scene. Tears streaming down her face. There was no sound but the crunch of the officers' boots as they walked around.

Non- negligent man-slaughter, That's what they're calling it All she felt was abasement as the police officers questioned her. They were in the hospital now. Their movements were palpable as if any moment she'd extemporize a knife and aim for her throat.. Some nurses watched her with pity and offered colloquists but she stayed quiet.

Soon Leighton's father reached. His eyes filled to the brim with fright as he watched down at her. His eyes had more wrinkles there, she noted and also around his mouth. Fine lines that came with aging. His hair hadn't started to fade and thin out though. It was full and thick salt and peppered like. She looked back into his blue eyes. Blue eyes that she never inherited.

"Leighton," Her father crooned softly to her as if she were a child, there were no words. He just watched her with soft eyes. She knew if her mother was here she'd say the situation would have been the sublimity of her life.

But it was her father who had taken her hand and gave her strength as she gave her statement. Giving her a kiss on her forehead every now and again.as she relayed the last couple of years with Micheal with lineaments.

Leighton's father dealt with the legal proceedings, she was numb. She had taken another persons' life. Returning to her and Micheal's abode for clothes, she broke down at the sight of the kitchen and any piece of furniture that Micheal had beaten her on. The place was desolate except for the kitchen, a police officer was there reassessing.

Soon she was on a plane, returning home with her father. She never thought that returning home would have been the holy grail of her life. It was strange, being here after so long. It was the same streets and homes yet everything had moved on in her absence . Fallen leaves littered the sidewalks and she stepped on them with a satisfying crunch.

Finally making a turn onto a street, the familiar building came into view. Her childhood recycled plastic slide came into view. When she was younger her father got a recycled plastic slide, one in the shape of a giant tube that snaked and turned. He fitted it to the wall of her bedroom so she could run up the stairs, into my room and slide down into the backyard. It was so cleverly twisted, and the insulating curtains that tickled. Ma would put drinks on the route up the stairs and often there would be a family picnic mid-day, outside in the day shine and inside when it rained.

Either way the stuffed tigers were invited and the food was wonderful. In every daydream she was back on that slide. It was such constant fun. At bed time she'd close the doors over the entrance, already looking forward to the sunrise and the chance to play all over again. They were the most wonderful childhood memories, all those simple days that seemed to go on forever.

She felt nauseous and guilty. She should have visited more often but it was really hard with Micheal. Going to the grocery was a feat, Micheal constantly accusing her of infidelity, far less for travelling across the country.

The porch light was on, the familiar yellow glow making the house feel warm and inviting. A brand new flower pot to the right of the door was filled with pink and yellow chrysanthemums. Ma always loved chrysanthemums.

Leighton's mother and father had what she would call - an epic love story. Leighton's father was a journalist, naturally he found Leighton's mother on one of his travels. India. They fell in love and had Leighton against her mother's family wishes. Her father always did look at her mother like the only woman in the world.

Growing up Leighton didn't always see eye - to - eye with her mother. Especially as teenagers, her mother constantly reminded her of how privileged she was, and in truth she really was, but what could she do about it except make the best out of it and stand for something. There was also a matter in which she dressed -but again, all parents have that problem.

"Leighton," her father snapped her out of her reverie, "Did you hear what i said? You'll still have your old bedroom" He placed the luggage at the end of the spiralling staircase and looked down at her.

"The man he's from Romania, working here as a 'Human Resource Consultant' I don't know jack shit about it- but it pays well" her father went on and on about how utterly smitten he was with his tenant.

Leighton smiled, she knew her father was a private person that meant that the tenant left him alone and caused no trouble.

Suddenly there was a loud bang at the front door and Leighton grasped her father's hand as the person fumbled with opening the door.

Low and behold Nick Caphrey, her childhood best friend and Lieutenant of the town and his wife Margret getting it on her father's door.