by Nick Osaada

Created on: December 28, 2008

Claire sipped her coffee slowly as the sun rose over the mountains. A poet might have noticed how the rosy rays infused the cherry wood of her patio table with a golden depth and the bare, February trees with a tentative suggestion of future growth-but for Claire there was nothing at all beautiful about the sunrise.

5:45. Perry'll be up in another couple of minutes. Savor your freedom while you can.

Someone cleared his throat and Claire's hand jerked, sloshing some of the remaining coffee onto the table.

Perry sauntered over to sit opposite her with an amused chuckle. "Saw you out the window, sittin' here all by yer lonesome." His blue eyesthey were once so kind and beautifulpeered craftily at her from beneath his bushy black brows. "Couldn't help wonderin' if p'raps you were lookin' for some company. Up so early an' all."

Claire smiled weakly. "It's nice of you to come out here, honey."

The tall man's face darkened. "Don't be takin' that tone with me, sugar. I know yer just out here to think about stuff you won't share with me. Stuff you've been keepin' secret. You know how I hate secrets, Claire."

Claire shifted uncomfortably. "For the last time, Perry, I'm not keeping anything from you. You know what Dr. Segal said about your paranoia."

Linda, Linda, Linda screamed the voice in her mind. She grimaced. Shut up.

Perry frowned even more deeply. He was assuming what Claire privately thought of as his Gathering Thunder Look. "I don't give a damn about what some quack thinks about our marriage, and you know it! He can speak in all the fancy university words he wants, but I'm the one married to you two years, and I'm the one who's gonna say if yer keeping something from me or not, and dammit"

He pounded the table, and several cracks spider webbed beneath his fist. "I know you are! Now out with it."

Claire sighed. "I've been inhabited by a she-demon named Linda, and she wants me to kill you."

Perry hit her. She knew he would; he was wearing one of those A-shirts popularly referred to as "wife-beaters," so she supposed it was an inevitability. His hairy fist struck her square above the right eye, and she felt the sharp pain a heartbeat later as the stars exploded inside her head.

She slipped backwards off the bench, her abandoned mug shattering upon the concrete at the same moment that she herself collided with the ground. She tasted blood where she had bit her lip, and her right eye did not seem to be working for the moment.

Perry loomed over her in a heartbeat, and he kicked

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