When Kelly’s husband, homicide detective Bob Martin, starts to pursue a serial killer it soon becomes clear that his new found passion, the one which ignites his sexuality into a raging force is his passion for the kill itself. Her world spirals out of control as she realizes the murders are not the work of an amateur, but of a manipulative, well-organized, and lethal mastermind. What Kelly doesn’t realize, is that Bob is only the tip of the iceberg, for what lies beneath the surface, is more sinister then anything she could have ever envisioned.
“What the hell’s going on, Bob?” I screamed. He didn’t respond. In fact, he didn’t come out of the bathroom for at least an hour.
When Bob finally emerged from the refuge of our bathroom, it was as if nothing had ever happened. He walked over to turn off the television. He then climbed back in the bed where I still lay numbed by the whole scenario. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, almost to the point I thought it would explode.
He didn’t notice my nervousness or he didn’t care. He simply attempted to continue where he’d left off. I resisted until his anger regenerated. Then I unemotionally gave in to his requirements. The man would enjoy making love to a corpse.
A thought ran rapidly through my mind; it lingered there in the shadows. Maybe he did it. Maybe he killed them. Bob had been acting strangely for a while. I was afraid to admit it, so I’d look the other way as a means to discount the notion. But the abuse he dealt me, both physical and mental, increased daily. I had no one to talk to. I always made excuses for his abusiveness, so why would I tell anyone?
After so many years, I had accepted being abused as normal behavior. But there was nothing normal about it. There was nothing normal about me anymore.
