I can barely open one eye and can't move my head at all. Yelling at the visitor to open the door was my last bit of energy. My mouth hangs slack.
From my limited vision, I can see a corner of the coffee table. The rim of my coffee mug just barely visible from my vantage point. Steam still rises from the top.
The gloved hand hovers over my face. The fingers wiggle. A small breeze flutters like tiny kisses on my skin along with the light scent of leather. Normally a pleasant smell, this time, it smells to me of evil. And confusion. The whisper and creak of the leather around the thick fingers is the only thing I can hear.
In my mind, I'm screaming. Why can't I move? My entire body is tight. Muscles like overflexed steel about to snap, but no matter how hard I try, the muscles won't respond to my commands. I'm paralyzed.
The coffee cup is removed from the coffee table.
A voice, thick with satisfaction, from above me. "This worked much more efficiently than I had hoped. I'll have to thank Gustav for his suggestion. It will look exactly like a heart attack. But you wouldn't thank him, would you?"
His face is mere inches from mine. Tilting his head, his face filled with curiosity as he whispers, "Can you really not move?" He pokes a section of my forehead. I know he does because I can see the finger. My head moves, but there's no sensation.
"Your husband asked that I give you a message."
The intruder walked to the kitchen with her mug and returned empty handed. She struggled. Frustrated when her struggles didn't translate into any movement at all. Her vision wavered so she knew there were tears in her eyes though she couldn't feel them on her cheeks.
"He said to tell you. You should have signed the divorce papers."
The intruder walked out of the house. The last thing she heard was the click of the outer door shutting behind him.