Sarah had been looking forward to this Saturday evening – a rare opportunity to indulge in some much-needed ‘me’ time. After a light dinner, she settled into her oversized armchair in the living room, nursing her second glass of Pinot Noir. The warm glow of the open fire cast flickering shadows on the wall as she scrolled through Netflix, finally stopping on a rom-com that looked promising. Rom-coms were a rare treat. Pete, her husband, always over-ruled them in favour of action-packed, blood-soaked thrillers. In fact, Pete always over-ruled most things, not just in movies but in nearly every aspect of their shared life.
Sarah didn’t feel guilty about enjoying her solitude while Pete was away on a business trip. In fact, she welcomed the reprieve. With him gone for the weekend, she could finally breathe freely, no longer tiptoeing on eggshells when he was around.
As the opening credits rolled, Sarah loved to watch the names of the actors, directors, and others in the ensemble. She found it relaxing, but Pete hated it, always fast forwarding through the slow parts because they were boring.
Her thoughts turned to him, wishing he would stay away more often. Shaking him from her mind Sarah glanced around the room, pleased with her earlier handiwork. She had spent the afternoon styling the new bookshelves, arranging framed photos, high-brow books, and delicate blown-glass sculptures from their Venice trip. She loved the house – a semi-rural haven nestled on two acres of lush land, once part of a dairy farm now sub-divided into “tree-changer” properties for wealthy professionals wanting to escape city life. With the nearest neighbour over 100 meters away, it offered privacy without complete isolation.
Suddenly, her peaceful evening was abruptly shattered by loud, insistent knocking at the door.
Bang, bang, bang!
“Hello? Please help me! Someone’s chasing me!” a frantic voice called out.
Adrenaline surged through Sarah, making her heart race. She froze, gripping the wine glass tightly before setting it down and moving cautiously toward the hallway. Through the semi-opaque glass of the front door, she saw the outline of an agitated figure bathed in the dim porch light.
“Who are you?” Sarah called, trying to steady her voice.
“My name’s Jo,” the woman replied, her voice trembling. “My car broke down outside. A man stopped to help, but he tried to drag me into his car! Please, I need to call the police.”
“Don’t you have a mobile phone?”
“It’s in my bag in the car. When he grabbed me I fought him off and ran here when I saw your light. Please help me, I think he might still be out there!”
Peering through the dimpled glass, Sarah could make out the form of a young woman in her early twenties, her blouse torn and her face pale with terror. Against her better judgment, Sarah unfastened the chain and opened the door, quickly pulling the stranger inside before securing it again.
“Thank you,” Jo gasped, visibly shaking. “I thought I was going to die.”
Sarah’s instincts battled within her – one part urging her to call the police and keep her distance, the other wanting to help this frightened girl. She decided on the latter.
“Come into the kitchen,” Sarah offered, leading Jo down the hallway. “You can use my phone to call the police while I make some tea.”
The young woman followed, glancing around at the elegant decor with wide eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I’m so lucky you were home.”
“Just me tonight,” Sarah replied before realizing her mistake. Why had she revealed she was alone? She cursed her trusting nature but quickly refocused on the task at hand.
The kitchen was Sarah’s pride and joy, a vision of powder-blue cabinetry in the shaker style. A large central island filled the room with its ceramic farmhouse sink and oversized brass fittings. A huge crystal vase of native botanicals and proteas, freshly picked from the garden that morning, stood like a sentry on guard. She handed Jo her phone. “Go ahead and call the police. I’ll put the kettle on.”
Jo nodded, cradling the phone her finger poised to dial. Sarah turned her back to the counter, filling the kettle and rummaging for teacups. A faint noise behind her made her pause.
Spinning around, she saw Jo unlocking the French doors. Before Sarah could react, a large man dressed in black stepped into the room, a gun, metallic hard and black, in his hand.
“What…!” Sarah gasped, but the man moved swiftly, crossing the room in long strides.
The gunshot echoed loudly in the confined space. Sarah’s body jerked violently before crumpling to the floor, blood pooling around her head. Silence enveloped the room.
Jo and the gunman stood over Sarah’s body, watching for signs of life. She didn’t move – her eyes staring lifelessly, unseeingly. He raised the gun to fire again but Jo stopped him.
“No, not again. She doesn’t deserve it,” Jo murmured, her voice tinged with guilt, “she was nice. I actually feel really sorry for her. Not her fault she chose a prick to marry. He didn’t give a crap about wanting her killed for the life insurance.”
“Yea, the guy’s a real piece of work that’s for sure. But when you got some heavy debts like he has, I guess you get pretty desperate. He reckons that insurance he took out on her is his lifeline and it’ll save his bacon.”
“Anyway, don’t go getting soft now,” the man snapped. “We’re here because her husband paid us. And, we’ll get more when the insurance money clears his debts. Let’s get this done and go.”
They worked quickly, staging the scene to resemble a botched burglary. Furniture was overturned, drawers emptied, and jewellery taken. Satisfied with their handiwork, they slipped out the French doors melting into the night’s shadowy darkness.
Minutes passed in eerie silence before Sarah’s fingers twitched. Though gravely injured, she was alive. The bullet had missed vital areas, and her training as a trauma doctor kicked in. Fighting through the haze of pain, Sarah inched her hand toward her smartwatch. Locating the side button, she pressed and held it down. After a short countdown the watch connected to emergency services.
“Emergency services, what’s your location?” a voice crackled.
“Help… I’ve been shot,” Sarah whispered, her voice weak but determined. “My husband paid someone to kill me… for the insurance money.”
“Ok, Mam, we’ve got an ambulance and police on the way. We’re tracing your smart watch to 3148 Old Turnpike Road. They’ll be there as soon as possible. Meanwhile, I’ll stay on the phone with you. My name is Kerry, what’s yours?”
“Sarah, Doctor Sarah Robbins. My husband is Peter Robbins. He’s in insurance.” she gasped before darkness overtook her.
Wow! You do a great job introducing Sarah and creating sympathy for her before the knock on the door shatters her ordinary life. Love the twists with her surviving the gunshot and her clever use of the smartwatch. This could turn into a fantastic thriller!
Thanks, Alan, I really appreciate you taking the time to post your thoughts. Thanks too for giving me an insight into what you got out of my story – yes, there was a bit of research into whether a smartwatch was capable of connecting to emergency services with the push of a button. I figured if my character was a doctor that would be something she would want her smartwatch to be capable of.
Loved how you slowly unraveled the story, the setting, her monologue into a marriage that was already falling apart and all the while building the suspense. Great job.