One Step From Madness
Tracy Seeger
"Holy mother of," cried Sheridan, "that'll never come out! And on my new satin stilettos too. Bad dog!" She winced and squeezed her eyes shut, then gently rubbed her thumping head. It was going to be one of those days, she could tell. She had woken up with a particularly wicked Saturday morning hangover, and the last thing she needed was dog mess all over the floor. The smell alone was almost enough to make her throw up.
"I must have been more off my head than I thought when I got home if I didn't let the dog out," she mumbled as she opened one eye and looked at the stains all over the living room carpet, and her new shoes. She sighed. They had cost her $200, and were the most expensive shoes she had ever bought. They had looked so awesome when she tried them on in the store that she just had to have them. Last night was the first time she had worn them, and she knew they had made her look spectacular. Now it looked like they were ruined. Sheridan grabbed her Dalmatian, Smithy, and pushed his nose in the mess.
"Bad dog!" she said again, as forcefully as she could manage, then she dragged him to the back door and banished him from the house for the rest of the morning. As she walked back through the kitchen she clicked on the kettle to make a cup of coffee. While she was waiting for the kettle to boil she gulped down some bottled water, then decided to see exactly how bad the shoes were. She reached out delicately to pick up one of the shoes by the four inch heel, when her hand froze. She slowly pulled her hand back, leaving the shoes where they were, staring at them. Now that she was close up, she could see that under the dog mess was something else.
Blood.
Her new white shoes were covered in dried blood. Sheridan's already dry mouth got even drier, and she sat down on the floor next to the shoes, no longer even noticing the mess all over the carpet. Her head was swimming. How on earth had that happened? She put her head in her hands and desperately tried to remember what had happened the night before. She remembered meeting Rogan, her boyfriend, and her friend Paige and her boyfriend Max at the bar on First Street in San Francisco. They had had a few drinks there, then walked up to the Abbey club on Fifth. She remembered being at the club with the others, but the details were hazy, and she didn't remember leaving. Suddenly she looked up and started checking her body for injuries. There was nothing. No cuts or scrapes, not even any bruises.
"I guess I managed to keep control of myself all night then," she said to herself. But that didn't help explain the blood. She shook her head and slowly stood back up, looking around the room for where she had dropped her cell phone when she came in last night. She found it on the couch with her purse, and was relieved to see it was still charged. Quickly she called up the address book and dialed Rogan. There was no answer. Impatiently she snapped the phone shut and threw it back on the couch. She rubbed her head again, then remembered the coffee she had planned earlier. Trying hard to sort out her fuzzy memories, she made a strong cup of coffee and took a sip. She still couldn't remember much of anything that had happened after they got to the club, and she couldn't help worrying why Rogan wasn't answering his phone. She decided to call Paige to see if her memory was any clearer. Sheridan was just about to hang up when a sleepy voice finally answered.
"Yeah?"
"Paige, it's me," said Sheridan.
"Hey. What's up?" Sheridan could hear Paige fighting her way out of the bed covers.
"Sorry to wake you babe. I just," she paused, "I found something weird here when I got up this morning, and I think it might have something to do with last night, but I can't remember much about what happened after we got to the Abbey."
"Oh," said Paige, yawning. "Well, let me think. Ah, it was a pretty standard evening as far as I can remember. We drank, we danced, we fought off the guys like we always do!" Paige was laughing now.
"Right," said Sheridan, trying to sound lighthearted. "Do you remember if I left before you?"
"Yeah, that's right, you did. I saw you yelling at Rogan about something, then you stormed off and he raced after you. You looked pretty mad."
"Really? Shit."
"You ok Sher?" asked Paige. "What's going on?"
"Oh, you know, probably nothing. My dog crapped all over the carpet during the night, and my head's killing me. Listen, Rogan's not answering his phone. He didn't stay over at Max's did he?"
"Nope, Max is here. He's probably just avoiding you until he's sure you've calmed down if you were as mad at him as you looked when you left last night."
"Yeah, you're probably right. Go back to sleep, I'll call you later."
"Ok. Later girl."
The line clicked off, and Sheridan snapped her phone shut again. A few seconds later she popped it open again and called Rogan's number again. There was still no answer. She tried his cell phone as well, but it went straight to voice mail. Sheridan was starting to get really worried now. She couldn't take her eyes off the shoes laying in the middle of the floor. If she had been mad at Rogan and he had chased after him when she left the club, could she have done something to him? Sheridan knew she had a temper, and she was strong. But was she capable of hurting someone that badly? She wasn't sure, and not knowing was starting to drive her crazy.
She decided to drive over to Rogan's house to see if he was there. She had to get some answers. If he was ok then at least he could tell her what they were arguing about, and what happened after they left the club. And if he wasn't there... Well, she'd worry about that later. She headed back upstairs to get dressed, but as she passed her bedroom window she glanced out, and froze in her tracks. A police car was cruising slowly down the street towards her house. In a panic she drew back from the window and stood against the back wall of her bedroom. Her heart was pounding and her head was spinning. She was sure she was going to throw up now. Something awful had happened last night, she was sure of it. Rogan had done something to make her mad, had chased her out of the club, and at some point after that she had attacked him in her drunken stupor, getting blood all over her new shoes, and doing who knew what injury to Rogan, or worse.
Suddenly she heard Smithy barking, and her heart almost jumped through her ribs. She knew that meant someone was approaching the house. It must be the police. Sure enough, a sharp knock on the front door shortly followed. For a few seconds Sheridan considered keeping quiet and hiding in her bedroom, but she realized that that would only be delaying the inevitable. Anyway, the sooner she faced the police the sooner she would find out exactly what had happened.
"Coming," she called out weakly, and slowly eased herself back down the stairs on her trembling legs. She stopped at the front door and took a deep breath before opening it.
"Hi sweetie, how are you feeling? Here, I got these for you." Rogan held a bunch of roses in Sheridan's face. Her mouth fell open and she numbly took the bouquet. "Look, said Rogan, "I really am sorry about spilling Paige's wine all over your expensive new shoes last night. Are you still mad at me?"
Copyright © 2009 Tracy Seeger. All rights reserved.