An unrelenting ache pounded just below the stump of Daria's knee, and she absently twisted on the bed to accommodate the phantom pain.

The rain pounded through the gutter outside Daria's window. Little floods spewed in a rhythm from the drainpipe into the loose dirt beside her small cement patio. The trees surrounding her lawn were nothing more than shadows in the blackness.

The house was still brand new. She didn't have curtains for the glass door, leading to the patio and yard from the house's single bedroom. Nor had they built any additions to allow her to swiftly navigate. Reliant on her crutch to get anywhere, it took twice as long as it should to traverse the room.

Between the storm, the newness of the house's shadows and their only neighbor being a beady-eyed old farmer called Old Man Dwin, ingrained terrors shifted in the dark. Nor did it help that Tan liked to antagonize their neighbor by bringing his lovers to the ancient farmer's hayloft.

The day they moved in, she'd read in the car while Tan took their emo real-estate agent Greg there. After a while a shift in the light caused her to look up from the pages. And in the doorway of the rickety building stood Dwin, watching Daria's husband and Greg, pitchfork in his gnarled hands and a twisted smile on his face.

But Old Man Dwin wasn't out on their lawn. No one was out there. That was the point of a little house in the woods. It gave her and Tan somewhere where there was no 'them' to watch.

Watch as Daria's crutch got stuck in mud and she fell down. In the city, she always felt like a fool on parade. Ever since the accident, every person who passed looked. She hated the pity, hated how visible she was despite the fact everyone tried not to look at her.

Old Man Dwin wasn't looking at her. Even when they passed him in town, he only had lecherous eyes for Tan.

"The night has eyes," Tan said, throwing his six foot frame over the queen bed. He wore a towel around his waist and his short hair remained wet from the shower.

Daria touched the stump where her leg had been, fingers shying from the puckered flesh.

The house, their house, their new start berated her with the tap-tap of rain.

"How is it you still look like some college stud?" Daria asked, ignoring both the rain and his drama queen statement. Yet the water drummed through her words like the tick-tick of a clock keeping time, or a bomb waiting to go off. She stared at the wedding ring on her finger-flesh pouching out the sides.

"Well, for starters, I don't bring wine and cookies to bed." He winced at the carelessness of his words but they were said.

No, you bring everything else to bed. The thought wasn't fair so she kept it unspoken. That had always been their arrangement and it had never bothered her when she was equally capable of finding alternate partners.

Over the past year things just slid. First she lost the leg in the accident, then gained a full dress size and lost her job. She looked fifty though she was only forty. While he hadn't changed a hair- identical to that twenty-six-year old bartender he had been when she was in college.

He was all she had, and the more she squeezed, the more he struggled free.

"Sorry, Dar, you know I think-"

"Cut the shit," she said, not wanting lies about how beautiful he still thought she was. Or about how things would get better. She wasn't a lizard. Human legs didn't grow back and without that nothing got better. "You going out tonight?"

"You could come. We used to do this together. A trip to town, pick up a couple of cute farm girls... maybe some dumb, hulky cowboy..."

"No. I'd just spoil your night." Those kids pity me. They don't want to come home with me. Stay with me, please.

"I want you to come." His warm brown eyes fastened on her, his lashes fanning out- the eyes of an angel. She'd always thought so.

"Go, Tan. Have fun. Maybe next time." Please stay.

Tan heaved an exaggerated sigh, flopped over on the bed but when she didn't engage he got up and strode to the closet.

"I want my wife back," he said. "The one who danced on car roofs in the rain."

"Can't dance."

"You don't need two legs to dance. I'll hold you."

Daria turned her face to the pillow, and snuggled into the blankets, trying to disappear.

Fifteen minutes later, his engine roared. Daria turned to stone in the soft bedding. Slowly the rain's tinkle lulled her into a fitful sleep. As always, she dreamed of that night, the searing pain in her thigh, Tan's yells mingled with other screams.

***

"Help!"

The cry pierced her sleep, and at first Daria thought it was her own, an imagined warmth flowed off her thigh. But as sleep cleared and her own calls faded in her mind, the scream continued and was soon joined by a thump as a body slammed into the glass patio door.

A girl, blonde and covered in blood flailed her fists at the window. Mascara ran down her cheeks and added to the ghoulishness of her smeared red lipstick and rain thinned blood on her lower face. She had a garish brilliance in the lamplight.

Daria fumbled free of the sheets and grabbed her cane. The girl pounded on the glass leaving vivid prints on the surface. Her foot hitting the cold floor, Daria hobbled slowly around the edge of the bed toward the window and the terrified girl. The night was black and impenetrable. Anything could lurk out there.

Shit, shit, shit. Daria glanced back at her bedside table where she kept a small handgun. But at the rate she moved, she didn't have time to turn around. The desperate girl might break the glass or turn and run away. Daria went to the window and flipped the lock open.

"Help! Oh God, help," the woman's voice came out shrill. A front tooth was missing in her quivering jaw. Blood seeped from between her lips.

Not more than eighteen. Just a kid.

Daria's heart thudded inside her. She wrenched the door open and peered into the void half-expecting Old Man Dwin's leering face to show like the moon from the trees or...

No. Deal with this.

The girl shoved in beside her, nearly knocking Daria down. She had to regain her balance and replace her cane before her hands hit the cool glass and slammed the door closed. The girl screamed again behind her.

This can't be happening. Not in my house.

She flipped the lock and for a moment waited by the window, green eyes staring out, then she gripped the crutch and made her way toward the bedside table.

"What's your name?" Daria asked the girl. Clump, clump went the crutch, making Daria lurch with each step.

The screaming quieted.

"Name?" Daria gritted her teeth, as she moved another painfully slow yard.

"Sicily."

"Well, Sicily, There's a gun over there. I'm going to get it. Tell me what happened, so I'm prepared. I see a lot of blood but you're relatively unharmed."

"He hit me... Oh God."

Useless. "Is he armed? Do you know him?"

"A... a... knife. Don't know him, no... just met him."

"Anyone else out there?"

"My friend!" Sicily's face contorted, preparing another scream.

Daria opened the drawer and slipped her hand inside. She nodded at Sicily, willing her to stay calm.

"He stabbed her... I ... I think she's dead."

Daria picked up the gun and loaded the chamber of the old pistol. She'd always liked its weight and now it grounded her. Breath drove from her body and brought the fear haunted air back in.

A wet thud hit the window, leaving a scarlet streak.

Daria pulled the safety on the gun and turned just in time for something else to hit the window. A clump of hair, scalp still attached. The bloodied hair stuck to the glass and slid in slow motion to the ground, where it lay quivering in the pounding rain like a small rodent.

Hand trembling, Daria raised the gun, she hadn't shot in a long time. Not since her accident.

Sicily's eyes went wide, and she pointed at the window as a drenched form stepped into the light grinning.

Daria fired. The recoil hit her shoulder, making her stumble back but a glow spread inside her as her finger released.

Sicily's head jerked to the side and a small blood splatter flicked against the wall. Daria tightened her finger again and another bullet burst from the chamber. This time she caught the girl in the chest. Sicily twitched and slumped to the ground. Her long silver-painted nails moved on the tile, as if trying to pull herself away.

Tan gave a gentle knock on the glass with his knuckles. Daria pursed her lips, annoyed, and went to unlock the door.

"You brought her here!" Daria set one hand on her hip. "You had me terrified! I kept picturing Old Man Dwin out there... You know better than to bring a kill home in the first place."

"You wouldn't come out to play, Love. Ever since that bitch got you with her knife, you've been in this funk. I didn't know what else to do. I told you Dar, I want my wife back."

Daria bit her lip.

"I'll clean it all up myself." He grinned. That boyish grin on his angelic face, she found irresistible. "And what's the point of a secluded home if we never use it?"

"Old Man Dwin is close enough to be suspicious of the gunshots." Daria leaned against Tan, not caring that rain and blood drenched his clothes, hair and skin. She believed him now-she could dance. The rhythm surged inside her, the desire.

"We'll say we were shooting at coyotes."

"Or," Daria said, her fingers moving over his firm chest. "Let's go up to that barn and distract him. With how loud the rain is pounding, I could easily sneak up behind him. Plant a little physical evidence on the body. Who wouldn't buy the creepy old freak killed them?"

"Best yet, we'd get to watch the investigation. A frame up... Daria, you've never been sexier."

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep," she said, planting a kiss on his chest.

"Exactly what I've been saying, Dar. We made promises to each other... and it's not time to give up yet. Not by a long shot."