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Eric Thomas loathed his wife, Karen. He thought she was slow,
couldn’t cook, and was ugly as sin. She got her momma’s dishwater blonde hair and legion of freckles. He believed that her small mouth, thin lips, along with her flat chest and monster thighs made her as homely as they come. He only stayed with her because he knew she wouldn’t know what to do with herself without him. He was the best thing to happen to her, after all. He kept her straight. Today, she had the
nerve to forget to press the shirts that he had asked for the night before. She knew better. She had to be taught a lesson.

Eric Thomas stormed the house in search of his Karen. He was
furious, and showed it by knocking over chairs and the clean laundry that had been neatly stacked on the kitchen table as he went. He found Karen in the den. She had been on the phone; she was hanging up when he entered the room.

“Karen, you bitch, what the hell are you doing?” He was so mad that his face was blood red with sweat rolling down it. He had overexerted himself in his fit of rage, causing his chest to heave desperately for a breath. This gave him the look of a raging bull, and it frightened Karen.

“I’m just calling the plumber, sweetie. Remember, yesterday you said that the sink needed fixing?” She stumbled, hoping that he would think it was from fear, and not from lying. He looked as though he would start in again, just as he did last night before she landed in the hospital.

“Oh, so you remember my words from yesterday so well, don’t you? Why don’t you tell me what I said about my shirt that needed ironing?” He could see a look of recognition as she remembered what he had asked. It was replaced by a look of fear or so he thought. She remembered, he told himself. Now he was going to make sure she wouldn’t forget again.

“I’m sorry, Eric, honey. I forgot about your ironing. There’s still some time, I can…” She didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence. Eric had rushed forward. His fist met her head with a force so strong that it knocked her off of her feet. She landed sprawled on the floor. He kept advancing until he was standing over her. He raised his steel booted foot above her, and brought it down on her arm. Pain sprang from the
injured limb, and assaulted the rest of her body. The dull ache from her cracked ribs had awakened. She lay in the floor, writhing in pain. He stood over her, grinning with satisfaction.

“Get your ass up and press my shirt,” he snarled. “And don’t forget the starch.”

* * *

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, two days after Eric Thomas and his wife had their “argument.” He had convinced himself that she had provoked him, and that she knew how he wanted things. She was aware of the consequences. Every year of their five year marriage brought the same thing. He figured that one day; it would click in her brain that she
only got hurt, when she disobeyed. For her, obedience was crucial to the success of a marriage. His daddy had taught his mother the same lesson.

The cul-de-sac that they lived in was neat, but lifeless. Everyone was at church. The identical Cape Cod styled homes sat on their neatly trimmed and uniformly green lawns. Each home was the same. It was the type of place where someone could enter the wrong house if he wasn’t paying attention.

The white van, with the logo for Quiclean Cleaning Service on the side, was parked at the corner. The maid had already started into one of the houses on the street. Later on, however, no one would remember seeing her neither enter nor exit any of the homes in the neighborhood.

Eric Thomas was napping, something that was simply not done in the Terrace Hills subdivision. He didn’t participate in any of the neighborhood barbeques or parties. He was the only one who regularly skipped church. (Not everyone had perfect attendance, but they at least attended twice a month and on holidays.) Eric always left the maintenance of the soul stuff to Karen; he felt that she was the one who needed it most. Sunday afternoons were always spent in front of a football game in the den. He surrounded himself with salty, fatty food, and usually passed out before the first half was over.

This would be an easy target, Sarah thought. She retrieved the extra key from the frog-shaped stone that was found beside the welcome mat on the back porch. She entered the house quietly. Although Karen had told Sarah that Eric slept like a rock, she didn’t want to take any chances.

She walked through the kitchen, stopping by the stove on her way. The place was immaculate, unlike the homes of her last two targets. It had the modern design: industrial range, sub-zero refrigerator, and white marble counters. The smell of affluence was in the air, but so was the stench of a deadbeat. Sarah followed the map that Karen had given her to the den.

She found the bastard passed out where told her he would be. He was slumped in the recliner, covered in potato chip crumbs. Sarah watched him for a second, thinking about how wonderfully vulnerable he was. She could do anything that she wanted to him in this moment, and he would never know. She could break every bone in his body that he had shattered in his wife’s. She could burn him with cigarettes, and kick his teeth out. Her imagination had no mercy, but she told herself
to calm down and get to work.

Sarah was a calm, cool soul that had come to do a job, and would not stray from it. In her early years, she had fought the urges that had crowded her head when faced with such mongrels as Eric Thomas. These urges had gotten her close to being caught a few times. They were also unprofessional. She had learned to compose herself, and stick to the plan that was laid out before each job.

Sarah would that now. She got to work, taking only a few moments to complete everything. She took one last look at the sleeping monster, and then hurried out as quickly and as quietly as she entered. Sarah reminded herself to lock the door and replace the key. She checked the street and the homes lining it for signs of existence. After a minute,
nothing moved. She walked calmly to her van and drove away.

As Sarah made her way away from the cul-de-sac, the van shook. She didn’t look back. If she had, she would have seen the plume of red flames and black smoke fill the skyline behind her. However, she didn’t have to see it to know that the home of Eric and Karen Roberts had exploded. After all, she was the one who set the blaze.

The Rockport, Mississippi police responded along with the fire department and ambulance. Someone the next block over from the Thomas home had seen the blast, and called it in.

It took some time to put the fire out, and by then, the neighbors were returning home. Karen was among them. She saw her scorched home and fainted on the lawn. Neighbors came to her aid. When they revived her, she asked about Eric. The thought of someone being in the house hadn’t crossed anyone’s mind. After all, this was Rockport on a Sunday afternoon. Everyone was in church. Even the emergency response
workers had to be called out of service to respond to the fire.

Eric’s charred body was found in his usual position, slumped in the recliner. The investigators sifted through the remains to find the cause of the fire. They bagged lumps of suspicious looking plastic found near the body. It was later determined that it was the remains of Eric’s cigar
case. Karen neglected to tell anyone in the investigation that Eric had stopped smoking months earlier.

His death was ruled accidental. They never discovered the true cause of the fire, but in the absence of accelerants and other devices of arson and foul play, the fire inspector blamed the new stove and the cigars. They believed that Eric’s lit cigar caught gas fumes afire. (The stove was installed by Eric himself. They assumed that he had
improperly installed the range, causing the gas to slowly fill the house.)

Karen’s home owner’s insurance was paid out two weeks later, as was Eric’s life insurance. She paid all of her debts, including one extravagant housekeeping bill and left town for a whirlwind vacation.

The Sunday service attendance in Rockport peaked the Sunday after Eric died. His death was taken as a sign that God did punish those who didn’t attend church regularly.