He just stared at her, mouth agape. This had to be a joke: it just had to be. There was no way…Sure, Belle had always had a dark side. She did a good job of masking it. But he had seen it. There was a low level of rage just simmering at the surface. He had definitely see her flip out occasionally in a fit of road rage or at bad customer service. She always rushed to compose herself after and apologized (to him, not the target of her rage). Then there was her fascination with serial killers and true crime…but that was just an American tradition, right? Now, he was starting to doubt himself.

Suddenly, he realized with a stark sense of dread that this was real. Belle, his wife of five years, had killed someone. Then he realized the most important question: not why, but who?

He stared back at her. Her face was stone cold. She looked determined. There was no remorse. She simply stated, “pack a bag. We need to leave immediately.”

Being the subservient husband he was, he nodded his head and grabbed the duffel bag she was handing him. His hand was shaking so badly he dropped it.

“Damn it, Clyde, can’t you do anything right?

If ever there was a time to stand up to her and find his voice, it was now. He opened his mouth to fight back and say, “ME? You just killed someone?!” But no words came out. He just gaped at her like a drowning fish. His jaw moved uselessly up and down. His mouth felt dry. But no words came out.