he’s brought home a surprise today : a bouquet of wildflowers. they had been clutched carefully in a large hand for the entirety of the walk back home, the most precious of all the things he had acquired today. eddie had known his girl would love them — he knew that the sight of them, purple and yellow, would make her smile up at him with that little sad, soft smile that he loves so much. he can picture it now : john would carefully place the flowers into a pitcher with water and then arrange them in the center of their table. yes, it’ll be perfect.
that had been eddie’s focus up until he’d approached their cabin and heard the sound of an unfamiliar voice sounding from inside.
at first, he comes to a halt. his traitorous mind jumps to one conclusion : his bride has brought another man into their home.
it’s a sour, enraging thought, one that has him walking with determination. the bag of supplies dropped on the ground outside, his face darkens with a snarl. after everything he’s done for his wife, how dare she treat him like that? she’s no better than all the rest of them with their unfaithful eyes and wandering hands.
but then, now close enough to pick up the stranger’s words, he realizes that he’s gotten this all wrong. gluskin is aware of this as he stands in their doorway to their kitchen, the flowers still held in his hand in a death grip.
almost acutely attuned to the fear on john’s face, the way that his bride’s eyes remain fixated on the stranger’s knife, eddie reaches for the knife tucked in his belt with his free hand. with surprising quietness for a man of his size, gluskin stalks forward — the flowers fall to the floor as he reaches out, a large arm wrapping its way around the smaller man’s neck and yanking his scrawny frame backwards into his knife.
the blade sinks into flesh with ease. the man cries out in pained surprise — he struggles, but there’s nowhere for him to go. the groom’s rage is fixated, an all-consuming passion. the stranger’s blade falls to the floor alongside the bouquet. eddie withdraws his knife and slams it back in — there’s no art to this, not as his arm tightens against the burglar’s windpipe, not as he stabs him over and over again, blade sinking between his ribs with determined focus.
the man has long since gone slack when eddie is finally satisfied. the bloodlust is sated. the threat is gone. only then does eddie allow the body to fall to the floor, his bloodied knife clutched in his hand. for a moment, he stands there, chest heaving with every breath as he gazes down at the corpse. then, bloodied knife tucked back in its original location, eddie’s attention shifts.
in a flash, eddie is standing in front of his wife. large, bloodied hands reach to cup his face, thumb brushing against soft skin. the gentleness is a startling contrast to the rage he’d just exhibited ; the concern on his face is nothing but genuine.
“ are you alright? did he hurt you? ”
