It's getting late, and the panic has started to set in. My boyfriend is late coming home from work, and rain is falling hard outside. We live in the middle of nowhere, really. Just the two of us, in a homely cottage in the Irish countryside. We have fields, plenty of them. At this time of year, they're empty, barren, deserted. Since we moved here about a year back, there hasn't been a night as bad as this. Wind was rattling the shutters on our windows, shaking the frame slightly. It's reminding me of the time back in March, when we had a bad storm lasting a couple days. But we had each other, cuddled up under blankets, watching bad movies and drinking cup-a-soups. The clock on the wall, which I can usually hear ticking, stays mute despite the moving hands. It rattles on the wall, the cottage shaking slightly in response to the gale force winds. My patience and sanity is starting to wear thin as the hands gradually point closer towards the midnight mark. Usually the sound of rain soothes and relaxes me, but at this time of night it's only something to add to my concern. I long to hear the sound of his Renault slowly ease to a halt outside the cottage. Seeing as it might be a long night ahead of me, I get up and journey towards our kitchen in need of coffee. I wonder what the baby's response to that will be. I hope he doesn't start kicking again, that's the last thing I need right now. The tension starts to heavily build as I'm waiting for the kettle to boil - I'm eagerly anticipating his arrival any second now, knowing I'll only be disappointed and even more concerned. I make my way back to our sofa, coffee in one hand, the bottom of my back in another. It's really starting to ache recently, painfully throbbing every so often. I set the steaming mug of brown liquid down on the small table next to me and turn on the TV. I'm about to change the channel to e4 to get my latest fix of "The Big Bang Theory" re-runs when something catches my eye. It's a breaking news report. My ears tune in to the story "..found dead with several cuts inflicted on the torso, wrists and thigh. The left kneecap appears twisted, unable to walk on. The cuts are deep, the victim presumably left to bleed to death. More on this story after the break" The camera cuts to a brief shot of the scene - I recognize it. My eyes focus on the white body bag, which is spotted with dark red patches. I panic when I realize that it could be James in that bag. The scene is a road just two blocks away from his office. That's where he parks his car, because trying to get a spot near the office is always impossible. I feel dizzy, a sick feeling rises up in my throat and I vomit. The stench of my stomach contents makes me gag, making me vomit again. I make my way into the bathroom and turn on the shower, getting in fully clothed. As I watch chunks of my lunch go down the drain, I vomit one last time before I collapse. Weak on the floor of the walk-in-shower, the baby starts to violently kick in protest. I have to get up and get out. I have to find out if James is okay. Stripping off my damp clothes and then wrapping myself in a soft towel, I go back into the living room to find my mobile phone. The TV is still alive with the story. I listen to the reporter describe the victim. Male, 6ft, black hair, brown eyes. No identification to be found. I let out a sob - it's a perfect match. I'm staggering to my phone, ready to call his number for one last attempt to see if he's alive. I didn't realize I was shaking until I tried to dial his number. I'm about to give up when I hear a car pull up outside. I can't believe it. I can hear his familiar, clumsy footsteps walking towards our front door. I start crying in relief. "Oh James!" I gush "You're okay. There was this news report about a murder, I'm so so glad you're safe" I rush "Tonight has been the worst nightmare of my lif-" I stop my sentance short when I notice the knife in his hand, his torn shirt splattered with blood. His lips curl up into a sneer. Seven words escape his lips. "Sweetheart, your nightmare is only just beginning."