'You bastard!'
I knew that I was in trouble. Trouble too deep to make escape an option.
The cause of my downfall, small, silver and otherwise harmless, lay on the floor of my car, just behind the driver's seat.
'That bitch has been in this car,' she screamed, loud enough in the car's confined space effectively to clear my sinuses.
'No, no, that's probably been there for weeks,' I argued, trying to keep the desperation from my voice.
There had been times in the past few months when I had wondered why I had made the decision to be with this woman. She was, without doubt, a psychopath. How do I know? Well, the gun was a clue, I suppose. But, as she drew it from her purse, I could not help but think about how angry my wife would be when she realised she had lost her favourite bracelet.

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