John held his breath as he opened the box. The sudden hiss caught his attention, and he threw himself sideways. The snake lunged and missed, snapping at thin air. It hissed again with annoyance, retreating slowly back into its box. John slammed it shut, heaving an encyclopaedia onto the lid. Swearing under his breath, he sank into his favourite armchair. Trying to ignore the adrenaline that had flooded his system, he swore again. What was Shawna thinking of? He’d heard of bitter divorces, but this was insane.

The mist of memory clouded his vision, and he saw Shawna before him. She wore the same torn dress held together with duct tape that she’d worn on the day they met. Both invited to an elegant dinner party, both outcasts. She was a punk artist; he was an eccentric science professor. Laughter, passion and a mutual need to buck the system fuelled their early life together. Then reality interfered, driving them apart. She walked out six months ago. Now she was trying to kill him.

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