Mona sloshed the mop into the steaming pail, the aroma of bleach strong in the air. It was industrial strength; several times stronger than ordinary household bleach, but it was necessary, for this was, after all, an industrial task. Back and forth she scrubbed the floor and the plastic walls; section by section, panel by panel.
It was important to do a thorough job, for any contaminants could result in mold and other fungal growth, which would harm the seedlings that would soon fill the greenhouse.
Scrubbing greenhouses was one of the least desirable jobs at the nursery, so nobody objected when Mona volunteered to take on the task. She was on her third of twenty greenhouses but it was necessary work. It was solitary work, and it gave her plenty of time to reflect on her life and how drastically it had changed in such a short time.
Her husband had never allowed her to work outside the home. She had enough to do, he said, keeping his home clean and caring for the children. But once the children were grown and able to care for themselves, Mona found herself with little to do. When Richard lost his job, the bills began to pile up. When Mona suggested he apply for work at a local nursery that was hiring, she received a black eye for her trouble. Richard frequently let his fists do the talking. Mona had always cowed to his will, but this time she swore it would never happen again.
The bank was on the verge of foreclosing and Richard still hadn’t gotten a job. He sat at home in a drunken stupor, day after day.
Mona went behind her husband’s back for the first time, and went to work. She accepted the same nursery job he had refused. Richard didn’t appear to notice she was gone each day.
Until he did.
She didn’t notice his truck, following at a distance as she walked to the bus stop, and then following the bus until she got off and walked the rest of the way to work.
She didn’t hear him enter. Mona listened to her radio as she used a razor knife to trim excess plastic from a newly installed panel in the greenhouse wall. She was unaware of his presence until her head was yanked backward, cruel fingers entwined in her hair.
“You fucking liar!” he growled into her ear, spraying spittle on her cheek.
“Ow! Rich, you’re hurting me!”
“Oh, you don’t know hurt, you sorry bitch. I’ll show you the meaning of hurt. You don’t lie to me and get away with it.”
“Rich, no! Please!” Her plea was cut short by rough hands around her throat, choking off her air.
Mona struggled to breathe. Flailing, she tried to thrust his hands away from her neck.
The world turned red.
At first she thought blood vessels in her eyes had burst from being choked; all she could see was red. Then Mona realized she could breathe again and the pressure on her neck was gone. She wiped her sleeve across her eyes, and then as her hand touched her face she felt the sting of a blade on her cheek.
“Ow!” The razor knife dropped from her hand.
She touched her cheek where the blade had scratched it and her hand came away red. Far too much blood for such a little scratch. Or was she cut deeper than she thought? She looked down at her clothing to find them also covered with blood, and a dark pool surrounded her shoes.
Oh my God, I’m bleeding to death!
She stumbled backward, frantically patting her body in search of mortal injury and finding none. Her foot struck an obstacle on the floor and she fell, landing on top of the lifeless form of Richard. The dark pool of blood originated from a gash in his neck.
The razor knife lay where she had dropped it, covered in his blood.
“Oh, Rich! What have I done? What did you make me do?” she whispered.
So many times he had uttered those very words to her after beating her black and blue. He always blamed his rage on her.
* * *
Mona stabbed the compost with the pitchfork, lifting forkful after forkful of the heavy, smelly material. It was important to turn the compost regularly to speed decomposition. It was an unpleasant task that the other workers were happy to let Mona take on. She was going to be very busy, between cleaning the greenhouses and maintaining the large compost pit. Springtime was on the way and new crops needed to be planted.
Mona had a hunch the compost would be extra Rich that year.
‘Tis the season of giving, and in the spirit of the season, here are a whole bunch of free books to read on those dark January nights:
The following titles will be free to download worldwide on Amazon from now until January 1 at 11:59 PM, Pacific time:
Furry Tales (And Feathers & Scales) is the latest anthology by Writers, Poets, and Deviants (AKA WPaD) It’s a pet-themed collection of stories by multiple authors, including yours truly.
DysFictional volumes 2, 3, and 4 are also free, and you can pick up your copies here:
~ A henpecked husband makes a stand against his surly wife. ~ A woman trapped in a loveless marriage finds magic in a gift from a friend. ~ Something is alive in the outhouse… ~ A young boy longs to venture beyond the walls of his post-apocalyptic city, until he learns the terrifying truth about what’s out there. ~ A young witch and her talking dog are tasked with ridding their home of unwanted guests.
Enjoy these stories and more, in DysFictional 2.
~ A fugitive finds himself in a deadly predicament ~ A rogue scientist takes genetic modification to the next level ~ People who eat Tide Pods turn into detergent-craving zombies ~ Something terrifying lurks in the Canadian wilderness ~ Evacuees from a doomed Earth colonize a distant planet. ~ A malfunctioning android threatens humanity
Enjoy these stories and more, in DysFictional 3.
~ A scientist develops body-swapping technology, but she must keep it out of the wrong hands… ~ The extinction of the honeybee brings an unexpected result… ~ A zombie virus only affects women… ~ A homeless hacker destroys the world’s supply of digital currency… ~ Teenagers navigate dating in a post-pandemic future… ~ A rich spoiled brat who dreams of being a reality TV star finds herself in a real-life apocalypse…
Enjoy these stories and more in DysFictional 4.
A prisoner in her own home; afraid to leave, but too terrified to stay… Driven to a reclusive lifestyle by her many phobias, Dana’s only sanctuary is her home. When the objects of her fears begin to invade her safe haven, the only place to escape is outside, where unspeakable horrors lie in wait.
Brutal vigilante justice… A killer stalks the streets of Los Angeles. Victims of the butcher known as ‘The Feeder’ are mutilated while still alive, with parts severed and inserted in their mouths.
When Camille places a drunken birthday phone call to her twin, Sammie becomes worried about her safety and flies to Los Angeles to bring her home. After finding the aspiring actress-turned-prostitute slaughtered in a hotel room, grief-stricken Sammie steps into the role of copycat killer. Suspecting that the killer is Camille’s abusive boyfriend, Sammie embarks on a bloody quest for revenge, copying the modus operandi of a brutal serial killer known as The Feeder.
They say that if you die alone, your pets will eventually begin to eat you. But what if you aren’t dead yet?
Arnold is a loner who one day wakes to find he is paralyzed. Confined to his bed helpless and alone, he has no family or friends to miss him… nobody to suspect he might be in trouble. All he has are his seven cats, and they are getting hungrier by the day…
Adults only:
My friend Camille Towe has thrown her g-string into the ring and offered her short story collection for free as well. Suitable for audiences 18 and older only:
Happy Halloween! To celebrate my favorite holiday of the year, why not enjoy some free treats while snacking on sweets! Here’s long list of ebooks – some mine and some from my friends at WPaD – that will be free Kindle downloads from October 30-November 3:
~ A scientist develops body-swapping technology, but she must keep it out of the wrong hands… ~ The extinction of the honeybee brings an unexpected result… ~ A zombie virus only affects women… ~ A homeless hacker destroys the world’s supply of digital currency… ~ Teenagers navigate dating in a post-pandemic future… ~ A fugitive finds his benefactor and only friend has met with an unfortunate end… ~ A rich spoiled brat who dreams of being a reality TV star finds herself in a real-life apocalypse…
par·Ab·nor·mal /per.əbˈnɔːr.məl/ adjective Atypical paranormal fiction produced by Writers, Poets and Deviants.
A mysterious face beneath an icy lake is eerily familiar… A chilling tour of a cemetery, guided by restless spirits… A painting participates in a game of chess… A witch embarks on a quest to retrieve a client’s missing heart… A bloody knife appears everywhere a woman goes… A beloved cat turns out to be much more than just a pet…
Enjoy these stories and more in WPaD’s tribute to the parAbnormal!
– A fugitive finds himself in a deadly predicament – Reality show producers push the envelope to please their superiors – A group of test subjects take an unexpected journey – A rogue scientist takes genetic modification to the next level – People who eat Tide Pods turn into detergent-craving zombies – Something terrifying lurks in the Canadian wilderness – Evacuees from a doomed Earth colonize a distant planet. – A malfunctioning android threatens humanity
Pets! They come in all shapes and sizes, and we love each and every one. The writers of WPaD have compiled a collection of pet-themed stories and poetry that ranges from heartwarming to fantastical to thrilling and chilling. Get cozy, cuddle your furbabies, and enjoy a riveting read!
– A henpecked husband makes a stand against his surly wife. – Is a mysterious stain on the ceiling of a prison cell a product of the inmate’s imagination or something more sinister? – A woman trapped in a loveless marriage finds magic in a gift from a friend. – Something is alive in the outhouse… – A young boy longs to venture beyond the walls of his post-apocalyptic city, until he learns the terrifying truth about what’s out there. – A terminally ill teen’s forbidden love affair turns tragic. – A young witch and her talking dog are tasked with ridding their home of unwanted guests. Magic is their only recourse.
How many ways could we end the world? The writers of WPaD came up with plenty of possibilities: A global pandemic? (No way, that would never happen!) How about aliens, evil politicians, zombies in one form or another, or even… rogue sex robots? (wait-what?) A collection of apocalyptic tales guaranteed to shock, entertain, and tug at your heart strings.
A prisoner in her own home; afraid to leave, but too terrified to stay… Driven to a reclusive lifestyle by her many phobias, Dana’s only sanctuary is her home. When the objects of her fears begin to invade her safe haven, the only place to escape is outside, where unspeakable horrors lie in wait.
Through the Internet – her only link to the outside world – Dana meets Colin. She finds herself attracted to her online friend, whose soothing presence helps her cling to sanity. She dreams of meeting him in person, but must first find the courage to venture beyond her front door.
They say that if you die alone, your pets will eventually begin to eat you. But what if you aren’t dead yet? Arnold is a loner who one day wakes to find he is paralyzed. Confined to his bed helpless and alone, he has no family or friends to miss him… nobody to suspect he might be in trouble. All he has are his seven cats, and they are getting hungrier by the day…
Brutal vigilante justice… A killer stalks the streets of Los Angeles. Victims of the butcher known as ‘The Feeder’ are mutilated while still alive, with parts severed and inserted in their mouths.
When Camille places a drunken birthday phone call to her twin, Sammie becomes worried about her safety and flies to Los Angeles to bring her home. After finding the aspiring actress-turned-prostitute slaughtered in a hotel room, grief-stricken Sammie steps into the role of copycat killer. Suspecting that the killer is Camille’s abusive boyfriend, Sammie embarks on a bloody quest for revenge, copying the modus operandi of a brutal serial killer known as The Feeder. Walking the streets disguised as Camille, Sammie resolves to lure the real Feeder out of hiding. Sammie seeks out drug dealers, pimps, rapists – all men who caused harm to Camille. The men are found disemboweled, force-fed their own body parts and carved up like human Picassos. The bloodbath will not end until Camille’s murder has been avenged.
Can Sammie return to a ‘normal’ life after committing such unspeakable acts?
Warning: If you are offended by obscene language, graphic violence and scenes of mutilation, then this is NOT the book for you! Read at your own discretion.
Humans evacuate a dying Earth to start over on a distant planet. When familiar social patterns emerge, it becomes clear that they have learned nothing.
The day her brother tore his own head off and didn’t die was the day Johanna first suspected that all was not right with the world. A teenage waitress and her sister find their world turned upside down when men start behaving strangely, trying to woo every woman they see, spouting lines from old romantic movies. But it isn’t all love and romance; the men have been infected by an alien virus that makes them tear off their own heads and implant alien eggs into women. All it takes is a single kiss…
This year, Gina’s gift to her husband would be extra special. It had been years in the planning; an interminable wait list, clandestine phone calls, hasty arrangements with the help of her sister when the time finally came.
Keeping the secret from Stuart had been agonizing; usually, they told each other everything. Conveniently, he was away on business when Gina and Maxine boarded a taxi for the airport. She told him her sister was recovering from surgery and needed an extra set of hands around the house for a couple of weeks. It was a half-truth; she did stay with her sister in Boston, but it was Gina who was recovering from surgery.
Gina had spoken to Stuart on the phone several times while she was away, but hadn’t told him she was returning early. He wasn’t expecting her for another day. The surprise would be perfect. His birthday wasn’t for another week, but she would give him his gift as soon as he arrived home that evening.
The sunset faded from orange to purple as the taxi pulled up at the curb. Gina stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes after getting out of the car, savoring the view.
The first thing Gina did when they reached the house was remove Max’s harness. She wouldn’t be needing it anymore, but she had left it on for the flight so Max could fly as a guide dog and not as a pet. The German Shepherd gazed up at her, puzzlement in her amber eyes. Gina reached down to stroke her head.
“It’s ok, sweetheart. As of now, you’re retired from active duty. Let’s go inside and get some dinner, shall we?”
Gina brought her suitcase into the bedroom. Though previously accustomed to navigating in darkness, she now noticed the dimness of the room with the curtains drawn.
She clicked the switch on the lamp and gasped. She saw its beauty with her own eyes for the first time. In truth, she was seeing it through someone else’s eyes; the corneas of a young man killed in a motorcycle accident, whose family had donated his organs.
The lamp was one of Stuart’s creations, handmade in his workshop. His art took many forms, mostly jewelry and small figurines carved from hardwoods – yew and walnut, he told her. He had a process for curing the wood that hardened it to almost a porcelain consistency, except much stronger. The lamp was one of his finest pieces.
He had made the lampshade as well, from soft calfskin leather, scraped thin in places to create an intricate design of tree branches, which would light up when the lamp was turned on.
Even though she couldn’t see it, for years she had felt the design with her fingers and formed a picture in her mind’s eye. The base of the lamp formed the trunk of the “tree”. The curve of the wood mimicked a tree trunk perfectly, right down to its graceful curve and non-uniformity of its shape. On the surface he had carved a heart with their initials inside. Tiny bumps covered the surface of the trunk, each painstakingly carved by her husband. It was a Haiku, written by him and inscribed in Braille for her:
Sun may fade from sight
Love for you burns ever bright
My eternal light
Now, for the first time, Gina saw the lamp in all of its glory, and it was exquisite. The glow of the lampshade projected the intricate tree branch design on the walls, giving the illusion that she was surrounded by forest. Gina caressed the shade, which she had felt hundreds of times, but now she could see what her fingers felt.
What unusual leather, she thought. It was unlike anything she remembered from the days before she lost her sight. She had expected it to be more of a tan color, but this was a pale cream shade with a pinkish hue. A muted floral design decorated the edge of the shade. The trunk looked different than she had expected as well. She had always envisioned it being the deep brown of walnut, but it too was a light cream color, almost white.
Stuart was a true artist. She wished he would give up his sales job and focus on his craft, but Stuart insisted that the things he made weren’t worth selling.
“I do this because I enjoy it, dear. Nobody wants to buy a bunch of homemade junk. Knowing that you like them is enough for me,” he had told her.
* * *
After feeding Max and making some dinner for herself, Gina contemplated calling Stuart to find out when he would be home, but resisted the urge. She didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but the anticipation was too much to bear. She paced nervously, stopping to stare at herself in the hallway mirror every time she passed. She barely recognized herself; so many years had passed since she had seen her own face. She compared her reflection to the wedding photo of her and Stuart that hung on the wall next to the mirror. It was hard to tell the difference from the photo, but she found it unsettling nonetheless.
Gina turned on the TV but couldn’t find anything interesting to watch. What to do? She could take Max for a walk, but it was dark out. She chuckled. Too dark! Darkness had never been a problem before. Maybe she could take Max out into the yard at least. She hadn’t looked at her garden yet. She shoved her feet into her shoes and slipped into a light jacket. It was late spring, but a chill lingered in the air. She called Max and opened the sliding door to the backyard. Max stayed by her side at first, waiting to be harnessed. Once she understood that her mistress didn’t require her assistance, she bounded across the yard and busied herself sniffing all the nooks and crannies.
The tulips were in bloom near the shed Stuart used as a workshop. Their colors stood against the darkness, bathed in a glow from the window. That was odd. He must have left a light on.
Or perhaps it wasn’t odd at all. Gina knew nothing about the methods he used in creating his art. Maybe part of the wood-curing process required light of some sort. She didn’t know because she had never seen. She had never even been inside his workshop.
I shouldn’t. I should wait for him to show me. It didn’t feel right to snoop, as curious as she was. She would ask Stuart to give her the grand tour when he came home.
Maybe just a little peek. What harm could it do?
Gina tried the door. It was unlocked. She pushed it open a crack and peeked inside. A curtain hung in front of the door, obstructing her view of the inside of the shed. She pulled the curtain aside and entered her husband’s workshop.
Something tickled her hair and she jumped back, startled. Eerie shadows danced on the walls. A string swung next to her shoulder. She brushed it away and looked up. The string was connected to a chain, which was attached to a dangling light fixture. The swaying bulb was the sole source of light in the workshop.
The workbench was cluttered with tools and debris from partially finished projects. A bit of wood here, a scrap of leather there. A pale stick of wood was clamped in the vise, a work in progress judging by the half-worn sheets of sandpaper and fine layer of dust on the bench below. She caressed the graceful curve of the piece with her fingertips, wondering what it was going to be. It always amazed her; the way Stuart could create such elegant contours from an ordinary chunk of wood. She couldn’t wait to watch him work.
A large barrel sat in one darkened corner of the room. Curious, Gina lifted the lid to peer inside. A powerful odor assaulted her nostrils. The barrel was filled with some sort of dark liquid with a strong chemical smell. Things floated inside the liquid, but she couldn’t see what they were. She wasn’t about to poke around in that nasty stuff. Her toe bumped against the barrel, causing the liquid to slosh a bit. Something floated to the top. A recognizable shape, but no – it couldn’t be that – it had to be a trick of the light. Gina used the pull-cord to swing the light bulb in the direction of the barrel. Back and forth it swung. Light splashed over the barrel, then dark. The thing disappeared between the surface of the liquid. She kicked the barrel again and swung the light.
Light. Dark.
Light. Dark.
Light. The thing came into view again. The light swung, revealing the shapes of skeletal fingers.
Gina screamed.
The bulb swung another arc, illuminating the far corner of the room. A wooden crate came into view. It overflowed with sticks much like the one currently clamped in the vise. Now she saw that they weren’t sticks at all, but bones.
Human bones, she was certain. What else could they be?
She stumbled backward, scrambling for the door. She ran outside and tripped over Max, who had heard her scream and come to her rescue. She landed face down in the grass. Max whined and rushed to lick her face.
She heard vehicle approaching and headlights flashed across the driveway. Stuart was home. Gina ran to the house with Max close on her heels. She dashed inside and ran to retrieve the Max’s harness from her bag. With shaking hands, she slipped the harness on the dog and fastened it in place. She dove onto the couch and managed a few deep breaths to appear calm before the door opened and Stuart walked in.
“Hey, beautiful! You’re home. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. Why didn’t you call? I could have picked you up at the airport.”
She took care to look past him rather than at him to maintain the illusion of blindness. But she did see. She didn’t miss the dark splotches of red on his grey t-shirt. He looked like he’d been in a fight.
And won.
“I wanted to surprise you. Besides, I know how busy you are. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“You’re never a bother, sweetness.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek.
She smiled and kissed him back, keeping her eyes downcast for fear he would see a difference.
“I’m going to take a shower. Have you eaten yet? We could order pizza,” Stuart suggested.
“Yes. I mean, no, I haven’t eaten. Pizza would be fine. I’ll call while you’re in the shower. You want the usual?”
“Whatever you like, my love.”
Gina couldn’t fathom eating, but she knew she needed to keep up appearances. She couldn’t let him suspect anything was wrong.
* * *
A week passed. They celebrated Stuart’s birthday with dinner at a nice restaurant and she gave him a watch as a gift. She maintained her façade of blindness, kept Max harnessed and allowed the dog to guide her everywhere she went. Max knew something was different, but Gina’s secret was safe with her.
She wracked her brain to devise a way to escape her predicament. Leaving Stuart without an explanation didn’t seem like a viable option. She was afraid of him now. A homicidal monster lurked beneath his kind and loving exterior, and she had no idea what it would take to trigger his wrath and turn that monster on her. She needed to know more about what motivated him to do the things he did.
She waited patiently and watched his daily activities. Soon a pattern emerged. Monday through Thursday he was home for dinner, but on Fridays he worked late. Or so she had always thought.
One Friday night she looked out the window and noticed the light was on in the shed. Stuart was out there, and yet his van was not in the driveway. Gina slipped out the front door with Max in harness and walked around the block, where she discovered Stuart’s van parked in the alley behind their house. It seemed he was parking in the alley and sneaking in through the back gate. He didn’t want her to know he was home.
As she watched, a truck pulled up behind his van. A strange man got out and the two of them unloaded a large plastic-wrapped bundle and together they carried it through the back gate and to his shed.
A chill ran down Gina’s spine. She didn’t have to think very hard to guess what was inside that bundle.
Who was the man? Stuart had an accomplice? She tried to get a look at the license number, but it was too dark.
What was she to do? Call the police? With what evidence?
She didn’t even know what kind of truck it was. She couldn’t tell a Ford from a Dodge because she had never seen different types of vehicles up until now.
Gina realized she had a long way to go in acclimating herself in the sighted world before she could be a reliable witness to anything.
Gina spent the following week studying everything she could to fill her brain with visual information – books, websites, and just going for walks with Max and taking in the sights in her neighborhood. She had sworn her sister to secrecy about her sight restoration. The neighbors still believed she was blind, and it was easy to fool them as long as she wore her dark glasses. She could carry on conversations while studying the minute details of a person’s face, clothing, and immediate surroundings and no one was the wiser.
She spent hours in the attic, searching through old boxes, some of which had been there prior to their marriage. The house had been in Stuart’s family for generations. She found old photos of his parents and grandparents and marveled at the resemblance he bore to them. Another box held photo albums from a more recent era, from Stuart’s childhood through to adulthood. She pulled a white album from the bottom of the box and gasped when she saw the photo on the first page. It was a wedding photo, of Stuart and another woman. He hadn’t told her he’d been married before. Why?
Then again, it wasn’t the only thing he hadn’t been honest about.
She flipped through the pages, studying the woman’s face. His previous wife was in other albums as well; vacation photos, mostly. There they were standing in front of the Grand Canyon, and here on a beach in Mexico. His ex-wife had a nice figure for a bikini, curvy but not quite plump, and had a lovely floral tattoo down the length of her thigh – some sort of delicate vine with little pink flowers on it. What kind of flower was that? She was sure she had seen it before, recently. It had to be recently, since she had only had her sight for a few weeks.
* * *
One afternoon Gina gathered the courage to take another look in the shed. She let Max run loose in the yard. Stuart wasn’t due home for hours.
The sludge barrel was empty. It smelled foul and strong. No hands or feet to be found. The same crate of bones sat in the corner. In the daylight they somehow didn’t look as ominous. What should she do? Take some of the bones to the police? That would probably be the best way to proceed. She crouched beside the crate and reached toward it.
“I see I’m not the only one with a secret,” Stuart said behind her.
Gina screamed and leaped to her feet. She stumbled backward, tripping over more bones.
“How long, Gina?”
“I – don’t – know what you mean,” she stammered.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why would you hide it from me? Jesus, Gina, you can see!” Tears shimmered in his eyes. “It’s a miracle, and the biggest event of your life – of our lives – I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t share it with me.”
“I’m sorry. I meant to tell you. I wanted to surprise you, I just – I didn’t know when to tell you, and then I found… I found…” Gina looked down at the scattering of bones at her feet.
“I guess I owe you an explanation. I should have told you. But it was easier to let you think I was crafting with wood. People find bones a bit creepy, even when they’re just animal bones.”
“Animal bones?”
“Of course! Gee whiz, Gina, what the hell did you think they were?”
“But I came in one night, and I saw… in that barrel… it looked like…” Gina looked down at her hand and spread out her fingers, then looked back up at Stuart.
“A hand? Is that what you thought it was?” He laughed. “I think I understand now. Sweetie, have you ever seen a human skeleton? Or an animal one for that matter?”
“Well, no, I guess not,” Gina admitted.
Stuart put his arm over her shoulders. “Come with me, darling, and I will show you. I think we can clear up this whole misunderstanding.”
As they walked back toward the house, Stuart hugged her close and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I can’t believe you can see! I want you to tell me all about it!”
Gina’s heart warmed with renewed love for her husband. He had already forgiven her lie and suspicion. She beyond embarrassed that she could have suspected he was a murderer.
Back at the house, Stuart sat Gina in front of the computer and showed her pictures of bones on the internet.
“You see? This is a human hand, without the flesh. Does that look like what you saw?”
“Yes, actually, it does.”
“Now look at this. This is a bear paw. Do you see the resemblance? Once the flesh is removed, the toes actually have a finger-like appearance. Could this have been what you saw?”
Gina hung her head. “Yes. The lighting was poor, and I only saw it for a few seconds. It could just as easily have been this that I saw.”
“Just for comparison, this is a fox, this is a wolf, and this – this is the fin of a whale. All mammals share the same characteristics in their skeletal structure.”
“Who was that man I saw you with? I saw you and another man carrying a bundle into the shed.”
“That was Lars. He’s one of the hunters I work with. He brings me carcasses after he’s stripped them of meat, so that I can clean the bones and make things from them. That was a bundle of moose bones we were carrying. I almost have enough for a matching pair of rocking chairs. I wanted to try my hand at building something larger.”
“That sounds amazing.” Gina hung her head, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
“Hey,” Stuart said, taking her in his arms, “Don’t do that. What’s the matter?”
Gina sniffled. “Being blind most of my life, I’ve always had these pictures in my mind of what I thought things looked like, but now that I can see, everything is so different! I feel like I’m in an alien world, and I don’t know what to trust anymore.”
“Shh,” he said. He held her against him, stroking her hair. “It’s ok. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. Just tell me what you need so I can be there for you.”
“I have everything I need. I have you.”
She felt ashamed for thinking he could be capable of anything so unspeakable. Her husband had an odd hobby, granted, but his art was beautiful and she couldn’t have been more proud of him.
She decided not to mention the old photo albums and wedding photos she had seen. Whether or not he had been married before was none of her business unless he chose to tell her. It was a conversation for another time.
* * *
Later that night, after a romantic candlelit dinner, Stuart led her upstairs, where they made love by the dim glow of the handcrafted lamp. Along the edge of the lampshade a faded design was visible – a delicate vine with little pink flowers.
Harold was a good husband. His mother taught him that a good husband should cater to his wife’s every whim. His father had left when he was two years old, so he didn’t have much basis for comparison. On her deathbed, his mother begged him to find a good woman and hold onto her.
“Promise me, Harry. Don’t chase after some bleach-haired floozy. Find a sensible woman who doesn’t sleep around and put a ring on her finger. Be a good husband. I want you to be taken care of.”
“I promise, Mama.”
True to his word, Harold ignored the flirtations of his lovely secretary, Linda, who was clearly waiting for him to ask her out. His mother would not have approved of Linda. She would have called her frivolous. Linda’s long, manicured nails, perfect makeup and unnaturally crimson hair meant she was a high-maintenance woman who probably spent all of her free time at the beauty salon. Personally, Harold wouldn’t have minded if his wife spent extra effort on her appearance, but he had made a promise to his mother. If nothing else, he was an honorable man who revered his mother above all others.
He met Bernice at a charity fundraiser. He was obligated to attend on behalf of his employer, and she was one of the volunteers. She was a solidly built woman; a little on the heavy side. Her angular face was free from makeup and her dishwater-blonde hair was twisted into a tight bun, without a single stray strand. Linda wore her hair up as well, but she always had a few loose strands wisping over her smooth, rouged cheeks. Mother would have approved of Bernice.
Harold proposed to Bernice after just two months of celibate dating, foregoing intimacy to consummate their marriage the way a proper husband and wife should.
The dream honeymoon he had planned didn’t turn out quite the way Harold hoped. He wanted Hawaii, but settled on Niagara Falls because Bernice felt it was more practical to drive a few hours away than spend all that money to fly over the ocean to a resort filled with starved bikini-clad sluts. Howard acquiesced, intent on pleasing his new bride. His spirits weren’t dampened much; the promise of sexual release made mere details like location unimportant.
The honeymoon proved to be a disappointment. After one obligatory roll in the hay, Bernice refused to let him touch her. Like a good husband, Harold respected her wishes, confident that she would warm up to him when she was ready. She took his credit cards and spent the entire week shopping, leaving Harold waiting patiently in the hotel room.
Weeks passed, then months, still with no intimacy. To compensate for his nonexistent sex life, Harold threw himself into his work, quickly climbing the corporate ladder and bringing home increasingly larger paychecks, like a good husband should. Bernice sat on the couch eating snacks, drinking gin and watching the Home Shopping Network, spending the money as quickly as he could earn it.
Harold did his best to please Bernice, but she was never happy. She rarely spoke to him without yelling. Not much of a cook, she insisted on being taken out to eat frequently, which he dreaded because she took every opportunity to humiliate him in public.
Harold was miserable, but never allowed his feelings to show. He endured Bernice’s abuse meekly, replying only when asked to.
“Yes, Dear. You’re right, Dear. Whatever you want, Dear,” became his mantra. He recited the words automatically, often without even hearing what she had said. He knew his mother would have been proud of him for being such a good husband.
He wanted out, but there were only two ways he knew of to get out of his miserable marriage: divorce or suicide. Neither seemed like a viable option. Divorce meant lawyer’s fees, a hefty settlement and alimony. If he committed suicide, Bernice would get to keep all of his money and possessions. It was win-win for Bernice, with Harold ending up the loser in both cases.
As the years passed, Harold’s desperation grew, as did Bernice’s waistline. His eyes had been wandering for some time; after all, he was a man, and only human. His secretary Linda grew lovelier the more he watched her, and he spent many afternoons with his office door locked while he satisfied his urges, imagining various scenarios involving the two of them.
One day, his fantasy came true. Preoccupied with the low-cut dress Linda was wearing, he had forgotten to lock his office door. He was on the verge of climax, eyes closed and head thrown back in ecstasy when the door opened and Linda walked in.
“Mr. Benson, I need you to sign these requisitions for…” She froze when she saw him, sitting at his desk with his pants wide open.
Harold scrambled to cover himself and recover whatever dignity he had left. Linda’s next stop would be Human Resources. He would be publicly humiliated and probably asked to resign. His career was over.
What happened next was unexpected.
“Can I help you with that?” she asked, voice dripping with honey.
Unable to speak, Harold merely nodded. Linda leaned back against the door, shutting it. He heard the lock click into place.
“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” she said, slipping out of her dress and letting it fall to the floor.
Every fantasy he’d ever had was about to come true. For one sickening moment, Harold was certain he was asleep and dreaming; that he would wake up just as she was about to touch him.
When Linda climbed onto his lap and made love to him, he didn’t wake up from a dream. He did, however, experience an awakening of another kind.
His affair with Linda continued, and as the months passed, Harold gradually felt his confidence returning. For the first time in his life he felt like a man. He accepted the possibility that his mother may have been wrong. Subservience didn’t make him a man. It made him a doormat. Standing up for what he believed in was the mark of a true man, and he believed that he wanted to be with Linda.
He made a decision. No more would he endure Bernice’s abuse. He would ask for – no – he would DEMAND a divorce that night.
* * *
Harold ducked to avoid the half-full tumbler of gin and tonic Bernice hurled at him. The glass exploded against the cupboard door behind where his head had been a second earlier.
“A divorce?” she screeched. Her cheeks flushed with alcohol-fueled fury. “Oh, you think so, do you? You think you’re just going to put me out on the street like some used-up old whore?”
“I believe you actually have to have sex to be considered a whore,” Harold said calmly. He never would have dreamed of speaking to her that way before. Now, he felt cool and confident. He was unafraid of her, and his new-found courage was liberating.
“What did you say to me?” Bernice roared, wobbling a bit in her drunken haze as she looked around for something else to throw at him.
“You heard me.”
“Well, let me tell you something, Mister Smartypants.” Bernice grabbed her bottle of Tanqueray and took a swig of straight gin. “It just so happens, I know a thing or two.”
“Do tell, Dear.” Harold made sure he made ‘Dear’ sound anything but endearing.
“I know about your little affair with that slut in your office.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“DON”T FUCKING LIE TO ME!” she screamed.
“Calm down, Bernice. It’s quite simple. I don’t love you. I don’t know if I ever did. This marriage has been a sham from the beginning and I want a divorce. I’ll see that you’re well taken care of. I don’t think we have much else to discuss.”
“Oh yes, there is, you cheating bastard!” Bernice squinted, curling one side of her mouth into a sinister sneer. “I know. I know everything. About Linda, your little office grope-fests, those nights you were supposedly ‘working late’. A while back, I got an anonymous call from someone in your office. Someone cared enough about the sanctity of marriage to tell me what you were up to. I didn’t care much. If you were getting it from her, then you wouldn’t be always trying to put your perverted hands on me.”
“But I never…!” Harold protested, trying to quell the rage that boiled inside him. He had long ago given up making any attempts at intimacy with his wife. It was more peaceful just to leave her snoring away in her gin-soaked slumber.
“No, you never, did you? All these years, I’ve tried to make myself attractive to you, and you won’t so much as lay a finger on me!” She sniffled, tears forming at the corners of her bloodshot eyes. “I’m a woman, you know! I have needs too! Needs that a limp-dicked loser like you could never satisfy!”
Harold’s jaw hung slack as he struggled to comprehend her incredulous accusations. He had tried, Lord knew how hard he had tried to develop an intimate relationship with her early in the marriage, but she’d made it clear she did not want to be touched. Where was this coming from? Then all at once he knew. She was already preparing her case for divorce court. She planned to paint him as cold and neglectful and herself as the longsuffering victim of a loveless marriage.
“This is your response? To try and make it all my fault?”
“If it isn’t your fault, then whose is it? You’re the one who wants the divorce. After I wasted all of my best years on you!”
“Those were your best years? Then it’s a good thing I’m getting out now, because I don’t think I could handle the worst ones.”
“For better or for worse, I believe it was. But,” she waggled her bottle of gin at him. “I thought I’d better get some insurance, just in case. So I hired a private investigator. I have photos of your little love affair. Photos you aren’t going to want shown in court.”
A sudden chill gripped Harold’s gut, squashing the bravado he’d felt moments earlier. With proof of adultery she would assassinate him in court. He’d be left with nothing. Linda wouldn’t want to be with him if he was broke, he was sure of it. He needed to rethink his strategy.
“Bernice, Honey, let’s not be hasty.” He did his best to muster up some realistic-looking tears. “I’m sorry. I take back everything I said about not loving you. I was weak, I admit it, and I’m so sorry I hurt you. Please, Darling, forgive me. I’ll do anything to gain your forgiveness,” he wept.
“Anything?” Bernice was grinning now, a wide, cruel smile that stretched her already too-thin lips to the point where they almost disappeared.
“Anything you want, Dear. Haven’t I always been a good husband? Haven’t I always provided for you and given you everything you wanted? All I ask is you forgive me this one transgression. Tell me, Darling, how can I make it up to you?”
“Oh, it’s going to take me a while to make a list, but the first thing you’re going to do is fire that floozy you’ve been fooling around with.”
“Fire Linda?”
“You got a problem with that? Fire her tomorrow or I’ll call my lawyer.”
“Sweetheart, tomorrow is Saturday. The office is closed.”
“Then Monday, stupid! Do I have to do all the thinking around here?”
“Yes Dear, whatever you want, Dear.”
“That’s more like it,” she slurred. The gin was almost gone, and hopefully she would go to bed soon.
Harold’s mind reeled. He didn’t want to fire Linda, but he needed more time to think. How could he make the weekend last longer? Then he had it.
“Darling, I’m desperate to make it up to you. Why don’t we take a trip, just the two of us? Two weeks, anywhere you want to go. You can go shopping. We’ll eat someplace fancy every night. Please, I don’t want our marriage to end like this.”
“Anywhere I want?”
“Anywhere.”
“What about work on Monday?”
“I’m an executive. I can take time off if I want to. I’ll just call in sick.”
“You are sick. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Dear. You’re right. I’m sick.”
“I know where I want to go. You’ve always refused to take me there.”
“Where?”
“Hawaii.”
Harold wanted to punch her right in the middle of that smug grin. She was the one who had refused to go to Hawaii, not him! But he gritted his teeth and gave her what he hoped was a sweet smile.
“Fine. Hawaii it is. I will make flight arrangements first thing tomorrow. Why don’t we get some sleep now, Dear?”
“Way ahead of you,” she mumbled, wobbling off toward the bedroom.
The last thing Harold wanted was to do was take a vacation with his shrew of a wife, but it was the only way he could think of to buy some time. He had successfully distracted her from demanding that he fire Linda on Monday. If he booked a Sunday flight, he would have the excuse that he’d have to wait until they returned to fire her. In the meantime, he would get a message to Linda, informing her of the recent developments and ask her to take care of business matters for him.
* * *
Luck was on his side, and Harold managed to secure two First Class seats on Flight 266 to Honolulu and a room at a luxurious Oceanside resort.
The following morning while Bernice was sleeping off her hangover, Harold slipped out for coffee at Starbuck’s so he could call Linda in relative privacy. He related the previous night’s events to her.
“I just don’t know what to do, Linda. I’m so sorry you got dragged into this. If I divorce her now, she’ll ruin me.”
“Then there’s only one solution,” Linda said.
“If you know of a way out of this, I’m all for it.”
“You take her to Hawaii, but only one of you returns.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Yes. Read between the lines, Harry. All I’m going to say is, lots of accidents can happen in Hawaii. People drown in the surf. You take a hike up a volcano, then… oops! Use your imagination, Babe. You’ll figure something out. When you get back, I’ll be waiting for you. I love you, Harry.” She hung up before he could respond.
She loves me! His heart fluttered, in a way it never had for Bernice. No matter what happened in Hawaii, he had Linda.
But kill Bernice?
He had to admit, he’d thought of it more than once, the same way he’d fantasized about having sex with Linda. That fantasy had come true, so why not this one?
His phone dinged, indicating a text message. It was from Linda. He opened it eagerly. It was a picture of a breast. The message said, ‘Remember what’s waiting for you. Now delete this and go get ‘er!’
He picked up a bouquet of flowers on the way home and walked back into the house whistling a light-hearted tune. For the first time since he walked down the aisle, he saw light at the end of the tunnel.
After receiving a tongue-lashing from Bernice about buying flowers that were just going to be dead by the time they returned, Harold helped her pack for their dream vacation to Hawaii.
It was going to be a dream, all right. A dream come true. He had the entire flight and subsequent two weeks to plan and execute his wife’s demise, and then he could finally start his life.
* * *
The plane hadn’t finished taxiing down the runway when Bernice started to complain.
“This seatbelt is faulty. It’s too tight. I’m taking it off.”
“Just a few minutes, Dear. Once we’re in the air you can take it off.”
“Well who designed these damn things? Probably the same assholes who design clothes – anorexics only!”
Harold clamped his lips shut tight. It wouldn’t do to argue with her or point out that the seatbelt was tight because she had gained considerable girth since their wedding. It was a good thing he had booked First Class, because he didn’t think her ass would have fit in a Coach seat.
The moment the Fasten Seatbelts sign went off, Bernice had the flight attendant running, bringing her gin after gin, slippers, a pillow, then a new pillow because the one she had smelled like farts.
Harold gazed out the window at the rugged snow-capped mountains below, picturing the curve of Linda’s breast in her last text. He mulled over the various ways he could kill Bernice. Drowning might be difficult, since a woman her size was incredibly buoyant. With his luck he’d push her overboard and she’d bob there like a cork until someone rescued her. Of course, there was always the possibility of a shark attack…
The volcano option was unlikely, since Bernice wouldn’t hike anywhere unless a buffet was waiting at the other end.
Poison, perhaps? Alcohol poisoning? Maybe he could make it look accidental. There had to be a way.
The plane gave a sickening lurch, then shuddered violently. Harold jumped in his seat. The Fasten Seatbelts sign lit up again. Bernice muttered curses into her gin and tonic.
Oxygen masks dropped in front of their faces, and a crescendo of screams rose from the Coach cabin behind them. A flight attendant emerged from the cockpit and gathered the others into a cluster, where she whispered to them urgently before ducking behind the curtain that separated First Class from Coach.
A woman’s voice came over the intercom.
“This is flight attendant Julie Todd. The captain has informed me that we are having mechanical difficulties. The cabin may lose pressure, so please take a moment to place your oxygen masks over your faces. If traveling with small children, please put on your own mask first before assisting with theirs.”
Harold detected a quaver in the flight attendant’s voice. She sounded scared, and it frightened him. She was trained to handle events such as this.
Harold put on his mask, noticing that Bernice was still sipping her gin. She had made no move to fasten her seatbelt or put on her mask.
“Honey, you should put your mask on. This could be serious.”
“Bullshit. This is just a drill. They do it all the time. It’s like a fire drill.”
Harold knew for a fact that she was mistaken, but decided to leave her alone. She’d be better company unconscious anyway, if the plane did depressurize. A flight attendant was headed in their direction, having seen that Bernice was not wearing her seatbelt and oxygen mask. The plane suddenly banked to the left, sending the flight attendant and anything that wasn’t nailed down hurtling to the other side of the plane.
“Assume crash position and brace for impact!” the captain’s voice said over the intercom.
Everything moved in slow motion. The sounds of fear and chaos filled the cabin – screams of passengers. Flight attendants telling people to place their heads between their legs to prepare for an emergency landing.
Harold dared a peek out the window. Did those mountains look closer? The plane was traveling in a distinct forward slant now, and he realized that he probably wasn’t going to survive.
His thoughts went immediately to Linda. Not to the loss of his own life, but the loss of what might have been if he hadn’t been such a pushover all his life. If this is what it meant to have your life flash before your eyes before you die, his was a pretty poor example of a life. So many regrets, so little life lived.
Bernice’s screams jolted him out of his reverie.
“This is all YOUR fault, Harold! You dragged me onto this death-plane against my will! Is this how you planned to get rid of me? To kill me in cold blood? You coward! You’ve been a coward all your life, and now you’re going to die a coward!”
Suddenly, everything became crystal clear to Harold. His biggest regret was not that he was going to die without having really lived, but that he was being robbed of the chance to kill the red-faced screeching banshee wedged into the seat beside him.
Harold tore the mask off his face. Nobody reprimanded him, because all of the flight attendants were already strapped in and tucked into crash position. He unbuckled his seatbelt and lunged at Bernice, wrapping his hands around her throat.
“I’m going to kill you if it’s the last thing I ever do!” He shouted into her face, squeezing with Herculean strength he didn’t know he had.
She made a gackkk sound and flapped her thick, doughy arms at him. Her face darkened from red to purple. Harold squeezed for all he was worth. He felt her windpipe pop under his thumbs and he pressed harder. There seemed no end to his strength, and he’d never felt more alive than he did at that moment. All the years of quiet subservience, humiliation and frustration culminated into that one single act.
Bernice’s eyes bulged and her lips opened and closed, silently for the first time since he’d known her. She looked like a giant purple fish, dying on the shore.
“You WILL die before I do!” he panted, spittle raining over her violet face. “You owe me at least that, you insufferable bitch!” Harold closed his eyes and clamped his hands down with everything he had. Bernice’s head sagged limply to one side, but he maintained his iron grip on her throat. This was how he wanted to die. They would literally have to pry her from his cold, dead hands. He would have the satisfaction of seeing her suffer in his last few moments of life, and that was the greatest gift she could ever give him.
“I love you, Linda! Harold shouted, bracing himself for impact.
* * *
Linda stretched out on her couch with a glass of Chardonnay to watch the evening news. Harry would be in Hawaii by now, and hopefully he had figured out how he was going to kill his wife.
It had been a long, slow process, but she had finally succeeded in seducing her boss. Now that he was in her back pocket, all she had to do was get rid of his wife and she would be on Easy Street. With Bernice too dead to drain him for alimony, everything would be theirs, and eventually hers. As Harry’s wife, she would no longer have to work as his secretary. Her replacement was already waiting in the wings – Brittany was a sultry blonde who had given up exotic dancing for secretarial school. Harry wouldn’t be able to resist Brittany. Once a cheater, always a cheater, and now that he’d done it once, the second time would be easier.
Linda would use the same trick she had suggested to Bernice when she placed that anonymous call months earlier. She would hire a private investigator, most likely the same one Bernice had used, to gather all the evidence she needed to prove adultery.
Yes, Easy Street. She’d earned it.
Lost in her champagne and caviar daydreams, Linda only half listened to the newscast, until something about a plane crash caught her interest. She sat upright when she heard the word Honolulu.
Wait – what? That was where Harry and Princess Bingo-Wings were landing. What the hell flight were they on? It couldn’t possibly be the same flight! She turned up the volume and sat, riveted to the screen.
“Flight 266 from New York to Honolulu experienced engine failure while flying over the Cascades near Washington State. The pilot saved the lives of nearly all passengers and crew with a last minute maneuver that steered the plane away from the mountains and over Puget Sound, where he executed a heroic water landing. The Coast Guard arrived quickly and rescued all survivors. There was only one casualty, a woman whose name is being withheld pending investigation and notification of immediate family. There has been talk of extenuating circumstances surrounding the woman’s death. She did not die as a result of the crash. Apparently she was deceased beforehand, having been strangled to death by her husband, who survived the crash. Several witnesses have corroborated the story, though authorities have declined to comment.”
The picture switched from the newscaster to live footage of passengers disembarking from Coast Guard cutters in Seattle. The dejected masses wrapped in blankets lost the spotlight to a single passenger, a man, who was led from the boat wearing handcuffs and handed over to waiting police.
Mona sloshed the mop into the steaming pail, the aroma of bleach strong in the air. It was industrial strength; several times stronger than ordinary household bleach, but it was necessary, for this was, after all, an industrial task. Back and forth she scrubbed the floor and the plastic walls; section by section, panel by panel.
It was important to do a thorough job, for any contaminants could result in mold and other fungal growth, which would harm the seedlings that would soon fill the greenhouse.
Scrubbing greenhouses was one of the least desirable jobs at the nursery, so nobody objected when Mona volunteered to take on the task. She was on her third of twenty greenhouses, but it was necessary work. It was solitary work, and it gave her plenty of time to reflect on her life and how drastically it had changed in such a short time.
Her husband had never allowed her to work outside the home. She had enough to do, he said, keeping his home clean and caring for the children. But once the children were grown and able to care for themselves, Mona found herself with little to do. When Richard lost his job, the bills began to pile up. When Mona suggested he apply for work at a local nursery that was hiring, she received a black eye for her trouble. Richard frequently let his fists do the talking. Mona had always cowed to his will, but this time she swore it would never happen again.
The bank was on the verge of foreclosing and Richard still hadn’t gotten a job. He sat at home in a drunken stupor, day after day.
Mona went behind her husband’s back for the first time, and went to work. She accepted the same nursery job he had refused. Richard didn’t appear to notice she was gone each day.
Until he did.
She didn’t notice his truck, following at a distance as she walked to the bus stop, and then following the bus until she got off and walked the rest of the way to work.
She didn’t hear him enter. Mona listened to her radio as she used a razor knife to trim excess plastic from a newly installed panel in the greenhouse wall. She was unaware of his presence until her head was yanked backward, cruel fingers entwined in her hair.
“You fucking liar!” he growled into her ear, spraying spittle on her cheek.
“Ow! Rich, you’re hurting me!”
“Oh, you don’t know hurt, you sorry bitch. I’ll show you the meaning of hurt. You don’t lie to me and get away with it.”
“Rich, no! Please!” Her plea was cut short by rough hands around her throat, choking off her air.
Mona struggled to breathe. Flailing, she tried to thrust his hands away from her neck.
The world turned red.
At first she thought blood vessels in her eyes had burst from being choked; all she could see was red. Then Mona realized she could breathe again and the pressure on her neck was gone. She wiped her sleeve across her eyes, and then as her hand touched her face, she felt the sting of a blade on her cheek.
“Ow!” The razor knife dropped from her hand.
She touched her cheek where the blade had scratched it and her hand came away red. Far too much blood for such a little scratch. Or was she cut deeper than she thought? She looked down at her clothing to find them also covered with blood, and a dark pool surrounded her shoes.
Oh my God, I’m bleeding to death!
She stumbled backward, frantically patting her body in search of mortal injury and finding none. Her foot struck an obstacle on the floor and she fell, landing on top of the lifeless form of Richard. The dark pool of blood originated from a gash in his neck.
The razor knife lay where she had dropped it, covered in his blood.
“Oh, Rich! What have I done? What did you make me do?” she whispered.
So many times he had uttered those very words to her after beating her black and blue. He always blamed his rage on her.
* * *
Mona stabbed the compost with the pitchfork, lifting forkful after forkful of the heavy, smelly material. It was important to turn the compost regularly to speed decomposition. It was an unpleasant task that the other workers were happy to let Mona take on. She was going to be very busy, between cleaning the greenhouses and maintaining the large compost pit. Springtime was on the way and new crops needed to be planted.
Mona had a hunch the compost would be extra Rich that year.
A comedian once said that the ideal time to kill someone is when you’re on a plane that’s about to crash. That was the inspiration for this story…
Harold was a good husband. His mother taught him that a good husband should cater to his wife’s every whim. His father had left when he was two years old, so he didn’t have much basis for comparison. On her deathbed, his mother begged him to find a good woman and hold onto her.
“Promise me, Harry. Don’t chase after some bleach-haired floozy. Find a sensible woman who doesn’t sleep around and put a ring on her finger. Be a good husband. I want you to be taken care of.”
“I promise, Mama.”
True to his word, Harold ignored the flirtations of his lovely secretary, Linda, who was clearly waiting for him to ask her out. His mother would not have approved of Linda. She would have called her frivolous. Linda’s long, manicured nails, perfect makeup and unnaturally crimson hair meant she was a high-maintenance woman who probably spent all of her free time at the beauty salon. Personally, Harold wouldn’t have minded if his wife spent extra effort on her appearance, but he had made a promise to his mother. If nothing else, he was an honorable man who revered his mother above all others.
He met Bernice at a charity fundraiser. He was obligated to attend on behalf of his employer, and she was one of the volunteers. She was a solidly built woman; a little on the heavy side. Her angular face was free from makeup and her dishwater-blonde hair was twisted into a tight bun, without a single stray strand. Linda wore her hair up as well, but she always had a few loose strands wisping over her smooth, rouged cheeks. Mother would have approved of Bernice.
Harold proposed to Bernice after just two months of celibate dating, foregoing intimacy to consummate their marriage the way a proper husband and wife should.
The dream honeymoon he had planned didn’t turn out quite the way Harold hoped. He wanted Hawaii, but settled on Niagara Falls because Bernice felt it was more practical to drive a few hours away than spend all that money to fly over the ocean to a resort filled with starved bikini-clad sluts. Howard acquiesced, intent on pleasing his new bride. His spirits weren’t dampened much; the promise of sexual release made mere details like location unimportant.
The honeymoon proved to be a disappointment. After one obligatory roll in the hay, Bernice refused to let him touch her. Like a good husband, Harold respected her wishes, confident that she would warm up to him when she was ready. She took his credit cards and spent the entire week shopping, leaving Harold waiting patiently in the hotel room.
Weeks passed, then months, still with no intimacy. To compensate for his nonexistent sex life, Harold threw himself into his work, quickly climbing the corporate ladder and bringing home increasingly larger paychecks, like a good husband should. Bernice sat on the couch eating snacks, drinking gin and watching the Home Shopping Network, spending the money as quickly as he could earn it.
Harold did his best to please Bernice, but she was never happy. She rarely spoke to him without yelling. Not much of a cook, she insisted on being taken out to eat frequently, which he dreaded because she took every opportunity to humiliate him in public.
Harold was miserable, but never allowed his feelings to show. He endured Bernice’s abuse meekly, replying only when asked to.
“Yes, Dear. You’re right, Dear. Whatever you want, Dear,” became his mantra. He recited the words automatically, often without even hearing what she had said. He knew his mother would have been proud of him for being such a good husband.
He wanted out, but there were only two ways he knew of to get out of his miserable marriage: divorce or suicide. Neither seemed like a viable option. Divorce meant lawyer’s fees, a hefty settlement and alimony. If he committed suicide, Bernice would get to keep all of his money and possessions. It was win-win for Bernice, with Harold ending up the loser in both cases.
As the years passed, Harold’s desperation grew, as did Bernice’s waistline. His eyes had been wandering for some time; after all, he was a man, and only human. His secretary Linda grew lovelier the more he watched her, and he spent many afternoons with his office door locked while he satisfied his urges, imagining various scenarios involving the two of them.
One day, his fantasy came true. Preoccupied with the low-cut dress Linda was wearing, he had forgotten to lock his office door. He was on the verge of climax, eyes closed and head thrown back in ecstasy when the door opened and Linda walked in.
“Mr. Benson, I need you to sign these requisitions for…” She froze when she saw him, sitting at his desk with his pants wide open.
Harold scrambled to cover himself and recover whatever dignity he had left. Linda’s next stop would be Human Resources. He would be publicly humiliated and probably asked to resign. His career was over.
What happened next was unexpected.
“Can I help you with that?” she asked, voice dripping with honey.
Unable to speak, Harold merely nodded. Linda leaned back against the door, shutting it. He heard the lock click into place.
“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” she said, slipping out of her dress and letting it fall to the floor.
Every fantasy he’d ever had was about to come true. For one sickening moment, Harold was certain he was asleep and dreaming; that he would wake up just as she was about to touch him.
When Linda climbed onto his lap and made love to him, he didn’t wake up from a dream. He did, however, experience an awakening of another kind.
His affair with Linda continued, and as the months passed, Harold gradually felt his confidence returning. For the first time in his life he felt like a man. He accepted the possibility that his mother may have been wrong. Subservience didn’t make him a man. It made him a doormat. Standing up for what he believed in was the mark of a true man, and he believed that he wanted to be with Linda.
He made a decision. No more would he endure Bernice’s abuse. He would ask for – no – he would DEMAND a divorce that night.
* * *
Harold ducked to avoid the half-full tumbler of gin and tonic Bernice hurled at him. The glass exploded against the cupboard door behind where his head had been a second earlier.
“A divorce?” she screeched. Her cheeks flushed with alcohol-fueled fury. “Oh, you think so, do you? You think you’re just going to put me out on the street like some used-up old whore?”
“I believe you actually have to have sex to be considered a whore,” Harold said calmly. He never would have dreamed of speaking to her that way before. Now, he felt cool and confident. He was unafraid of her, and his new-found courage was liberating.
“What did you say to me?” Bernice roared, wobbling a bit in her drunken haze as she looked around for something else to throw at him.
“You heard me.”
“Well, let me tell you something, Mister Smartypants.” Bernice grabbed her bottle of Tanqueray and took a swig of straight gin. “It just so happens, I know a thing or two.”
“Do tell, Dear.” Harold made sure he made ‘Dear’ sound anything but endearing.
“I know about your little affair with that slut in your office.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“DON”T FUCKING LIE TO ME!” she screamed.
“Calm down, Bernice. It’s quite simple. I don’t love you. I don’t know if I ever did. This marriage has been a sham from the beginning and I want a divorce. I’ll see that you’re well taken care of. I don’t think we have much else to discuss.”
“Oh yes, there is, you cheating bastard!” Bernice squinted, curling one side of her mouth into a sinister sneer. “I know. I know everything. About Linda, your little office grope-fests, those nights you were supposedly ‘working late’. A while back, I got an anonymous call from someone in your office. Someone cared enough about the sanctity of marriage to tell me what you were up to. I didn’t care much. If you were getting it from her, then you wouldn’t be always trying to put your perverted hands on me.”
“But I never…!” Harold protested, trying to quell the rage that boiled inside him. He had long ago given up making any attempts at intimacy with his wife. It was more peaceful just to leave her snoring away in her gin-soaked slumber.
“No, you never, did you? All these years, I’ve tried to make myself attractive to you, and you won’t so much as lay a finger on me!” She sniffled, tears forming at the corners of her bloodshot eyes. “I’m a woman, you know! I have needs too! Needs that a limp-dicked loser like you could never satisfy!”
Harold’s jaw hung slack as he struggled to comprehend her incredulous accusations. He had tried, Lord knew how hard he had tried to develop an intimate relationship with her early in the marriage, but she’d made it clear she did not want to be touched. Where was this coming from? Then all at once he knew. She was already preparing her case for divorce court. She planned to paint him as cold and neglectful and herself as the longsuffering victim of a loveless marriage.
“This is your response? To try and make it all my fault?”
“If it isn’t your fault, then whose is it? You’re the one who wants the divorce. After I wasted all of my best years on you!”
“Those were your best years? Then it’s a good thing I’m getting out now, because I don’t think I could handle the worst ones.”
“For better or for worse, I believe it was. But,” she waggled her bottle of gin at him. “I thought I’d better get some insurance, just in case. So I hired a private investigator. I have photos of your little love affair. Photos you aren’t going to want shown in court.”
A sudden chill gripped Harold’s gut, squashing the bravado he’d felt moments earlier. With proof of adultery she would assassinate him in court. He’d be left with nothing. Linda wouldn’t want to be with him if he was broke, he was sure of it. He needed to rethink his strategy.
“Bernice, Honey, let’s not be hasty.” He did his best to muster up some realistic-looking tears. “I’m sorry. I take back everything I said about not loving you. I was weak, I admit it, and I’m so sorry I hurt you. Please, Darling, forgive me. I’ll do anything to gain your forgiveness,” he wept.
“Anything?” Bernice was grinning now, a wide, cruel smile that stretched her already too-thin lips to the point where they almost disappeared.
“Anything you want, Dear. Haven’t I always been a good husband? Haven’t I always provided for you and given you everything you wanted? All I ask is you forgive me this one transgression. Tell me, Darling, how can I make it up to you?”
“Oh, it’s going to take me a while to make a list, but the first thing you’re going to do is fire that floozy you’ve been fooling around with.”
“Fire Linda?”
“You got a problem with that? Fire her tomorrow or I’ll call my lawyer.”
“Sweetheart, tomorrow is Saturday. The office is closed.”
“Then Monday, stupid! Do I have to do all the thinking around here?”
“Yes Dear, whatever you want, Dear.”
“That’s more like it,” she slurred. The gin was almost gone, and hopefully she would go to bed soon.
Harold’s mind reeled. He didn’t want to fire Linda, but he needed more time to think. How could he make the weekend last longer? Then he had it.
“Darling, I’m desperate to make it up to you. Why don’t we take a trip, just the two of us? Two weeks, anywhere you want to go. You can go shopping. We’ll eat someplace fancy every night. Please, I don’t want our marriage to end like this.”
“Anywhere I want?”
“Anywhere.”
“What about work on Monday?”
“I’m an executive. I can take time off if I want to. I’ll just call in sick.”
“You are sick. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Dear. You’re right. I’m sick.”
“I know where I want to go. You’ve always refused to take me there.”
“Where?”
“Hawaii.”
Harold wanted to punch her right in the middle of that smug grin. She was the one who had refused to go to Hawaii, not him! But he gritted his teeth and gave her what he hoped was a sweet smile.
“Fine. Hawaii it is. I will make flight arrangements first thing tomorrow. Why don’t we get some sleep now, Dear?”
“Way ahead of you,” she mumbled, wobbling off toward the bedroom.
The last thing Harold wanted was to do was take a vacation with his shrew of a wife, but it was the only way he could think of to buy some time. He had successfully distracted her from demanding that he fire Linda on Monday. If he booked a Sunday flight, he would have the excuse that he’d have to wait until they returned to fire her. In the meantime, he would get a message to Linda, informing her of the recent developments and ask her to take care of business matters for him.
* * *
Luck was on his side, and Harold managed to secure two First Class seats on Flight 266 to Honolulu and a room at a luxurious Oceanside resort.
The following morning while Bernice was sleeping off her hangover, Harold slipped out for coffee at Starbuck’s so he could call Linda in relative privacy. He related the previous night’s events to her.
“I just don’t know what to do, Linda. I’m so sorry you got dragged into this. If I divorce her now, she’ll ruin me.”
“Then there’s only one solution,” Linda said.
“If you know of a way out of this, I’m all for it.”
“You take her to Hawaii, but only one of you returns.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Yes. Read between the lines, Harry. All I’m going to say is, lots of accidents can happen in Hawaii. People drown in the surf. You take a hike up a volcano, then… oops! Use your imagination, Babe. You’ll figure something out. When you get back, I’ll be waiting for you. I love you, Harry.” She hung up before he could respond.
She loves me! His heart fluttered, in a way it never had for Bernice. No matter what happened in Hawaii, he had Linda.
But kill Bernice?
He had to admit, he’d thought of it more than once, the same way he’d fantasized about having sex with Linda. That fantasy had come true, so why not this one?
His phone dinged, indicating a text message. It was from Linda. He opened it eagerly. It was a picture of a breast. The message said, ‘Remember what’s waiting for you. Now delete this and go get ‘er!’
He picked up a bouquet of flowers on the way home and walked back into the house whistling a light-hearted tune. For the first time since he walked down the aisle, he saw light at the end of the tunnel.
After receiving a tongue-lashing from Bernice about buying flowers that were just going to be dead by the time they returned, Harold helped her pack for their dream vacation to Hawaii.
It was going to be a dream, all right. A dream come true. He had the entire flight and subsequent two weeks to plan and execute his wife’s demise, and then he could finally start his life.
* * *
The plane hadn’t finished taxiing down the runway when Bernice started to complain.
“This seatbelt is faulty. It’s too tight. I’m taking it off.”
“Just a few minutes, Dear. Once we’re in the air you can take it off.”
“Well who designed these damn things? Probably the same assholes who design clothes – anorexics only!”
Harold clamped his lips shut tight. It wouldn’t do to argue with her or point out that the seatbelt was tight because she had gained considerable girth since their wedding. It was a good thing he had booked First Class, because he didn’t think her ass would have fit in a Coach seat.
The moment the Fasten Seatbelts sign went off, Bernice had the flight attendant running, bringing her gin after gin, slippers, a pillow, then a new pillow because the one she had smelled like farts.
Harold gazed out the window at the rugged snow-capped mountains below, picturing the curve of Linda’s breast in her last text. He mulled over the various ways he could kill Bernice. Drowning might be difficult, since a woman her size was incredibly buoyant. With his luck he’d push her overboard and she’d bob there like a cork until someone rescued her. Of course, there was always the possibility of a shark attack…
The volcano option was unlikely, since Bernice wouldn’t hike anywhere unless a buffet was waiting at the other end.
Poison, perhaps? Alcohol poisoning? Maybe he could make it look accidental. There had to be a way.
The plane gave a sickening lurch, then shuddered violently. Harold jumped in his seat. The Fasten Seatbelts sign lit up again. Bernice muttered curses into her gin and tonic.
Oxygen masks dropped in front of their faces, and a crescendo of screams rose from the Coach cabin behind them. A flight attendant emerged from the cockpit and gathered the others into a cluster, where she whispered to them urgently before ducking behind the curtain that separated First Class from Coach.
A woman’s voice came over the intercom.
“This is flight attendant Julie Todd. The captain has informed me that we are having mechanical difficulties. The cabin may lose pressure, so please take a moment to place your oxygen masks over your faces. If traveling with small children, please put on your own mask first before assisting with theirs.”
Harold detected a quaver in the flight attendant’s voice. She sounded scared, and it frightened him. She was trained to handle events such as this.
Harold put on his mask, noticing that Bernice was still sipping her gin. She had made no move to fasten her seatbelt or put on her mask.
“Honey, you should put your mask on. This could be serious.”
“Bullshit. This is just a drill. They do it all the time. It’s like a fire drill.”
Harold knew for a fact that she was mistaken, but decided to leave her alone. She’d be better company unconscious anyway, if the plane did depressurize. A flight attendant was headed in their direction, having seen that Bernice was not wearing her seatbelt and oxygen mask. The plane suddenly banked to the left, sending the flight attendant and anything that wasn’t nailed down hurtling to the other side of the plane.
“Assume crash position and brace for impact!” the captain’s voice said over the intercom.
Everything moved in slow motion. The sounds of fear and chaos filled the cabin – screams of passengers. Flight attendants telling people to place their heads between their legs to prepare for an emergency landing.
Harold dared a peek out the window. Did those mountains look closer? The plane was traveling in a distinct forward slant now, and he realized that he probably wasn’t going to survive.
His thoughts went immediately to Linda. Not to the loss of his own life, but the loss of what might have been if he hadn’t been such a pushover all his life. If this is what it meant to have your life flash before your eyes before you die, his was a pretty poor example of a life. So many regrets, so little life lived.
Bernice’s screams jolted him out of his reverie.
“This is all YOUR fault, Harold! You dragged me onto this death-plane against my will! Is this how you planned to get rid of me? To kill me in cold blood? You coward! You’ve been a coward all your life, and now you’re going to die a coward!”
Suddenly, everything became crystal clear to Harold. His biggest regret was not that he was going to die without having really lived, but that he was being robbed of the chance to kill the red-faced screeching banshee wedged into the seat beside him.
Harold tore the mask off his face. Nobody reprimanded him, because all of the flight attendants were already strapped in and tucked into crash position. He unbuckled his seatbelt and lunged at Bernice, wrapping his hands around her throat.
“I’m going to kill you if it’s the last thing I ever do!” He shouted into her face, squeezing with Herculean strength he didn’t know he had.
She made a gackkk sound and flapped her thick, doughy arms at him. Her face darkened from red to purple. Harold squeezed for all he was worth. He felt her windpipe pop under his thumbs and he pressed harder. There seemed no end to his strength, and he’d never felt more alive than he did at that moment. All the years of quiet subservience, humiliation and frustration culminated into that one single act.
Bernice’s eyes bulged and her lips opened and closed, silently for the first time since he’d known her. She looked like a giant purple fish, dying on the shore.
“You WILL die before I do!” he panted, spittle raining over her violet face. “You owe me at least that, you insufferable bitch!” Harold closed his eyes and clamped his hands down with everything he had. Bernice’s head sagged limply to one side, but he maintained his iron grip on her throat. This was how he wanted to die. They would literally have to pry her from his cold, dead hands. He would have the satisfaction of seeing her suffer in his last few moments of life, and that was the greatest gift she could ever give him.
“I love you, Linda! Harold shouted, bracing himself for impact.
* * *
Linda stretched out on her couch with a glass of Chardonnay to watch the evening news. Harry would be in Hawaii by now, and hopefully he had figured out how he was going to kill his wife.
It had been a long, slow process, but she had finally succeeded in seducing her boss. Now that he was in her back pocket, all she had to do was get rid of his wife and she would be on Easy Street. With Bernice too dead to drain him for alimony, everything would be theirs, and eventually hers. As Harry’s wife, she would no longer have to work as his secretary. Her replacement was already waiting in the wings – Brittany was a sultry blonde who had given up exotic dancing for secretarial school. Harry wouldn’t be able to resist Brittany. Once a cheater, always a cheater, and now that he’d done it once, the second time would be easier.
Linda would use the same trick she had suggested to Bernice when she placed that anonymous call months earlier. She would hire a private investigator, most likely the same one Bernice had used, to gather all the evidence she needed to prove adultery.
Yes, Easy Street. She’d earned it.
Lost in her champagne and caviar daydreams, Linda only half listened to the newscast, until something about a plane crash caught her interest. She sat upright when she heard the word Honolulu.
Wait – what? That was where Harry and Princess Bingo-Wings were landing. What the hell flight were they on? It couldn’t possibly be the same flight! She turned up the volume and sat, riveted to the screen.
“Flight 266 from New York to Honolulu experienced engine failure while flying over the Cascades near Washington State. The pilot saved the lives of nearly all passengers and crew with a last minute maneuver that steered the plane away from the mountains and over Puget Sound, where he executed a heroic water landing. The Coast Guard arrived quickly and rescued all survivors. There was only one casualty, a woman whose name is being withheld pending investigation and notification of immediate family. There has been talk of extenuating circumstances surrounding the woman’s death. She did not die as a result of the crash. Apparently she was deceased beforehand, having been strangled to death by her husband, who survived the crash. Several witnesses have corroborated the story, though authorities have declined to comment.”
The picture switched from the newscaster to live footage of passengers disembarking from Coast Guard cutters in Seattle. The dejected masses wrapped in blankets lost the spotlight to a single passenger, a man, who was led from the boat wearing handcuffs and handed over to waiting police.
~ A mysterious spot on the ceiling of a jail cell: Is it imagination, or a doorway to elsewhere? ~
The spot has grown larger. At least I think it has. Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me. Maybe it’s my mind playing tricks on my eyes. I just don’t know anymore.
It’s been nearly three weeks since I first noticed the spot. I was lying in bed before lights out, glaring at the ceiling as I have done every night since I arrived here.
My first thought was that the brownish-yellow spot looked like a water stain from a leaky roof but of course that’s impossible in this place. Day after day, night after night the strange blotch on the ceiling has mesmerized me, commanding my attention day and night, even after the lights are out. I sense its presence even in pitch darkness; it emits some sort of invisible energy, like a thick phosphorescent glow that I sense to the very core of my being instead of merely seeing it with my eyes.
What the hell is it?
After the first week it began to grow, the edges rippling and undulating like a puddle of water lapping at the cold gray ceiling. It seemed to feed on my anger; I noticed that the fouler my mood, the faster the spot grew.
I was able to reach it by standing on my bed. The spot was warm to the touch and my fingertips detected a slight buzzing sensation. Was it a burn mark? Perhaps it was an electrical wire shorting out in the ceiling. Faulty wiring wasn’t uncommon in old buildings such as this one.
Sometime toward the end of the second week the spot had enlarged to the edge of the room and begun to spread down the wall. I began to get the feeling it was coming for me, to swallow me into wherever it came from.
I tried telling the guards about it but they just laughed and told me to shut up. They didn’t see any spot. They denied my request to be moved to a different cell, calling me crazy before resuming their never-ending poker game. I had no neighbors to confide in. The whole block was… well, dead. Except for me – the sole occupant of death row at that particular time.
The more I stared at the ever-expanding blemish on the ceiling and wall of my cell, the angrier I became. I was angry at my situation, at the people responsible for putting me there but most of all I was angry at the spot itself. How dare it invade my private space? What did it want?
One morning after I finished my breakfast I lost my temper and threw my coffee cup at it. I expected the plastic mug to rebound and rattle to the floor but instead it just disappeared. I swear it did, as God is my witness. It vanished without a sound as if swallowed by quicksand.
I caught a lot of shit for that one. The guards didn’t believe my explanation even though they tossed my cell twice and didn’t find the missing mug. They are still convinced I have it hidden somewhere.
Standing on my bunk, I reached up to touch the spot where the cup disappeared. To my surprise, the ceiling was no longer solid. My fingers slid right through the concrete as though it were soft butter. My whole hand disappeared past the wrist. I groped around but found nothing but an empty void on the other side.
Today, the spot is large enough to accommodate my entire body and I now know what I must do. I am going to follow that cup to wherever it went. I have no future here. I’ve just been served my last meal. Tomorrow is execution day, or E-Day, as I have come to know it.
I’m leaving, but not on a jet plane. Don’t know where I’m going but I won’t be back again. I ain’t sticking around to be put to death for a crime I didn’t commit. Ok, I admit I DID kill a man but it was justified. He had it coming for fucking my wife. I served justice in an unjust world and this is the thanks I get for it.
The spot ripples like water in a breeze, calling to me. It’s my way out of here, I’m sure of it. I don’t know if I will find the regular world on the other side but if I do you can bet I’ll finish what I started. After all, it takes two to tango. That S.O.B. couldn’t have slept with my wife if she wasn’t willing. She won’t get away with it if I can help it.
“I’m coming for you, Rosalee! You hear me? I’m coming for you!”
* * *
She sat with her head down and a wadded tissue clutched in a shaking hand. She dabbed at her eyes from time to time; not out of grief for the man who had just died from lethal injection but for the other who had died at his hands. Her ex-husband was an evil man and she was glad he was dead. Rosalee had attended the execution to see for herself that without a doubt he was gone forever. Maybe now the nightmares would stop.
Kevin hadn’t handled the divorce well. When she remarried, he lost his mind.
She would never forget the day she returned home from a shopping trip to see a barrier of yellow police tape surrounding her home and the ominous sight of a coroner’s van parked at the curb. When they wheeled out a gurney carrying a black plastic body bag she collapsed, wailing in anguish.
Rosalee knew Kevin was the one responsible for Troy’s death and he gave the police no resistance when they arrested him. In court, he said nothing in his own defense despite his court-appointed lawyer’s insistence that an insanity plea would be in his best interest. Kevin’s silence was almost as good as a confession.
Now, the monster that had made her life a living hell and destroyed her second chance at happiness was dead. Rosalee knew she should be feeling relief as she stood on shaking knees but she was still rattled from witnessing the last moments of her ex-husband’s life. The nightmares were still fresh in her mind – the much-too-real vision of a hand emerging from the ceiling of her bedroom, reaching, groping as if searching for her. And then there was the plastic cup that had inexplicably appeared on her bedroom floor one morning. Who had put it there?
As she waited for the guard to escort her back to the prison’s front entrance, Kevin’s voice still echoed in her head. Those last words he shouted just before losing consciousness from the injection:
“I’m coming for you, Rosalee! You hear me? I’m coming for you!”
This year, Gina’s gift to her husband would be extra special. It had been years in the planning; an interminable wait list, clandestine phone calls, hasty arrangements with the help of her sister when the time finally came.
Keeping the secret from Stuart had been agonizing; usually, they told each other everything. Conveniently, he was away on business when Gina and Maxine boarded a taxi for the airport. She told him her sister was recovering from surgery and needed an extra set of hands around the house for a couple of weeks. It was a half-truth; she did stay with her sister in Boston, but it was Gina who was recovering from surgery.
Gina had spoken to Stuart on the phone several times while she was away, but hadn’t told him she was returning early. He wasn’t expecting her for another day. The surprise would be perfect. His birthday wasn’t for another week, but she would give him his gift as soon as he arrived home that evening.
The sunset faded from orange to purple as the taxi pulled up at the curb. Gina stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes after getting out of the car, savoring the view.
The first thing Gina did when they reached the house was remove Max’s harness. She wouldn’t be needing it anymore, but she had left it on for the flight so Max could fly as a guide dog and not as a pet. The German Shepherd gazed up at her, puzzlement in her amber eyes. Gina reached down to stroke her head.
“It’s ok, sweetheart. As of now, you’re retired from active duty. Let’s go inside and get some dinner, shall we?”
Gina brought her suitcase into the bedroom. Though previously accustomed to navigating in darkness, she now noticed the dimness of the room with the curtains drawn.
She clicked the switch on the lamp and gasped. She saw its beauty with her own eyes for the first time. In truth, she was seeing it through someone else’s eyes; those of a young man killed in a motorcycle accident, whose family had donated his organs.
The lamp was one of Stuart’s creations, handmade in his workshop. His art took many forms, mostly jewelry and small figurines carved from hardwoods – yew and walnut, he told her. He had a process for curing the wood that hardened it to almost a porcelain consistency, except much stronger. The lamp was one of his finest pieces.
He had made the lampshade as well, from soft calfskin leather, scraped thin in places to create an intricate design of tree branches, which would light up when the lamp was turned on.
Even though she couldn’t see it, for years she had felt the design with her fingers and formed a picture in her mind’s eye. The base of the lamp formed the trunk of the “tree”. The curve of the wood mimicked a tree trunk perfectly, right down to its graceful curve and non-uniformity of its shape. On the surface he had carved a heart with their initials inside. Tiny bumps covered the surface of the trunk, each painstakingly carved by her husband. It was a Haiku, written by him and inscribed in Braille for her:
Sun may fade from sight
Love for you burns ever bright
My eternal light
Now, for the first time, Gina saw the lamp in all of its glory, and it was exquisite. The glow of the lampshade projected the intricate tree branch design on the walls, giving the illusion that she was surrounded by forest. Gina caressed the shade, which she had felt hundreds of times, but now she could see what her fingers felt.
What unusual leather, she thought. It was unlike anything she remembered from the days before she lost her sight. She had expected it to be more of a tan color, but this was a pale cream shade with a pinkish hue. A muted floral design decorated the edge of the shade. The trunk looked different than she had expected as well. She had always envisioned it being the deep brown of walnut, but it too was a light cream color, almost white.
Stuart was a true artist. She wished he would give up his sales job and focus on his craft, but Stuart insisted that the things he made weren’t worth selling.
“I do this because I enjoy it, dear. Nobody wants to buy a bunch of homemade junk. Knowing that you like them is enough for me,” he had told her.
* * *
After feeding Max and making some dinner for herself, Gina contemplated calling Stuart to find out when he would be home, but resisted the urge. She didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but the anticipation was too much to bear. She paced nervously, stopping to stare at herself in the hallway mirror every time she passed. She had been born with blue eyes; now they were brown. She compared her reflection to the wedding photo of her and Stuart that hung on the wall next to the mirror. It was hard to tell the difference from the photo, but she found it unsettling nonetheless.
Gina turned on the TV but couldn’t find anything interesting to watch. What to do? She could take Max for a walk, but it was dark out. She chuckled. Too dark! Darkness had never been a problem before. Maybe she could take Max out into the yard at least. She hadn’t looked at her garden yet. She shoved her feet into her shoes and slipped into a light jacket. It was late spring, but a chill lingered in the air. She called Max and opened the sliding door to the backyard. Max stayed by her side at first, waiting to be harnessed. Once she understood that her mistress didn’t require her assistance, she bounded across the yard and busied herself sniffing all the nooks and crannies.
The tulips were in bloom near the shed Stuart used as a workshop. Their colors stood against the darkness, bathed in a glow from the window. That was odd. He must have left a light on.
Or perhaps it wasn’t odd at all. Gina knew nothing about the methods he used in creating his art. Maybe part of the wood-curing process required light of some sort. She didn’t know because she had never seen. She had never even been inside his workshop.
I shouldn’t. I should wait for him to show me. It didn’t feel right to snoop, as curious as she was. She would ask Stuart to give her the grand tour when he came home.
Maybe just a little peek. What harm could it do?
Gina tried the door. It was unlocked. She pushed it open a crack and peeked inside. A curtain hung in front of the door, obstructing her view of the inside of the shed. She pulled the curtain aside and entered her husband’s workshop.
Something tickled her hair and she jumped back, startled. Eerie shadows danced on the walls. A string swung next to her shoulder. She brushed it away and looked up. The string was connected to a chain, which was attached to a dangling light fixture. The swaying bulb was the sole source of light in the workshop.
The workbench was cluttered with tools and debris from partially finished projects. A bit of wood here, a scrap of leather there. A pale stick of wood was clamped in the vise, a work in progress judging by the half-worn sheets of sandpaper and fine layer of dust on the bench below. She caressed the graceful curve of the piece with her fingertips, wondering what it was going to be. It always amazed her; the way Stuart could create such elegant contours from an ordinary chunk of wood. She couldn’t wait to watch him work.
A large barrel sat in one darkened corner of the room. Curious, Gina lifted the lid to peer inside. A powerful odor assaulted her nostrils. The barrel was filled with some sort of dark liquid with a strong chemical smell. Things floated inside the liquid, but she couldn’t see what they were. She wasn’t about to poke around in that nasty stuff. Her toe bumped against the barrel, causing the liquid to slosh a bit. Something floated to the top. A recognizable shape, but no – it couldn’t be that – it had to be a trick of the light. Gina used the pull-cord to swing the light bulb in the direction of the barrel. Back and forth it swung. Light splashed over the barrel, then dark. The thing disappeared between the surface of the liquid. She kicked the barrel again and swung the light.
Light. Dark.
Light. Dark.
Light. The thing came into view again. The light swung, revealing the shapes of skeletal fingers.
Gina screamed.
The bulb swung another arc, illuminating the far corner of the room. A wooden crate came into view. It overflowed with sticks much like the one currently clamped in the vise. Now she saw that they weren’t sticks at all, but bones.
Human bones, she was certain. What else could they be?
She stumbled backward, scrambling for the door. She ran outside and tripped over Max, who had heard her scream and come to her rescue. She landed face down in the grass. Max whined and rushed to lick her face.
She heard vehicle approaching and headlights flashed across the driveway. Stuart was home. Gina ran to the house with Max close on her heels. She dashed inside and ran to retrieve the Max’s harness from her bag. With shaking hands, she slipped the harness on the dog and fastened it in place. She dove onto the couch and managed a few deep breaths to appear calm before the door opened and Stuart walked in.
“Hey, beautiful! You’re home. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. Why didn’t you call? I could have picked you up at the airport.”
She took care to look past him rather than at him to maintain the illusion of blindness. But she did see. She didn’t miss the dark splotches of red on his grey t-shirt. He looked like he’d been in a fight.
And won.
“I wanted to surprise you. Besides, I know how busy you are. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“You’re never a bother, sweetness.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek.
She smiled and kissed him back, keeping her eyes downcast for fear he would see that they were different.
“I’m going to take a shower. Have you eaten yet? We could order pizza,” Stuart suggested.
“Yes. I mean, no, I haven’t eaten. Pizza would be fine. I’ll call while you’re in the shower. You want the usual?”
“Whatever you like, my love.”
Gina couldn’t fathom eating, but she knew she needed to keep up appearances. She couldn’t let him suspect anything was wrong.
* * *
A week passed. They celebrated Stuart’s birthday with dinner at a nice restaurant and she gave him a watch as a gift. She maintained her façade of blindness, kept Max harnessed and allowed the dog to guide her everywhere she went. Max knew something was different, but Gina’s secret was safe with her.
She wracked her brain to devise a way to escape her predicament. Leaving Stuart without an explanation didn’t seem like a viable option. She was afraid of him now. A homicidal monster lurked beneath his kind and loving exterior, and she had no idea what it would take to trigger his wrath and turn that monster on her. She needed to know more about what motivated him to do the things he did.
She waited patiently and watched his daily activities. Soon a pattern emerged. Monday through Thursday he was home for dinner, but on Fridays he worked late. Or so she had always thought.
One Friday night she looked out the window and noticed the light was on in the shed. Stuart was out there, and yet his van was not in the driveway. Gina slipped out the front door with Max in harness and walked around the block, where she discovered Stuart’s van parked in the alley behind their house. It seemed he was parking in the alley and sneaking in through the back gate. He didn’t want her to know he was home.
As she watched, a truck pulled up behind his van. A strange man got out and the two of them unloaded a large plastic-wrapped bundle and together they carried it through the back gate and to his shed.
A chill ran down Gina’s spine. She didn’t have to think very hard to guess what was inside that bundle.
Who was the man? Stuart had an accomplice? She tried to get a look at the license number, but it was too dark.
What was she to do? Call the police? With what evidence?
She didn’t even know what kind of truck it was. She couldn’t tell a Ford from a Dodge because she had never seen different types of vehicles up until now.
Gina realized she had a long way to go in acclimating herself in the sighted world before she could be a reliable witness to anything.
Gina spent the following week studying everything she could to fill her brain with visual information – books, websites, and just going for walks with Max and taking in the sights in her neighborhood. She had sworn her sister to secrecy about her sight restoration. The neighbors still believed she was blind, and it was easy to fool them as long as she wore her dark glasses. She could carry on conversations while studying the minute details of a person’s face, clothing, and immediate surroundings and no one was the wiser.
She spent hours in the attic, searching through old boxes, some of which had been there prior to their marriage. The house had been in Stuart’s family for generations. She found old photos of his parents and grandparents and marveled at the resemblance he bore to them. Another box held photo albums from a more recent era, from Stuart’s childhood through to adulthood. She pulled a white album from the bottom of the box and gasped when she saw the photo on the first page. It was a wedding photo, of Stuart and another woman. He hadn’t told her he’d been married before. Why?
Then again, it wasn’t the only thing he hadn’t been honest about.
She flipped through the pages, studying the woman’s face. His previous wife was in other albums as well; vacation photos, mostly. There they were standing in front of the Grand Canyon, and here on a beach in Mexico. His ex-wife had a nice figure for a bikini, curvy but not quite plump, and had a lovely floral tattoo down the length of her thigh – some sort of delicate vine with little pink flowers on it. What kind of flower was that? She was sure she had seen it before, recently. It had to be recently, since she had only had her sight for a few weeks.
* * *
One afternoon Gina gathered the courage to take another look in the shed. She let Max run loose in the yard. Stuart wasn’t due home for hours.
The sludge barrel was empty. It smelled foul and strong. No hands or feet to be found. The same crate of bones sat in the corner. In the daylight they somehow didn’t look as ominous. What should she do? Take some of the bones to the police? That would probably be the best way to proceed. She crouched beside the crate and reached toward it.
“I see I’m not the only one with a secret,” Stuart said behind her.
Gina screamed and leaped to her feet. She stumbled backward, tripping over more bones.
“How long, Gina?”
“I – don’t – know what you mean,” she stammered.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why would you hide it from me? Jesus, Gina, you can see!” Tears shimmered in his eyes. “It’s a miracle, and the biggest event of your life – of our lives – I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t share it with me.”
“I’m sorry. I meant to tell you. I wanted to surprise you, I just – I didn’t know when to tell you, and then I found… I found…” Gina looked down at the scattering of bones at her feet.
“I guess I owe you an explanation. I should have told you. But it was easier to let you think I was crafting with wood. People find bones a bit creepy, even when they’re just animal bones.”
“Animal bones?”
“Of course! Gee whiz, Gina, what the hell did you think they were?”
“But I came in one night, and I saw… in that barrel… it looked like…” Gina looked down at her hand and spread out her fingers, then looked back up at Stuart.
“A hand? Is that what you thought it was?” He laughed. “I think I understand now. Sweetie, have you ever seen a human skeleton? Or an animal one for that matter?”
“Well, no, I guess not,” Gina admitted.
Stuart put his arm over her shoulders. “Come with me, darling, and I will show you. I think we can clear up this whole misunderstanding.”
As they walked back toward the house, Stuart hugged her close and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I can’t believe you can see! I want you to tell me all about it!”
Gina’s heart warmed with renewed love for her husband. He had already forgiven her lie and suspicion. She beyond embarrassed that she could have suspected he was a murderer.
Back at the house, Stuart sat Gina in front of the computer and showed her pictures of bones on the internet.
“You see? This is a human hand, without the flesh. Does that look like what you saw?”
“Yes, actually, it does.”
“Now look at this. This is a bear paw. Do you see the resemblance? Once the flesh is removed, the toes actually have a finger-like appearance. Could this have been what you saw?”
Gina hung her head. “Yes. The lighting was poor, and I only saw it for a few seconds. It could just as easily have been this that I saw.”
“Just for comparison, this is a fox, this is a wolf, and this – this is the fin of a whale. All mammals share the same characteristics in their skeletal structure.”
“Who was that man I saw you with? I saw you and another man carrying a bundle into the shed.”
“That was Lars. He’s one of the hunters I work with. He brings me carcasses after he’s stripped them of meat, so that I can clean the bones and make things from them. That was a bundle of moose bones we were carrying. I almost have enough for a matching pair of rocking chairs. I wanted to try my hand at building something larger.”
“That sounds amazing.” Gina hung her head, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
“Hey,” Stuart said, taking her in his arms, “Don’t do that. What’s the matter?”
Gina sniffled. “Being blind most of my life, I’ve always had these pictures in my mind of what I thought things looked like, but now that I can see, everything is so different! I feel like I’m in an alien world, and I don’t know what to trust anymore.”
“Shh,” he said. He held her against him, stroking her hair. “It’s ok. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. Just tell me what you need so I can be there for you.”
“I have everything I need. I have you.”
She felt ashamed for thinking he could be capable of anything so unspeakable. Her husband had an odd hobby, granted, but his art was beautiful and she couldn’t have been more proud of him.
She decided not to mention the old photo albums and wedding photos she had seen. Whether or not he had been married before was none of her business unless he chose to tell her. It was a conversation for another time.
* * *
Later that night, after a romantic candlelit dinner, Stuart led her upstairs, where they made love by the dim glow of the handcrafted lamp. Along the edge of the lampshade a faded design was visible – a delicate vine with little pink flowers.
DysFictional 