The Broken Wife: III by P.t. Pelkin

Author:P.t. Pelkin [Pelkin, P.t.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Onion River Publishing
Published: 2016-05-19T05:00:00+00:00

Intermission

Ricky waited for the screen to come back to life. It left him with an image, a close up of the woman sitting in the theater. She never said who she pretended to be. Of no mind, the image of her, in full HD, right up close, smolders in his mind’s eye. More so after he froze the image, dumped the screen into his picture file, then brought the resolution up. Fuzzy, sure, yet tight enough to see the pores in her skin. The feint wisps of her mustache. Panning down, the thickness of what will someday fill to a second chin. To her arms, thick with dark hair. Exotic, yes. But better, sexful. What Holly labeled the guy who worked the desk on the weekends over at Workout World. He gave her that one, as she, his Lily to him.

And now, Cecily, who or what she might be. Time will tell, sure, but a mystery all the same. Stefan asked her who she pretended to be, thus must’ve given her the same instructions he gave him. To pretend you’re someone else as you watch a porn flick. For Cecily, possibly a live feed. In a darkened theater. By herself. Why does she need to pretend to be someone else?

Music begins to play from his speakers. The beats familiar, but of who or what escapes him. Then a picture appears of a very pretty young woman sitting on a couch, her name embossed across the bottom. Maria. The screen flips before his eyes can register other details. The same woman now appears sitting behind a table. In a white room, brightly lit. She’s young. Twenties. Her dishwater blond hair pulled back in a tail. Eerily familiar, before he can place the scene, the picture morphs into a video clip of her playing tennis. Her long tan legs, her thinness. Her youthful energy. This ends, to be replaced by a still image of her obviously pregnant, holding her belly in pose for the camera. This flows into yet another of her, washing an infant in a sink.

The music ends, the image on the screen collapses onto itself like a black hole. A tiny dot of light, then rebounds back out to a video of flame. The bright orange and reds of real fire. The camera pulls back. Logs, in a fireplace. Further back, Stefan, sitting in his usual spot in his study, as if waiting for him to finally arrive.

Richard, my good man. Glad to see you’ve stayed with us. I am not surprised, of course. You and I belong together, like this. Don’t you think? Anyway, no doubt you have many questions for me, such as who might be the woman who watched along with you. Let us put her aside for a moment, shall we? Soon enough you will know.

I want to talk to you about the man whom you just watched with your wife. His name’s Devin. He has been in my employ for a number of years now.

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