Analog Science Fiction and Fact, Feb. 2002 by Dell Magazines

Author:Dell Magazines [Dell Magazines]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Science Fiction/Fantasy
Publisher: www.Fictionwise.com
Published: 2001-04-16T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

The woman nervously twisted a lock of her straight black hair, but showed no other signs of her recent widowhood. Perhaps worrying what impression might be given to her visitors by her casual garb and sunlit living room, Fran Feinman tipped her head towards the chaos-filled family room. “It's hard to retain a funereal air around that. I thank God for the twins every day.”

“I'm glad the boys are OK,” said Cheryl. The words sounded dumb to her, but she never knew what to say on a condolence call. She was less sure of herself when her visit had an ulterior motive. “I meant what I said at the memorial service about taking Josh and Scott for a weekend. Whenever you'd like.”

“Thanks, but none of us are ready for separation yet.”

The room fell silent, except for overflow from the children's play. Doug found his tongue first. “Mrs. Feinman, I appreciate your seeing us.”

“Fran, please. Any friend of Cheryl's is always welcome.”

He forced out the words. “I don't know how to approach this tangentially. Please understand that I don't ask this question lightly. Was anything—unusual—about your husband's death?”

The women exchanged a look; Cheryl broke eye contact first. “I had to tell him, Fran. I had to tell him what little I knew.” After that extraordinary dinner at Jim Schulz's place, that was exactly true.

Mrs. Feinman shifted in her chair. The motion was slight, but it was an obvious turning away from Cheryl. “All right, Doug, the look on his face, that was unusual. Oh, it was far worse than that. It was horrible. Ben died with an expression of absolute terror.”

Doug squirmed in his own chair, but he had to continue. He and Cheryl could be next. “Fran, have you any idea what could have frightened him?”

The widow twisted a handkerchief so fiercely that several stitches of embroidery gave way with audible pops. “Ben? My Ben wasn't afraid of anything. He had all of the fear burnt out of him in the Gulf War.”

Cheryl gently laid a hand on her friend's arm. “Then what, Fran? Why that look on him? It must've been bad—I don't believe you scare easily either.”

Mrs. Feinman just shook her head.

Doug began to pace. “You're sure Ben was alone when he had the stroke?”

“The kids and I were at a Saturday matinee, some harmless cartoon.” Memory of the twins’ delight made her smile briefly. “Ben was alone in the den when we left. He said he'd brought home too much work to join us. I closed the den door on my way out. He was dead in his chair when we returned.

“Because of the look, the police examined the house. My fingerprints were the top set on the inside and outside knobs of the den door.” She hugged and rocked herself as she sat. The twins’ play sounded especially noisy in the suddenly silent room.

“Did you notice anything unusual about Ben before this? That day? That week?” No thought underlay Cheryl's questions, but there had to be some meaning to this strange death.

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