Final Cut by Billie Sue Mosiman

Author:Billie Sue Mosiman [Sue, Mosiman, Billie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Suspense & Thrillers
Publisher: Crossroad Press

25

"'For your own good' is a persuasive argument that will eventually make a man agree to his own destruction."

Janet Frame, Faces in the Water

Olivia Nyad hurried up the walk to Karl's front door. Tired and worn from her day on the set, she looked her age. Fine spidery wrinkles radiated from the corners of her eyes. Her mouth drooped and her movements, usually swift and youthful, tonight were sluggish.

She rang the bell, then stood nervously putting a cigarette out on the brick at her feet. When Karl opened the door, she swept into his arms, a dramatic heroine. She could see herself, as if she stood back watching a scene being shot. That's how she lived her life, viewing it from the outside to see if it passed muster. She thought everyone else did the same. Calculating gestures and actions, she believed, were part of being human.

He gave her a brief hug then took her by the shoulders to move her back so he could see her.

"What are you doing here, Olivia?"

"I heard about your house. I couldn't believe it and had to come by to see for myself." She pushed past him to the interior of the house and stopped, surveying the dregs of the damage that had not been cleaned up. The living room was empty of furniture, the walls had dents in the plaster, the sliding glass door opening to the outside was still a starred wide sheet of safety glass.

"The glazier can't show up until tomorrow," Karl said, noticing how she stared at the glass.

She turned around to Karl who had followed her inside. "Where's your furniture?"

"It had to be taken away. It was all broken and ruined. I haven't been anywhere to order new yet."

"Who the hell did this to you?"

"Someone who must hate me with all her heart."

Olivia didn't like the way he had said that. She didn't like he way he was looking at her. She felt defensive, as if he were making a silent accusation. "Karl, I told you once already that I'm not responsible for what's happening to you. I don't know why you keep suggesting I have something to do with it. You really think I'd come in your house and do . . . this?" She swept her hand around at the empty, desolate room.

"I guess not," he said softly, moving around her to the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink? I just laid in new stock. Everything in the cabinets had been busted and spilled on the floors and walls."

"You have scotch?"

"Sure."

She stood at the end of the counter and watched him pour it over ice cubes. He knew she took it over the rocks.

"I hope you don't mind the plastic cup. I haven't had time to buy dishes either."

She looked around. There was a dent on the front of the refrigerator door as if someone had kicked it. There were holes in the walls and streaks of rust and yellow that must have been made from splattered food.

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