Fantasy Pt. 05: Life in the Ruins

I was done for. That was clear.

Nothing mattered, not anymore. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing at all. I should stop using the wood "nothing" so much but nothing else (oops, I said it again!) works as well. I was a failed husband, a failed lover, and a failed assassin. That pretty much sums it up, so please let me have my weak attempt at humor because, as you can see, I had ... nada. There are millions of happy people in the world, I'm sure, maybe billions, just not here. I mostly lay around the house, wouldn't take my calls, didn't eat.

What I could do was mourn. I could do that. I could mourn what Alice and I had had -- or what I had thought we'd had -- before Richard took it all away. And why wouldn't I think that? There had been no signs until right at the end. Even then it was a mystery. I knew almost nothing except that she'd gone to him -- until the photos. Sure, Richard had boasted, but I hadn't completely believed him. Until the photos arrived, I'd held onto this hope that she'd flee him and return and throw herself at my knees, and we could salvage something of our marriage. You don't just walk away from a decade together, not just like that. Anyway, I don't. It was the photos that clarified things.

Every day was the same. I sat in an overstuffed chair and listened to the CD of Richard's first call to her. On every occasion I focused on the part where she resisted him at first -- not very well or for very long, but she'd actually made an effort. And I'd think, "Hang in there, Alice." But she never did. Even so, I was frankly glad I hadn't shot her. He was a different story -- the evil genius behind it all. She was just a pawn, a luscious pawn to be sure, but certainly not the queen Richard must have convinced her she was. It would have been enough for her to have seen his head blown off, and then mine, and then have to live with it all. Well, I'd blown it all right. Sorry. Another weak joke.

I went through the sex photos, but mainly I replayed the scene in my head of Alice doing Richard in front of me. How proficient she had become with her mouth! Yes, my mind was just like that old hamster's wheel, spinning around so I saw the same actions and heard the same sounds in a never-ending cycle of my wife's acting out a pornographic script. Like an ear worm, only much, much worse. I couldn't get away from it no matter what I did, and I did all the traditional things of betrayed husbands. I threw things. I punched holes in sheetrock. I cried. I took pills, drank until I threw up. Even with that I couldn't sleep and I couldn't get the energy to do much but sit in that chair and review events. Oh, occasionally I had to go to the office. There was still business to attend to. At least I hadn't given up my career like Alice. That stupid bitch. But I tried to go in mainly at night, when no one else was around, and let my office manager handle everything as best she could. I took long drives in the desert, in the night air.

And did I tell you? I got another DVD in the mail from Richard. It had the entire last scene from his den on it, in the blurry black and white of a surveillance video, and he had written "Enjoy!" on the jewel case. After that I didn't have to imagine it.

That very afternoon I filed for divorce. At least I didn't have to give Alice some easy, no-fault, quickie, Vegas divorce. Oh no! I wanted it to be on grounds of infidelity, mental cruelty, and abandonment. I filed a civil suit, to get as much of her property as possible. Hell. Nevada is a community property state, but it was worth the effort. The only problem was they couldn't locate her, so she couldn't be served papers right away, but my attorney said there weren't going to be any big problems. I had plenty of documentation. He even somehow got me a court order, giving me complete temporary control over the house. I did the cool things people think about doing -- mainly closing our joint accounts and credit cards. I didn't know if I could legally keep all the money, but it didn't matter. I felt better afterwards. I sold the gun and the used cars, cleaned up the place. My place. I changed the locks, threw out things of hers I didn't like -- just about everything -- trashed her photos, boxed up her clothes and sent them to charity, and did everything else I could to remove her from my life. This was so much better. The dreams stopped. I began working again. Time passed. I decided it wouldn't be possible to ever trust another woman, but I did think of dating.

Then Alice showed up.

* * * * *

Alice showed up. Listen to it. It's only three words, but oh, the meaning. She wasn't there, and then she was. She was announced by the doorbell. The damned doorbell again! I should have heeded its warning. One minute things were just beginning to look up and I was getting finished with that part of my life. The next minute Alice was standing in the doorway, looking straight at my chest, silent, like a ghost or a zombie or something. No! No, no, no, no, no! Not again!

"Get the fuck out of my life!" I slammed the door.

The doorbell rang again. I didn't answer it, but I was already hyperventilating. Is this how it's going to be? You can't be prepared for it. You can't guess what it will be like when she reappears.

She rang for an hour, every few minutes, and she knocked and called to me through the door, "Please. Henry. Please talk to me. Please." She was hoarse, but I could hear her well enough through the door. I stayed away from it. I paced as quietly as I could. Don't let her hear you. Maybe she'll go away. I thought of her as a vampire. She couldn't rip my chest open if I didn't invite her in. Yes, she could. But she didn't look like a vampire or zombie or ghost. I tiptoed back to the door and looked at her closely through the viewer. Her blouse looked drab, her hair unkempt. There was a bruise on her arm. She was the living Alice, slightly used, and truth be known she didn't look that much different than she had at Richard's house. "Henry, please. Please, I'm so sorry. Please talk to me."

Finally she grew quiet. After I'd looked out and not seen her, I decided it was safe to leave. I opened the garage door and backed the car out. It was explosively hot. Spring in Las Vegas. It felt like Hell, and to make sure I knew it was Hell, there sat Alice, on the porch, beside the front door, in a patch of shade, not looking at anything. I made sure to close the garage door, staring at its white panels moving down through the sunlight and urging it on. Hurry, hurry! By the time it was down I saw spots. Alice had raised her head and started to rise, stiffly, using the brickwork for support, but I was quick. I lowered the car window: "You aren't welcome here! If you want to talk, see my lawyer. If you're still here when I get back I'm calling the police."

She stood up and said something, I think it was "please," and took a few steps toward me, but I didn't give her a chance.

Fuck. How to get rid of her? Fuck. The police would probably side with her. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Go away you Richard-sucking slut! I stayed the night in a motel.

The next morning I told my office manager to call security if Alice showed up there. "Don't you think you should talk to her?" she asked.

"Maybe you'd like to look for a new job, Sherrie!"

She stiffened.

"Look, okay. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Really. But you don't know everything she did. I can't tell you the details without it being sexual harassment."

Sherrie was quiet much of the day, canceling appointments for me again, while I sat in my office and stared out the window. About 4:30 she came in and shut the door. "Look, Henry, you can fire me if you want, but I've known you for a long time. You need to clear the air. Talk. Then you can go your different ways. You don't know all of why she did what she did, and it's time you stopped letting that asshole Richard control your life! That's all I have to say."

What had I done for weeks -- months? -- but try to talk with Alice? She wouldn't consider that while she had him. When I walked over to Sherrie she flinched like she thought I was going to hit her. I gave her a kiss on top of her head. "I know you mean well, but I just can't do that anymore."

All the way home I thought please don't be there. Please be gone. Please don't do this to me. I can't take it.

Alice was still sitting in that patch of shade.

* * * * *

Hadn't she moved? Was she going to sit there until she died? It had been an afternoon, all night, and most of the next day. She could have died already. Was she even conscious? Maybe they really would find a desiccated body in the desert, but it would be on my front porch. When she heard the garage door she got to her feet again, very slowly. So she was alive. I didn't know if that was good or bad. I pulled in and closed the garage door.

She didn't ring the bell, but when I peeked through a side window she was standing, leaning against the wall, her face in her hands. She looked sunburned. Jesus. Shit. What do I do now? What in the world do I do? I filled a large glass with water, walked to the door, opened it, and held the glass out to her. "Here."

She was only about six or eight feet from the door, but it took her the longest time to get to me. She took the water and gulped it down. She drank it in two breaths. I took the glass back. Our hands touched. "Stay here."

I closed the door, went to the sink, refilled the glass, and brought it back to her. Again she stopped once for air while she drank it. I took the glass away again and closed the door. The third time I opened it I stood in the doorway and asked, "What do you want?"

She hesitated, as if she wanted to formulate some words. She made a croaky little crying sound, though there were no tears. She tried to talk but there weren't at first any sounds. Finally, in a tiny little voice: "I'm sorry." I held the door and stared past her at some cactus. "Please. I'm so sorry. Please help me."

* * * * *

"Go away."

"Let me come home. I'm sorry. I..." Her voice trailed off.

"You can't stay here."

Again there was only silence. I wondered if she was going to say anything at all, or if she'd try to wait me out.

"I don't have anywhere to go."

"Get yourself a place!"

"I don't have any money, or a job. I don't have you. I don't have anything..." She began moaning, sounding again like she wanted to cry but had too little water in her, and she started coughing. Oh, I knew her real problem. She didn't have Richard Moriarty.

"Go to Deb's!" Now there were both coughing and tears. So, she could cry after all. She didn't try to wipe them. They rolled down her cheeks and onto her blouse.

"She won't speak to me."

"Why not? Just because you left me?"

"No. It was more. Please, Henry, listen. When I was with, you know, he said he wanted to do a thing with me and her together. So I called her and tried to get her to do it. I ruined everything." She put her hands to her face again, and this time her shoulders started shaking. She could hardly talk, gasping and sobbing and snarfing like she was. She coughed again. "What have I done? How could I do it? I'm so sorry, Henry. Please forgive me. Please!"

"So as a last resort you come to your old patsy Henry. Hey, maybe you could make this more interesting by fucking someone in front of me!"

But she just kept shaking. Eventually she'd have to stop, wouldn't she? Finally she tried to talk again, though she stopped every few words to pant.

"Henry. I know, I know you hate me. I did the most terrible things to you. But I need help. Please help me. Just for a little bit? If you could just let me stay here a few nights. Just a few? Please, Henry. You can do anything you want to me, I don't care! Just help me, please."

Let her stay. Let her invade my house and bring all that back. I didn't even ask why she didn't try to talk to Richard. Of course she'd tried. I bet he'd enjoyed that. What would Richard do anyway? An idea developed. What? Yes, that. Oh yes! Yes, this could be good, you whore.

"Come on in. I have something to show you." I led her to the den and put the DVD -- yes that DVD -- on the player. "Look at this, Alice." She was wiping her eyes and looking from me to the player, uncertain. When she figured out what it was she put her hands to her mouth and moaned again.

"No! Not that! Turn it off!"

"Why? You were the main entertainment. I thought you'd like to see yourself perform. Don't you like it?"

"No!"

"You don't? Isn't it your perfect little fantasy?"

"No!"

I yelled at her. "And then you have the balls to come to me as your last resort? Poor dear Henry's supposed to let you use him again!"

"No, please! Please Henry!"

"At least you didn't completely lie! You didn't even bother to try to say you loved me!"

That was when I slapped her face as hard as I could. She huffed and turned almost all the way around, and her hands came up. When she turned back to me I could see my hand print on her cheek, much larger than the hand she held over it. "You fucking bitch! You said I could do whatever I want with you. Well, this is what I want!" I slapped her on the other side of her face. God, it felt good, and her cry was delightful. I wanted to hear it over and over again.

"No! Please!"

I yanked one of her hands away and slapped her again. "You'll take your damn medicine..."

"No! Henry!" She was screaming and begging virtually at the same time. She pulled her arms up in front of her face, to protect herself.

"Take off your clothes!" I hit her in the belly with my fist. She half crumpled. "Do it now, you fucking slut!" Hit her again. Do it! My penis began to swell. It hadn't done that in forever. Oh, sweet Jesus, was this going to be good.

I'd knocked the breath out of her. It was a moment before she could manage to say anything. "I'll do it! Please!" I slapped her again. She tried to unbutton her blouse but she couldn't with me hitting her, so I grabbed it and tore it all the way down the front. I grabbed her arm to turn her around and yanked the fastener to her bra. Suddenly her back was smooth and bare and lean. It gave me an idea. I slapped her back hard, leaving another lovely red handprint, and she staggered. I was completely erect now. Yes!

"Your clothes! Now!"

"I'm doing it! I'm doing it!" We were both yelling. She hurried, unfastening the skirt and pulling it and her panties down together. While she did that I took off my belt. She was as lovely and sexual as I remembered, and I wanted her the hardest way imaginable. The moment she was naked I lashed her with the belt.

"Take it, you bitch!" Alice screamed and jerked and twisted around, pulling her arms in front of her face again, but she didn't try to run. I whipped her again. She made a sound like a neighing horse. I liked it more than the other cries. In the middle of this I noticed her vulva was still bare. She was still shaving and had the clit ring. How had I missed that? Oh, my little fellatrix, Richard had you top to bottom! I turned the belt the other way. Hit her with the buckle end! "Take that for your cunt!" The belt whistled and made a jingling sound when it hit her between the legs. She grabbed herself but made almost no sound and for the moment looked as though she couldn't draw a breath. "This one is for sucking off Richard in front of me!" The buckle hit her side, and she fell to the floor. I pulled her onto her back. "Take that for soaking yourself in their jizz!" I whipped her on her belly.

She was twisting, and begging again. "Please no! Please!" But it was faint, and labored, and she was coughing, and wheezing like she had something caught in her throat. What did she say? "I can't breathe. Please. I can't ..." Fine! Suffocate! There was blood.

The next one hit her hip, the next one her side. "These are for ruining my life!" The one thing she never did was try to run. It was too bad, because I'd have liked to have chased her down. I hit her again. Again. Again. Again. Somehow I noticed she'd stopped responding. No cries, no squirming, nothing. I pulled the belt back and held it. Her arms had fallen away from her face. I hit her once more, but all she did was moan, low and soft, the sound of air seeping through a corpse's throat. I lifted an arm and dropped it. It was like cooked spaghetti. I hit her again, just to make sure. Nothing. The corpse sound was all she made.

The idea came that I could tie her to the bed and whip her still more once she came around, then use her as much as I wanted. "Stay there!" I yelled and went to get some neckties.

It was in the bedroom before I realized I was shaking and covered in sweat. My pulse was rushing in my ears. Shit! The bitch! Fucking bitch, getting me like this! She was going to stay here forever. She was never going to get out in the world again. She was going to be mine no matter what, and she would beg me to kill her but I'd make her keep taking it. I'd make her do things she'd never done for Richard. I'd start by making her suck me while I kept whipping her. I just had to make sure she never got away.

But she hadn't tried to run. What was that? There was this voice. It was mine. She didn't run. Why not? It was like she knew she deserved the belt. She knew she deserved it.

Don't think of that!

That's why she had sat outside so long, to torment herself. It wasn't just regret. It was remorse.

Don't think of that! I have to go whip her some more, and make her suck me! Then I'll make her eat my shit!

But she didn't run. Think of that!

I didn't want to think of that, but something else happened, A huge wave rushed from some earthquake far under the sea, along the coast and then deep into the desert, where it jostled the room, rocking it, making me sway, making me dizzy. I had to sit on the bed. There was no earthquake. Alice was the earthquake. She thought she deserved to be beaten. No. Don't do that, Alice. Not that. Don't ruin my lovely rape, my beautiful torture, my vengeance. You don't get to seek repentance. My head was exploding. It was killing me. Not that, Alice. No. I put my head down and held my hands to my temples to try to stop the pounding.

* * * * *

When I could finally get up I went out to look at her. My shirt was wet. My hair was plastered to my head. I was still shaking and couldn't make my hands stand still. I leaned against the doorframe and wondered how to approach her. What had I become? I did that? That many? No! No. How could I have done that? I couldn't. But I had and -- God forgive me -- I could have beaten her to death, not as a mad fantasy but as the real thing. My rage, all of it, drained away, just like that.

I went into the master bathroom where I washed my face and toweled myself off. It gave me time to think and gain control of myself before I had to go to her.

Alice was on her back, twitching and making little sounds, but I couldn't tell if she was completely conscious until I knelt over her and touched her. She opened her eyes wide and shrieked, "No more! Please don't! Please don't!" She scuttled like a crab until her back hit the coffee table, then brought her arms and legs up until she was curled in a ball, almost fetal. She stared at me like you would at the man who was going to carry out the drawing and quartering, shuddering, her breath coming in little bursts, now crying "Please don't, please, please.' She started to cough again.

How much do you have to beg before it does some good? I held a hand up, palm out, and sat myself slowly onto the carpet.

"I won't. I won't. I won't hurt you again." I sat for a minute. What could I say? "I won't." I moved to her slowly, to keep from scaring her. I placed a hand atop her arm, gently, and left it there, just resting on her, while I looked over her body. "I promise. Never again. I'm sorry. I won't hurt you again." I couldn't believe how many times I'd hit her. I tried counting the wounds. Most were marks or welts, but several had bled, and I was afraid others would start seeping. "Wait here. I'll get some bandages."