Under His Eyes

"Jesus fuck, what did you put in this?" I handed him the little bottle.

"Holy shit Sue Ann, this isn't rum, it's a sample of FastFreeze! You've killed me, you bitch!"

The FastFreeze went right into Randy's stomach, his bleeding ulcer, his bloodstream. He toppled over. His eyes glazed. He shivered, and stopped breathing. I felt his pulse. Nothing. Oh shit.

I panicked. What to do, what to do?

Just one image flashed through my mind, an old James Thurber cartoon. Two well-dressed couples stand in a mansion's library room. Another well-dressed woman crouches atop a bookshelf, looking down at the others. One gentleman says, "Here is my wife, and this is the former Mrs Pomeroy." The viewer must decide whether the crouching former Mrs Pomeroy is alive, glaring, and ready to pounce, or a well-done bit of taxidermy.

I quickly made my decision. I called for Maria and Hector. We pushed Randy's body into a hands-and-knees crouching position before he stiffened completely. We waited until he froze solid. Then we boosted him onto the wide mantle of the fireplace in the party room.

I wrapped up Randy's affairs the next day. I told the lab that he had finally abandoned the project. I told his family and his few remaining friends that he went on sabbatical to Moscow. I told the twins that Daddy had gone away for a while; then I sent them off to boarding school. I told Maria and Hector to never say anything to anybody. And I said nothing else to anyone. That chapter was closed.

Life goes on pretty much as it did before, but without Randy, not that anybody really misses him. I still make good money as a Dial-A-Slut. I invest that money, and it pays well. I still party hearty. And all the partying here happens in the party room, with Randy's oh-so-realistic 'statue' sternly looking down on the action. Visitors giggle at him. Yes, my life is a full-time sex party.

And now it happens right under his eyes.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yeah, this story just cries out to be expanded. But I'm lazy. Vote on what's here, okay?