Rum and Coke

Let me tell you a story.

She stood by the window and peeked through the curtains at the man living across from her. His curtains were light in color and weak at covering. The transparency let her see right in. She watched as the thirty something year old man roamed around his room in search of something. He opened drawers, looked under the bed, seeked out his closet. From there the man took out this small black box and placed it on top of his bed. She could see how he struggled to open it at first and as the clock in her room ticked off, the anxiety of what he hid in there was killing her. The palm of her hands grew sweaty and tight in grip as she peeked out the window. 'What does he have in there?' she thought to herself. The man went in search for something else back in his drawers and found it. A key. He unlocked the black box and stood there, wide eyes. Whatever he retrieved from it, he did so without showing it, hiding it with his hands. He turned away and his back faced her. The man took three steps until he was in front of the mirror of his dresser. He stared at himself, all sweaty, anxious, tears in his eyes. He hung his head low for a while before lifting it again to look at himself. This time he caught her eyes through his reflection. He could see the window behind him and her gaze mirrored his. He stared back at her without tempting to turn around, call her out for being nosey. He just stared back at her, numb. Next thing she knew the man lifted his hand and put something in his mouth. Bang. Her eyes widened as she saw his brain spew out of his head and onto the bed. The blood painted the curtains and she no longer could see through them. She wondered if anyone had heard the gunshot and decided to run over before anyone could call the cops.

She wrapped a gloved hand around the knob and slowly turned it as she cautiously pushed the door open. There he was. On the floor. The sight of him was repulsive to her and made her nauseous. 'What was she doing here? What the hell is she looking for?' She thought to herself. And there she saw it. The little black box. On the bed. Covered in his blood. She picked up the bloody box with a napkin and then placed in a bag.

The little black box sat on her table with its key in its hole after she cleared it of the blood. She paced the room back and forth deciding on whether she should open it or not and wondered what would await her if she did. 'Why not ? I already went through the trouble of going after it' she thought to herself. She approached it and twisted the key to unlock it. Her mind was racing about what she would find. She expected old photographs, letters, even some cash. But to her disappointment, all that was in the box was a brown leathered book that read 'Journal' on the cover. The gun and the journal had been the only occupants of this box.  When she placed the journal back on the table next to the box, she noticed that its lock matched the lock on the box and so she used the same key. As she heard the click of the key's complete turn, her heart beat grew to an audible sound for any outsider. She opened the journal and flipped through the pages. A story. A short story. The man was a writer. 'This is what he kept under lock? A story?' she thought to herself as she exhaled. She moved over to a chair by her window and flipped to the first page.

The sun rose as she stretched her limbs and yawned. He was still fast asleep and completely unaware of what was going on around him. She took this as the perfect chance to sneak out. But as she slowly got out of bed and quietly slipped on her dress, his eyes calmly opened and he stared at her with a warm smile.

“Good morning” she whispered and bent down to give him a light kiss on the cheek.

“Good morning” he responded and quickly pulled her arm until she laid on top of him.

“John!” She squealed.

“Where do you think you're going, huh?”

“John, I have to go. Richard will be home soon.”

“And you think I care because?” He started to torture her with feather like kisses on her neck and check before reaching her lips.

“Mmm...John,” Heather broke the kiss. “I have to go. I have to.”

He sighed in resignation. “When will I see you again?”

“Soon. I promise.”

“I sure hope so because if I don't, I'll go in search of you myself.”

She giggled and gave him one last kiss before heading out the door. She walked past Parker street and up the hill until she reached her home. As she unlocked the door, Heather heard the rattling of bottles and dishes.

Ring!

She put the journal down. ‘F*****g phone.’

“Hello?...hello?...hello? Who is it? Hello? Whatever. I’m hanging up now.”

“Where the f**k were you?”

“Wh-who’s this?”

“Don’t you recognize my voice?”

“David?”

“Yes, David.”

Her heart continuously punched her chest. “Uh, hey, David.”

“Don’t hey me. Answer my question. Where were you last night?”

“I got caught up in something. I apologize for that. I, uh-”

“Don’t give me that s**t! You think you could lie to me? Huh, that’s what you think? I don’t support you for nothing, okay? You would be eating dirt right now if it wasn’t for me. When I say Aldofo’s at eight I mean Aldofo’s at f*****g eight!”

Shutting her eyes, she whispered, “yes.”

“That’s better, baby. See? It’s not so hard. You want to live the way you’re living, no worries and dependent on my money, all you gotta do is obey me. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll be stopping by later. I have a surprise for you and figured I should deliver it myself. From me to you. So, be ready.”

Dead tone.

“Where the f**k were you?”

“I was out this morning helping Margaret with the baby. You know how she's a newborn and all. I figured I'd swing by and lend her a hand.”

“Do I look stupid to you? I mean where the f**k were you last night ?”

“Here. At home. Why?”

“Don't you lie to me!”

“Richard, I was here the whole time while you were at work. I swear.”

“I didn't work last night, you lying tramp !”

Her face reddened as tears welled.

“So what's his name?” She stood there in silence. “Is it that 'John' I hear helps you out when I'm not around ? The one my neighbors catch coming in and out of OUR home? Is that him, huh?”

No response.

“Sit down. Let me tell you a story.”

She didn't move.

“Sit down!”

Heather moved to the chair he pulled out for her and cautiously sat down. He moved around to stand in front of her.

“There was this man named Phil who had this cheating wife. Phil was this businessman who worked his a*s off to keep not only himself but his cheating wife living in a comfortable lifestyle. Earned a lot of money and gave her everything she needed. Sounds like a good husband, doesn't he?”

She looked up at him. No words.

“He does to me. Phil thought that he had a loving wife who cared for him. You know, most men think they do. But what they don't know is that while they're out there making a living their stay-at-home wife is screwing the next f*****g man she sees!”

She shut her eyes in pain as he shouted that last part.

“Oh, did that hurt you, honey? I'm so very sorry.  Let me continue with the story. So, one day Phil comes home and hears moaning from his bedroom. Of course he sees his wife f*****g some man and is in complete shock.”  Richard grabbed a cigarette from out of his shirt pocket and lit a match. With a puff of smoke he continued. “But what startles me is what he does next. Instead of rampaging in there and killing the son of a b***h, he leaves and lets them go on. Why? I don't know. But all I do know is that he tortured himself about his wife's affair for days to come. Then, one morning he walks outside and stands at the front of his house, facing the sun. The wife is in their bedroom, folding their laundry I suppose, and she glances out the window. She sees her husband just standing there. Next thing she knows, he moves his hand up to his mouth and bang! He's dead. Blood all over the lawn, on the grass, seeping into the soil. There was even some on the driveway. A man's life gone. All because his wife couldn't keep her legs closed. Now, I wouldn't have done what Phil did. No.”

She stared at him wide eyed and breathless.

“No. I would get even.”

Bang.

The police hadn't arrived, meaning no one had discovered the man's body. She got up from her chair and closed the journal. She moved back into her room, picked up the key to lock the book, placed it back in the little black box and, pretty soon, locked that up, too. She walked over to her window and stared at the apartment opposite. ‘Why did you do it, Charlie? You know we couldn’t be together. It was just our little pastime.’

“Why, Samantha, why? Why can’t you just leave him ? Leave him and give us a chance.”

“There is no us. What don’t you understand ? I’m not leaving David! Just stop it already. You’re starting to piss me off.”

“It’s the money, isn’t it? I can’t support you like he can, so you don’t leave him.”

“Frankly, yes. I’m sorry, Charlie but I can’t be with you. At least not the way you want me to.”

Buzz!

“Hey, David.”

“Hey, David? What the hell has you down?”

“Nothing. Come in. Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Yeah. Fetch me a rum and coke from the bar.”

“Okay.” She walked over, cautiously, knowing that he was watching. Her heart crawled up from within her chest. It heavily inclined with each step of her feet, pour and shake at the bar, and every thought of him thinking bad things bad guys think. Turning, she asked, “so, what’s my sur-”

Bang.

He walked over to her and she stood there wide-eyed, pale in tone. “I told you Aldofo’s at eight, baby. Next time, the bullet won’t be going through that glass in your hands but your head instead. Got it?”

She numbingly nodded. “I’ll make you a new drink.”