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The train ride took about forty-five minutes. During that time, I fell asleep. We lived in a small town called Larchmont. It was a typical suburban town, where neighbors smiled and waved to each other in the mornings, a good place to raise your kids. It was also a place where no one would ever expect a murder to occur. Outside of the Larchmont train station, my car sat. It was still early in the afternoon, so the lot wasn’t filled with commuters just yet. When I got into the Honda Civic, I put the flowers on the passenger seat, put my hands on the steering wheel, but paused before starting the engine. Giving myself a moment of silence, I thought. “ May God have mercy on our souls”.

It was about four-thirty in the afternoon when I pulled into our car garage, parking next to Emily’s Ford Escort. I grabbed the flowers from the passenger seat and took a deep breath. Realizing how nervous I was, I walked up the steps and entered the house from the front door. I was greeted by the sound of the TV, a daytime talk show perhaps. Our living room was decorated with simple paintings on the walls, and charming furniture that added a cozy feeling to our home. The carpet was a simple brown color. But it would soon be painted with red. “You’re home early today.” Came an indifferent voice from the kitchen.
“Gotta pack for the trip tomorrow and all”. I replied.
“Where are they sending you this time?”
“You’ll be gone for a couple of nights?”
“Yea, three”. I answered, wondering if she heard the nervous tone in my voice. There really was no trip to Detroit. It was the perfect setup. All she had to do was play out her part, and call over the man I loathed into our bedroom. I walked into the kitchen and saw that Emily had been cooking. She was already out of her work cloths, wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, with her hair put up in a ponytail. As I walked over to greet her with a kiss, she gave me a smile. “What’s the occasion?” She asked, referring to the flowers.
“Nothing, just felt like getting them for you.”
“That’s sweet. There’re beautiful”. She glowed a bit. But I was unable to tell if she was being sincere.
“No, you’re beautiful,” I said. Her smile became brighter. But her attention was placed back to the oven. At that moment, an intense feeling of sadness came over me. My heart was breaking, and she had no idea. I cursed God for bringing us together, for making me love her as much as I did. On the outside, I smiled, putting on a face of a husband who trusted his wife. As for her, she put on the face of a wife who hid no secrets. She didn’t know how much she hurt me. I desperately wanted to tell her that I knew about the affair. I wanted to forgive her. But I knew that things could never be the same and that she could never love me as she used to. I really wished that we lived in a photograph.

“I’m making Lasagna,” she said without looking at me. I remained silent, forced myself to stay calm, and then told her that I would go wash up. The cold water splashing over my face didn’t help settle down my rage. I silently cursed to myself, holding all the anger inside, clenching my fists as tightly as I could. “You cold hearted bitch. You’re beautiful…I’m making Lasagna. You’re beautiful…I’m fucking making Lasagna?” It took me about ten minutes to calm down. I knew that I had to go back and face her. To encourage myself, I thought that since I had done this for last few months, one more night wouldn’t hurt. Everything would be fine. It would all be over soon.

The rest of the evening went by as a blur to me. I spent most of it confined in my thoughts. We had talked over dinner, mostly about our jobs. She told me about the kids at school, a topic that made me miss the old her. When we first fell in love, she was a sweet, caring schoolteacher. I was a shy assistant to the executive sales director at my company. It really was perfect for a while. But now, she was distant from me. I always wondered if she ever realized this. It didn’t matter anymore. All good things ended. This was the lesson that I learned from this marriage. And since it had to end. Why not end it in the worst of ways? After dinner, we watched television for a bit, but realized that there really was nothing on. We soon went off into our separate worlds. She picked up a book and read, ignoring the fact that I sat in the room with her. And even though I wasn’t going anywhere, I packed my bags. Before bed, we made love. I initiated. I wanted to feel her one last time. But without any surprise, I felt nothing. She felt nothing. There was nothing left for us. Turning to our separate sides, we slept.

In the morning, I drove off in my car with a bag full of cloths, twenty thousand dollars that I had hid from my wife, and a feeling of uncertainty. Today was the day I would watch her die. Today was the last day of my life. Was I really ready for it? I started off yesterday morning with rage in my heart, certain that I wanted to go through with their murders. Certain that I wanted to end my own life. But now I felt weak. The madness that consumed me had turned into sorrow. I had to wait for Jack for a few hours, so I decided to kill time at the Larchmont Park. I watched the kids play baseball. Looking at them, I was reminded of how innocent we all used to be. In another scene, I saw a family playing. A mother and father with their child, playing Frisbee. It was all too much like a photograph. If I had died at that moment, I would have been happy just to take away the memories of their innocence.

Jack waited for me at the train station. He drove his car, but we had decided the day before, that it would be easier for us to meet their. He sat in his car waiting, and didn’t make a single sound. I opened the door to his passenger seat and sat. He was smoking a cigarette and had with him a black bag. “What’s in the bag?” I asked.

It stunned me that he actually smiled. Unzipping the bag, his grin widened. “Daddy’s toys.” Inside the black bag lay an arsenal of knives, tranquilizer darts, and a handgun with a silencer attached to it. Looking at his weapons, it became clear that I was actually going through with this. His one good eye stared at me, as he asked me where I kept the money. I showed it to him. It was underneath my button down shirt, taped to my chest, collectable only after my death. That was the deal. Of course he could have just taken it from me whenever he wanted. But we had a contract based on trust. The bastard was the psychotic Hannibal Lecter type, and I a suicidal man with nothing to lose. We were perfect for each other. We had an unspoken bond. Driving off in Jacks car, neither of us made conversation. My heart raced as I began to sweat heavily. I felt my mouth getting dry. It was getting harder to breath. Jack looked peaceful and serene. Time seemed to pass by in a daze. My skin was getting hotter, veins seemed as if they would come out. How did I get myself in to this? Call it off? Never. I came too far. I felt it, the tears falling down. Jack gave me no sympathy. I was confiding in the wrong man. We had pulled over in front of my house.

Its funny how a man goes through life trying to do all the right things, but in the end he still gets burnt. I tried to be a good husband. I really did. They were fucking when we came in the house. They were shot with tranquilizer darts and tied up naked. His blood spilled on the carpet. He was still alive. I wanted it to last. I sat and watched. Nice and slow. His cock was limp. Jack made him suffer. I watched him beg. Tears fell down. His and mine. Was it tears of satisfaction? I really didn’t know. I gave her all of my love. I remained true. Jack was calm. Cutting open his stomach, spilling his entrails. He was still alive. His life, slowly vanishing. I vomited. But afterwards, I broke out into laughter. I lost control. I lost myself. He was gone. Did he deserve this? Honestly I didn’t know. I never even knew his name. Emily was in tears. She couldn’t cry out with the gag over her mouth. She couldn’t scream. If God loved her, he would have let her pass out. I pitied her. “I want to do it.” I said. This wasn’t part of the deal, but Jack looked pleased. His hands were bloody, covered by rubber gloves as he handed me the knife. I looked my wife in the eyes. It hurt to look at her. Taking the knife, I cut her skin. It was a small cut over her breast where her heart would have been. This was my wound, and I hoped that she understood. Still looking at her, I clenched on to the knife as hard as I could. But impulsively, I turned around and stabbed the man with the Armani Suit in the throat. He gurgled blood, looked me in the eyes, surprised. But before he went, he looked as if he was proud of me. “Sorry Jack, change of plans”. I walked over to Emily, looked her in the eyes one last time and kissed her good bye on the forehead. I turned around and left our bedroom, left our house, and drove off in Jacks car. I never looked back.

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The following comments are for "The Affair (Part 2)"
by pengster13

What an interesting little plot twist you have here. The only problem is that you don't show any real build up toward it. The narrarator seems to have stopped caring for his adulterous wife entirely, and then a sudden cahnge of heart occurs. The ending would have seemed more plausible if there had been a few hints along the way. I also thought it odd that the narrarator gives not a second's thought to the consequences of leaving her alive with two bodies in the room. She'll tell the cops who did it, I'm sure.
All in all not a bad little story though. Keep at it.

( Posted by: Bartleby [Member] On: December 5, 2002 )

Dear Bartleby
Thanks for reading my story! I totally understand what you are talking about with the ending. I tried to make it seem as if he totally lost his mind in the end and didn't care what happened anymore. You're right about me not hinting that the twist would occur. In the beginning I had a different ending in mind. Well, its a first draft so I'll keep working at it. Thanks for your comments. =)

( Posted by: pengster13 [Member] On: December 5, 2002 )

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