"Are you sure you're doing the right thing, Lilian?" Doris asked over the phone, worry corrugating her tone. She had called to inquire whether they could spend time together—something they'd both neglected in the wake of Lilian's attack. Doris had been overseas in China when it happened, on an important work assignment, and hadn't returned until a few days prior.Lilian hesitated, lacing her flats by the front door. Her lips were clamped into a tight smile. "I'm sure. I think this is the best way to get over Chris. I mean—how else am I going to fall in love with someone else if I don't make myself available?"She'd admitted to the fact: those hesitant, uncertain kisses with Jack. Weeks, they'd been creating—banishing isolation, constructing hope—but only a brief touch had happened.Doris swallowed, thought. "Yeah, but don't you think you're rushing into this—how long have you known him?""Four and a half months," Lilian said, brushing a lock of hair from behind her ear. "But wait, why
Joan hadn't expected it. Lilian's tone cut through the supermarket like a blade:"Joan, you went out of your way to move out of my sight so Chris would notice you. Even during our marriage, you tried to flirt with him to your best ability, but he never reacted.".Yes, he was not in love with me, but I was his wife while you were just a secretary, and one whom he was not even sexually attracted to. So, I pose the same question: how does it feel to know that you will never be his woman? That he will never think of you as anything other than his secretary? How does it feel to realize that he does not consider you woman enough? That he would rather be with me, despite hating me, than be with you as his mistress? And how does it feel to realize you would not stand a chance now that Rita was reclaimed?One jab after another, Lilian vomited truth too hot to handle. She looked at hard-won contentment. Joan's lips curled with rage as she spat, "You ugly bitch!" and struck.Lilian moved out of
Kelvin shut the front door behind him, hoping that the frame would keep out what was on the other side. His heart pounded. While between them there existed space, as in an unpaid car, the detectives' thudding foot noises lagged back and climbed up the drive. Why? He slumped into an armchair and was compelled to lie back in it.It was that scary a moment that he could not shake his head, looking calm. He was scared yet determined. Was he aware that he was scared?He forced himself to take a breath, trying to bring his heartbeat back to some less panicked realm. Get it together,' he instructed himself. The second they figure out what is happening, I'm dead. Kelvin sat on the small end table, glaring intensely at his phone as he stood up. Adrian. He needed to call Adrian. He felt a flash of fear as he dialed with his fingers, each number a reminder of the danger at hand.The phone rang, but waiting made him get the creeps. Come on, Adrian, pick up. They might be at your doorstep any minu
As Commissioner Cruz's car rolled along the deserted, grassy driveway, Bill Darcy said nothing. Fists in bulging pockets, he entered the lounge with the tension of the visit on his shoulders. He sat in a chair with his eyes closed, attempting to relax as the sensation persisted, just as abruptly as the pungent smell of wet ground outside. Footsteps down the corridor followed after a few seconds. As she entered the room, Sandra rested her eyes on him.She spoke in a tone that resounded with a coarse and insensitive response, "Oh! He's gone?"There was coldness and calmness in Darcy's voice, which was a confirmation of a suppressed reaction. "Yes," he replied.His hand resting firmly on her waist, he placed it on her dress cloth and looked up at it. She looked back, her eyes clouded with more than interest; the color of unease, a hint of hidden fear in the depths of her eyes."What did he want, Bill?" Her tone was soft now, but a strand of desperation threaded through. "Or shouldn't I a
With his face in a frown, Adrian Jackson checked his watch and examined the hands. He didn't remember how many times he had looked at himself in the last hour, each time increasing his anxiety.His nerves were growing thinner, and the familiar walls of Starlink Bank's office were closing in, ready to disapprove of him. Because he liked things in order, he jammed his phone into his pocket and adjusted his tie. This day was going to be different. Coldness came in conjunction with the cold that was experienced today.As he walked towards the elevator, his mind instantly went back to Evelyn. That phone call was echoing in his head, a ring of an officer's voice from his office that morning. She was to answer. She always answered. A dead and confused voice on the phone had rung his nerves. It was not a stranger's.Stood in the hallway, holding out for the elevator doors to open, he experienced a chill of fear and guilt. Overwhelming, it was. Was it just a normal question? Could it have been
Detective George Sanders directed the match to the tip of his cigarette, observing as he allowed the flame to catch. A slow, deliberate breath, he drew in the heat radiating with the smoke and exhaled in a gentle hiss. Sergeant Wayne sat across from him, wrapping up a ham sandwich, chewing slowly with his rough jaw in contemplative, deliberate bites. In the quiet, their conversation lingered, each working over pieces of the case like panning for gold in sand."Old man says he kept a registration book," Sanders began, voice as gruff as sandpaper. "Said he stamped off every car that came in last night. Problem is, now the book's gone missing."Wayne belched softly and set his coffee down. "Yeah? Well, books don't vanish. If it's gone, someone took it."Sanders discarded his cigarette across an ashtray. "Maybe our guy in the black suit. He was in that parking lot, wasn't he? If his car number was in that book, he had a motive to steal it."Wayne arched an eyebrow, scanning his notes. "If