. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . where ImagInatIon comes to play

Sunday, March 23, 2008

She asked him, iii

.
“Did you do it?”

“What?”

“Did you do it?” she asked again. “I need to know if it was you, Brian.”

She paced the plush carpet of the vast room that reminded her more of the European art museums she had visited than a space meant for living. The new-found money had been nice at first, she didn’t deny that. But then everything had changed, nearly overnight. He had changed. And she wondered if she knew him, this man nine years her husband now. Maybe the police had had good reason to question her after all.

“Do what, honey?”

“Please...please don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m asking you, Brian. Please don’t be coy.”

“Sweetheart, don’t upset yourself like this. You’ve let them get to you. Just sit down and relax while I go make us martinis.” He turned to leave and now she felt frantic. Even she didn’t recognize the voice that pierced through her and into the tall ceilinged room, making him turn on his heels.

Did..you..kill..that..girl?”

Silence followed the echo of her words. Then Brian’s eyes fixed upon hers. She held her breath while watching his lips part for the brief, solitary answer. “Yes.”

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