Insidious

by Aleatha Romig

  Crackling interrupted the music. Why didn’t the music have static? Why was it only there when he spoke? “Roll over, my Tori. Find those spindles, hold on, and spread those legs. Show me your satisfied pussy.” Yeah, right, I thought, as I listened to his familiar command.

  My body mindlessly obeyed as I opened my legs and exposed myself to his camera. With this friend satisfied, my thoughts returned to Brody’s call. Stewart had a new draft of his will. What does that mean, a draft? More questions swirled as only music filled my headphones. The soundtrack was all the way to the fourth song when I allowed my concerns to be drowned away by the music. For the first time in years, I listened, really listened to the notes. The songs later in the track weren’t as familiar as the first two songs.

  Finally, I heard my husband’s voice. “Our friend is gone, Tori. Come home. Don’t wash, just dress. Nod if you understand.”

  It was the same thing he’d said the other day. I’d disobeyed him then; I wanted to do that again. Before he was ill, watching me with his friends made him hard. After his friends were done, he’d usually either fuck me or have me give him a blow job. He’d said that it was his way of reassuring me that even though he enjoyed sharing, I was his wife, his whore. The friends might get to fuck me now and then, but he could have me whenever he wanted. Bile and disgust created a toxic cocktail that threatened to rise from my throat. I pushed it away, squeezed my eyes shut behind the blindfold, and tried to stop those memories.

  “Did you hear me?”

  Fighting to stay in the present, I nodded.

  AS I SETTLED into my warm car, the scent of peppermint and lustful perspiration emanating from my long hair continued to instigate the revolt in my gut. I hated the offending scents; nevertheless, I couldn’t wash my hair. If I had, Stewart would’ve known that I’d showered. It was one thing for Stewart to take me directly after a friend when Stewart was right there in the warehouse, but driving all the way home with Peppermint Man’s scent on my skin was more than I could stomach. After the quick shower, I reapplied the lubricant, confident that my husband wouldn’t know the difference.

  Through the depths of my purse, I reached for my phone. My fingers brushed paper-towel-wrapped vials. Val’s doomsday scenarios had me intrigued. The drugs held real potential. I was getting tired of Stewart’s leukemia taking forever to kill him. I guessed that’s what happened when a man as healthy and young as Stewart developed a disease. His body fought. The extra benefit had been his continued suffering. Did I want that to end? I did: not to save him from the pain, but to rid me of his presence—forever.

  I also knew that my purse was not the ultimate hiding place for the drugs I’d picked up yesterday at the distribution center. There was too great of a risk of the glass vials breaking. If I used them, I didn’t want it to be done accidentally. I also wasn’t concerned about anyone discovering that they were missing. They’d been accounted for upon arrival to the distribution center, and they’d been accounted for on their way out. Unless there was a case-by-case audit performed at customs, one small tube of each drug would never be missed. Well, not until the cases were opened, and by then, the cases would have gone through too many hands to identify the culprit.

  I swiped the screen of my phone. Not surprisingly there was a text from Brody:

  “WHERE ARE YOU? I’M WAITING.”

  Instead of texting, I hit the CALL button.

  He answered on the first ring. “Where are you? Are you all right?”

  Blinking my eyes at the harsh early afternoon sun as I pulled out of the private garage into the Miami warmth, I attempted to keep my voice calm. “I’m fine. I can’t make it. I thought I could, but Stewart’s being very demanding. I need to go home.”

  “Home? You’re not home?” Brody asked. “Where are you?”

  “Out.”

  Silence.

  “I had to run some errands,” I added.

  “Vik, I need to see you. If you’re already out, run the errands over here. I need to explain this.”

  “Brody? What did you mean a new draft?”

  “It’s not finalized, not yet. Maggie said that Parker had some more research he needed to complete and then he’d go to your place for Stewart’s signature.” His explanation came quick. “There’s more. I just don’t want to do this on the phone.”

  I fought the battle of my heart and will. Turning the steering wheel toward the apartment, I sighed. “Tomorrow, I’ll try for tomorrow.”

  “Fuck, Vik. Today! If you can’t do it now, how about later tonight? Doesn’t that cocksucker sleep?”

  A faint grin came to my lips. “I’ll see what I can do about upping his pain meds.”

  “I’ve got this room until tomorrow. I’ll go back to work and see what I can learn. I don’t care what fucking time it is when you get free. Call and I’ll meet you here.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Before I was about to hang up, I asked, “Who?”

  Brody’s end of the line remained silent.

  I repeated my question, “Who is Stewart planning on leaving the proprietorship of my contract to?”

  “Vik…”

  “Brody, fucking tell me. I don’t even understand how he thinks he can do this. I mean, if I get everything, all his money and property and Val’s education is complete, I don’t know why he thinks I’d agree to do what it says in there for anyone else.”

  “In person, Vik, I’ll tell you in person. Make it work.”

  AS SOON AS I stepped off of the elevator into our apartment, I knew something was amiss. Lisa was wringing her hands, as her larger than normal red-bordered eyes turned in my direction. Stopped in my tracks, I steeled my shoulders and asked, “What? What’s happened?”

  “Ma’am, I wanted to call you, but Travis said you were on your way.”

  “I was,” I confirmed. “Tell me, is it Stewart?” My heart began to race in anticipation. I reached for Lisa’s shoulders. “Tell me!”

  “The doctors are here. Mrs. Harrington, I suggest you go to your suite and talk with them.” Of course, she meant the suite I shared with Stewart, not the one I’d been enjoying alone. Nodding, I tightly clutched my purse and stepped quickly toward the master bedroom suite. When I opened the door, a sea of eyes turned toward me. Immediately, I locked in on Dr. Duggar, Stewart’s oncologist. Turning, I also recognized Stewart’s cardiologist. Under normal circumstances, I’d assume that most specialists don’t make house calls. Stewart Harrington was not normal circumstances.

  As I continued to scan the room and follow the new sounds, I saw my husband, with a large tube coming from his mouth and a machine that echoed with the sounds of breathing.

  My hand went to my mouth. “Oh my God. What happened? He was fine this morning. I was just speaking with him.”

  One of the nurses came forward and reached for my arm. “Mrs. Harrington—”

  “No!” I yanked my arm away. “Someone tell me what happened.”

  Dr. Duggar turned toward me. “Mrs. Harrington, in cases like this, we don’t always have answers. With the cancer alone, your husband could have continued to fight for weeks, maybe longer. Something happened this morning. When did you speak to him last?”

  I tried to think. I was supposed to be at the warehouse at eleven. “I’m not sure, maybe about eleven-thirty, eleven-forty?”

  Though I hadn’t noticed him before, Travis was standing on the far side of the room with his arms crossed over his massive chest and his dark eyes narrowed in my direction.

  “Ma’am, that’s impossible,” the doctor said.

  My neck straightened. “Excuse me? What do you mean?”

  “What time did you leave here this morning?”

  “After breakfast. Stewart was awake.” I pointed toward the blonde nurse. “Missy was here with him.” I shrugged. “Maybe about nine, give or take.” My glare deepened. “Tell me why I couldn’t have spoken to my husband when you said.”

  “Ma’am, Mr. Harrington flat-lined this morning at approximately 9
:47 AM. Missy performed CPR while Angela administered the defibrillator.”

  My knees felt week as I moved toward Stewart’s bed. Dr. Duggar reached for my arm. “Your husband does not have a do-not-resuscitate order in place. Missy and Angela brought him back. However, right now he’s unable to breathe on his own. That’s why he’s intubated.”

  “But? What happened?”

  “Without surgery, we won’t know for sure. The chemotherapeutic medications that Mr. Harrington has been taking have been known to be detrimental to the heart muscle. I can only venture to guess that it was his heart.”

  “And…” I looked toward the bed. Stewart’s eyes were now open and looking toward me. “…he’s conscious?” I took a step toward him.

  “Yes,” Dr. Duggar replied. “We’re sure he can understand. I’m confident he can’t speak. That’s why I know you didn’t speak to him an hour ago.”

  A gloss of perspiration created sheen to my suddenly clammy skin. I had—I’d heard Stewart’s voice. It sounded odd, but who else would have spoken? My gray eyes darted toward Travis. His lips snaked into an evil grin as I now recognized the warning in his still-narrowed gaze.

  I turned my attention back to Dr. Duggar. “What’s the prognosis? Will you be able to remove this tube?”

  Dr. Duggar shook his head. “He’s going in and out of consciousness. I don’t know of anything else we can do. Earlier, Mr. Harrington shook his head, indicating he didn’t want more pain medication, but I think it would make him comfortable until…”

  “I have medical power of attorney,” I interrupted. “Surely, doctor, we can argue that the combination of medications and recent events has made it difficult, if not impossible, for Stewart to be able to be confident in his ability to make rational decisions—” As I spoke, Travis’s arms came down and he leaned forward.

  “Doctor,” Travis interrupted, “Mr. Harrington left strict instructions—”

  I stood taller, strengthened my voice, and addressed the room. “Doctors, the necessary documentation is in my husband’s chart. You may call Parker Craven of Craven and Knowles if you have questions. For now, I’m not wasting my husband’s final hours arguing a point that very soon will be irrelevant. Right now, I’d like to have some time alone with my husband.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Harrington. We can monitor Mr. Harrington’s vitals from the next room. Just know that if he needs us, medically, we’ll come in.”

  “Yes, doctor…” I said as I looked toward his IV. Multiple bags hung on contraptions with tubes going into one tube that was taped to the inside of his arm. “…the pain medication?”

  “We’ll check that documentation while you speak to your husband.”

  I nodded as the room emptied. When only Travis and I remained with Stewart, I turned back to Stewart’s open blue eyes and spoke to Travis. “Once Mr. Harrington and I are finished, I expect you to meet me in my office. We have something to discuss.”

  “I will stay here…”

  I spun toward him. “No, you will not. I’ll speak with Stewart alone. When I’m done, you will meet me in my office.” I paused. When Travis didn’t respond, I continued, “The appropriate response is yes, Mrs. Harrington.”

  Clenching his jaws, Travis replied, “Yes, Mrs. Harrington.”

  Once the door closed, I turned back to Stewart, walked toward him, and sat at the edge of his bed. Leaning closer I spoke in a low whisper. “You do realize this is it, don’t you? You are fucking going to die.” His blue eyes widened. “Now, Stewart, that isn’t enough of an answer. I know you can hear me. Nod if you understand.”

  Again his eyes widened.

  “Tsk, tsk.” I touched his cheek. “Before you go, there’s something I’ve been waiting to tell you. You know how you enjoy watching? Nod, motherfucker.”

  Stewart’s head bobbed as much as it could with the restrictions of the intubation tube.

  “Well, I have a secret. I’ve enjoyed watching too.”

  Question clouded his blue stare.

  “You see, the doctors were obviously perplexed by your rapid onset of leukemia. I mean, look at you. Oh, don’t look now. Now you look like shit. You smell like shit too, but there was a time, a time you were quite fit and handsome, rather cocky too. Ha!” I laughed. “Cocky sure couldn’t describe what you have left. Now,” I patted his arm. “Don’t let me digress. I don’t want you entering hell without truly understanding who put you on the fucking express.” I leaned even closer. “I did! Now, as you enter the gates with the fire and brimstone, know that the hell you put me through for the last fucking nine years was nothing compared to the eternity you’ll suffer for what you did. Watching you rot away here on earth was satisfying for me.” I sat up. “Yes, you’re right: watching has been incredibly rewarding. I’m fucking getting wet thinking about it. Over the last year and a half, I’ve been able to sit back and watch you deny, get mad, spend a fucking fortune to make it go away, sulk, and now… with only hours left… maybe accept your fate.”

  I stopped and smoothed the material of my dress over my legs. Looking back to his glare, I went on, “I realize this is a lot for your chemo-brain to comprehend, so nod if you understand me.”

  Stewart’s head moved from side to side.

  I cocked my head. “What? Am I too young? Am I too dumb? I mean, you didn’t want me going to college. However, I’m not fucking stupid. I made a way, provided the perfect source. Did you know that radiation causes cancer?”

  Stewart blinked.

  “Yes, there are all sorts of documented cases of cancer from radiation. Well, it doesn’t take a fucking nuclear-plant meltdown to cause radiation exposure. No.” I couldn’t stop the grin as my cheeks rose. “Cesium pellets can emit enough radiation to kill cancerous tumors. But…” I lowered my voice as the excitement at my long-awaited confession rambled forth. “…but that’s when the cesium pellets are placed within the cancerous tumors. Do you know what happens when healthy cells are exposed to excessive amounts of localized radiation? Do you?”

  Stewart blinked again.

  “Those healthy cells mutate. That means they change. It was a gamble. I had no way of knowing how they would change. But from your first symptoms, the headaches and hair loss, I knew I was on to something.”

  Stewart’s eyes closed.

  “Oh, no, motherfucker. Do not die on me yet. I want you to know that even though I planted the fucking pellets, it was your kinky-assed shit that did you in. Guess where you were exposed to these high doses of radiation.”

  His head shook from side to side, with his eyes still closed.

  “Open your fucking eyes. I want to see what you’re thinking. You will fucking understand what I’m about to say and then you will confirm your understanding with a nod. That’s the way we do things, isn’t it, Mr. Harrington?”

  Slowly, his eyes opened and he nodded.

  “That’s a good boy. The answer to my question was in your fucking chair at the warehouse. Every time you sat your ass in that chair and watched as you ruined my life for your entertainment, you exposed yourself to radiation.” I shrugged. “It didn’t take long for the symptoms to start, but I couldn’t take a chance on your body’s ability to fight it. So I continued the exposure.”

  My smirk returned. “Every time you told me to spread my legs, do you know what I envisioned behind that blindfold? Oh, you can’t answer with that tube down your throat. Let me tell you. I envisioned this! I envisioned the look on your face when you finally learned what I’d done. And you want to know my reward? I’m a great wife. I stood by you through all of this. I’m a fucking saint! Driving into the damn ocean would have been too easy for you, besides… I wouldn’t have been able to watch. Now, Mr. Harrington, nod if you understand that the day you fucking bought me to be your whore was the first day of the end of your life.”

  Stewart nodded.

  “I do have that documentation, and by the way, your pain medicine is going up. You will never speak again, not of this, not of anything. C
onsider it our do-not-disclose clause; however, instead of paying you off, I’m the one reaping the benefits. One more thing, Mr. Harrington, that new draft of your will—effective immediately, I’m having you declared incompetent. You will not be signing anything new. My fucking contract is complete, but yours with the devil has just begun.”

  The beeps from his monitor sped up as I sat back and watched the confusion in his eyes morph into realization. When I heard the door behind me open, I leaned in and brushed my lips against his cheek. “The only thing better would have been hearing you beg,” I whispered into his ear. “Because I’m confident that the great Mr. Harrington would beg for his fucking life.”

  My shoulders shuddered as I lay my head on his shoulder and willed the tears to flow. The warmth of a hand touched my shoulder.

  “Mrs. Harrington, we have the medical power of attorney. Do you want us to increase his medication?”

  “Y-Yes, anything to help him,” I managed through my sobs.

  “With the possible strain on his heart, this could cause…”

  I looked toward Stewart’s cardiologist who was standing near Dr. Duggar. “If we don’t do this, can we save him?”

  The cardiologist shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

  “Then do it. Let’s make him as comfortable as possible.”

  Missy, one of the regular nurses, spoke, “Mrs. Harrington, would you like me to contact a counselor?”

  “No, I’m not leaving my husband’s side.”

  Such a freaking great wife. But both Stewart and I knew the truth: I wasn’t great. I was death. And, I wasn’t taking the chance of allowing Travis, Parker, or anyone else to get near Stewart without my presence.

  After the medication drip was added to his IV, I sat patiently, drying my tears. Stewart’s icy stare stayed fixed on mine, trying to communicate a million things he’d never said or ever realized. I watched but I didn’t try to listen; instead, I internally rejoiced in his glare of silence. I’d listened to too many of his words. With each minute, the blackness inside of me grew and illuminated my cold, dead heart. Though I’d been called death all of my life, it wasn’t until Stewart’s eyes closed for the final time that I’d truly done it, and I’d never felt more fucking alive. The organ within my chest beat with new vigor.