Children of the Fire

By Richard Shelton

On one level, "Children of the Fire" addresses the horrendous impact of experiences of extreme violence upon the maturation of children. On another, it is the story of the hunt for the Georgetown Killer. On still another, it is a story of hope and love, both lost and found.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781682228555

Richard Shelton

Senior Lecturer in Biomaterials and Head of the Biomaterials Unit. He has published over 50 research papers in scientific journals as well as reviews and a book chapter in the areas of bone biomaterials, tissue engineering and application of hydrogels. He has received grants from EPSRC, BBSRC and the Wellcome Trust and the Dr Hadwen Trust for Humane Research.

Book preview

12

Myra Crane was angrier than she’d ever been in her life. Sitting bolt upright on satin sheets, she screamed at the taping device, as she recorded her husband and her governess through a remote microphone. The gentle words they exchanged came easily as they lay in bed, but what she heard them say about her hurt her pride and sent daggers through her heart. Yet, what she heard and recorded, however wrenching, was all the proof she needed to confirm her husband’s adultery. Alone and enraged, she visualized her husband’s betrayal through his own words; and her pained responses echoed in the emptiness of her stateroom.

Damn!! I can’t believe you! Fucking her on my yacht, in front of my friends, committing adultery in my face, making a fool of me! How could you do that to me?! I’ll get even with you, I swear to God, I will!! I’ll destroy you and her, you bastard!!

Myra’s hands trembled. A large marquis solitaire diamond shimmered in the light, as her fingers tilted a champagne filled flute to her lips. She drank, sighed deeply, and steadied the glass. With her free hand, she tugged at the strap of her nightgown, where it irritated her shoulder. As she worked to adjust the strap, her brunette hair, silver grey at the temples, gradually loosened and slipped down her back. Her peripheral gaze caught her image in a mirror on the wall to her left. She turned, slowly, and looked into it, wanting to deny the inebriated woman who looked back. She put the glass down and continued to listen and record. Her hands clenched, jeweled fingers curling into little fists. Alone in her stateroom suite, she pictured them in bed and wondered how long her children’s governess had been her husband’s lover. She picked up the glass and drank. Despite the intensity of her pain, her eyes began to close and her head drooped, as she slumped over, spilling champagne on the bed. Then, in obedience to that instinct that keeps one from tumbling over, she lurched up and opened her eyes. She finished her glass and poured another. She drank deeply, feeling the champagne warm in her chest. Slowly her eyes began to close again, and she slumped over once more; but she was alert enough to notice that they had stopped talking. She sat up, straining to hear, as she listened to the passion in their soft sounds and words. The sounds and words translated easily into images of her husband’s lips caressing her governess’ breasts, of his tongue licking her nipples to tautness, of their nude bodies, coupling. She drank, sitting rigid, angry, intense, listening. She trembled. Her small hands pounded her bedcovers, leaving little impressions, as jeweled fingers struck into soft satin sheets. Then, very tired, from too much champagne, too little sleep, and too intense an anger, her eyes gradually closed and she slumped forward once more. She felt a strange mix of weariness, champagne, sadness, rage, and a deep need for revenge.

She lay down, but after only a few minutes sleep, opened her eyes and sat up again, listening intently; regretting the day she’d married Stephen; regretting the decision which had changed her name from Myra Reinsdorff to Myra Crane; regretting that Stephen had fathered her children; and cursing the day she’d met him. She hated him now. She hated him for demeaning her in front of her friends, by cheating with a servant. She hated that earlier in their marriage she’d rechristened her yacht in his honor, the yacht in which he now carried on his affair. ‘Flight of the Crane’, stretched across both sides of the yacht’s bow, in large, bronze letters. But Myra remembered her father’s name there and the memory of ‘The Reinsdorff’ bronzed across that same bow made her smile, a little. The yacht had been her father’s pride and joy. Two hundred and ninety feet of glistening steel, it berthed 57, including servants and a crew of 11.

Most off all, she remembered her father pleading with her, begging her to stop seeing Stephen Crane. But the more he’d fought her involvement with Stephen, the more determined she was to have him. The very attributes Hermann found appalling in Stephen, Myra found attractive. When Hermann realized that he couldn’t prevent his daughter from marrying Stephen, fear of their marrying gave way to fear that they would elope. He therefore agreed to their marriage, but insisted that Stephen sign a pre-nuptial guaranteeing that all Myra’s wealth, including her future inheritance, would remain forever in her name, alone. After their marriage, Hermann began to see that his rough, uneducated son-in-law had a keen mind for business, to complement his natural aggression. Hermann taught Stephen to run his businesses, and Stephen was an eager and willing pupil. When Stephen’s considerable abilities became apparent, Hermann developed a new but grudging respect for his son-in-law and an awareness that Stephen was more than, ‘just poor white trash’. Hermann continually increased Stephen’s responsibilities, but despite the fact that he respected his son-in-law’s work, he never overcame his disdain for Stephen as a person; and he sensed that Stephen, too, was discontent, though Myra in the early years of the marriage seemed unaware that he was.

When Hermann’s health began to fail, though he hated doing it, he positioned Stephen to run his vast pharmaceutical and communications empire. After Hermann’s death Stephen assumed full operational control of Myra’s fortune and, in a short time, doubled her wealth. In this, Myra gave her full support, but she never withdrew the pre-nuptial her father had forced Stephen to sign. Understandably, Stephen assumed power, not like a man thankful for a better life, but like a man wearing a grudge, against his wife and her deceased father. As Stephen’s reputation as a shrewd but unscrupulous entrepreneur grew, so did his disdain for his wife and the control she exercised over him.

Myra’s yacht was five days at sea, in calm tropical waters, as she drank, recorded, and listened.

Their passions momentarily slacked, Stephen and Laura resumed their conversation.

Why can’t you leave her, Stephen? What we’re doing is very, very wrong! And we’ve taken too many chances. Your wife’s mean and arrogant, but she’s no fool.—

You’re damn right I’m not, you conniving slut, you treacherous ingrate!!

The words, unspoken and ugly, coursed through Myra’s thoughts, as she reached for her glass. Her arm, reaching across, hit the bottle of champagne, causing it to fall, spinning round and round on the thick pale blue carpet. She drained the glass and put it down, tears brimming in her eyes. Her hands played unconsciously with a bracelet, fingering the diamonds. Cold stones manipulated by colder fingers.

You know why, Laura; I’ve told you a million times! It’s not time. Come on! This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation.

And the answer’s always the same with you, Stephen. Money! It’s always money; and money’s no reason to stay with a woman you don’t love. You should leave that woman, and leave her now, if you don’t love her, and if she causes you so much pain. We can get along without her, Stephen, especially now that you’ve acquired wealth of your own. We’ll lose this yacht and a lot of other things; but they’re only things, Stephen. We’ll still be very comfortable, and we’ll have each other, and our freedom. You’ll be free of her, darling! Look, I know how bad it was for you growing up, but—

The whore! Fucking my husband and talking about my wealth! But I know him. She’s a fool, like I was. He’ll never leave on his own, and never for a slut like her. He wants what I have too much. She ought to see him for what he is, by now; but then, I didn’t. He’s always hated me. I see that, now. But now, I hate him!!

You do love me, don’t you Stephen?

Can’t you see he doesn’t!! He never loved me, either. He loves money, sex, and power, and he’ll use anyone to get it. He takes and takes until you’re all hurt inside and used up, until you’re almost no more!!

Do I love you? How can you ask that, Laura?—

Just listen to him! I can see him laughing now, the bastard. But you believe him, don’t you, you bitch?! You want to, so damn badly, don’t you? And now you’ll fuck him again. Oh God! Oh God! How could I have been so dumb!—

You know I love you, Laura. And as much as I love you, that’s how much I can’t stand Myra. Her father never forgot that I was poor and uneducated. He thought of me as, White Trash. Once, I even overheard him refer to me that way. He poisoned her mind against me. In the beginning, I thought that she loved me for who I was, and that we could make it work; but that wasn’t the case, either. I just looked good on her arm, her big handsome stud, her plaything, someone to drag around. That’s all I was. She used me. She would’ve dumped me, when she got tired of me. Then, she and her father found out what I could do and I had a renewed purpose in their lives. She owns me now, like her yacht, her horses, and her mansions. She jokes about me with her friends. She lets me hear it. They want me to hear it, and they laugh. It’s so goddam funny to them. Like her father did, they call me ‘white trash.’ They say I couldn’t buy culture, if it was for sale. I’m just another servant, that’s all. But the worst thing is, that she laughs while I make her skinny ass richer and richer. At first I didn’t see it. I guess I loved her too much to see who she really was. I was just glad to be a member of her family, the Reinsdorffs. Her name had magic, then. But I made the real magic. I don’t know why I continued all these years; or why I continue now, except that one day, somehow, I’m going to take everything I deserve from her. Its mine! I have a right to it! I’ve paid for it, in blood! Yes, I have some money. But not enough. Not enough to repay me for all I’ve been through with her. I built it! All of it! And even this yacht; it’s because of me, that she still has it! For those reasons alone, I should have at least half of everything!! She would’ve lost it all, if it hadn’t been for me. She’s no genius, you know. Hermann understood that; that’s why, before he died, he left me to run everything. He taught me all he could before he died, but he tricked me, too. He told me he’d take care of me but, instead, he left everything to her. He lied to me, tricked me, used me. Everything he did was for Myra. Everything he had, he gave to her. And Myra? She can’t think beyond the parties she throws, beyond all the booze and her sick, arrogant, faggot friends, with all their degrees and titles; Doctor this and Doctor that. They’re like she is, filled with themselves. I built Myra’s empire, Laura, and I have a right to, at least, half of it!! I’m not a thing to be played with and thrown away, when I’ve outlived my usefulness. I have every right to half, every right, except a legal one. Instead, I run it, but own nothing. She won’t help or support me in anything I want to do for myself; and she steals what I create. She’s cunning. Her attorneys gobble up everything. No, make no mistake, the wealth and power are hers.

Stephen, Stephen, you’re hurting my feelings. Humph! My father saw through you, when I didn’t, and thanks to him, I can leave you with nothing, now that I’ve found out what a rotten, stealing dog you are! Once, I loved you, Stephen, and I never did or said those things you say I did. I never did anything to hurt you. Once, I loved you, but that was long ago!

I hate her, Laura!

Finally the truth. I’ve known it for some time.

Its funny. In the beginning, like I said, I wanted to make it work, but Hermann might have been the main reason it didn’t. He never gave us a chance. He never let us live normally, like husband and wife. She was always too good for me. And her friends interfered, too. Everyone divided us. They thought I was using her! Can you believe that?! I using her!!

No! You fought them, Stephen! You fought them and you didn’t have to! You fought my father and my friends. You messed it up, Stephen; you messed it up and now you talk about my poor dead father and my friends! They never harmed you; it was you!! You felt inferior and you made up the insults in your own mind. I could never make you understand! I could never make you see!—

It was twilight when Stephen left Laura’s suite and began to walk to his stateroom, and to Myra. His two sons and their young friends, pursued by two nervous maids, were below decks playing hide and seek along the ship’s halls, corridors, galleys, and tight little places. Keeping the children between them, the two maids redirected the children’s paths, whenever there was the danger that the children would go up to the deck level, with its railings overlooking the sea. As Stephen walked past, he smiled, stood for a moment, and watched. As he continued walking, the thought of interacting with Myra grew more and more repulsive and instead of going up to his quarters, he went up to the aft deck and peered over the railing. Flight of the Crane rolled leeward, slipping through the darkening waters. In the distance, the ocean blended into twilight sky. On the starboard side of the yacht, the cliffs of an island passed, towering 400 feet above the vessel. Dreary and ominous, the cliffs loomed, dwarfing the vessel, reducing it to a steel, gold, and bronze thimble on a dark sea. Along the railing, Dr. Carl Starnes and his wife Deborah stared awe-struck at the rise of stone. They, like all the others aboard the vessel, were Myra’s friends. Helene Van Dusen, renowned impressionist painter, handed her glass to her paramour, rose from her deck chair, and stood wide-eyed near Stephen, as the cliffs passed. Tall and ruggedly handsome with tousled sandy hair which softened the effect of cold, piercing eyes, Stephen nodded to Helene, recognizing her presence. As he looked up, two great albatross flew overhead toward the cliffs.

Coleridge, Helene murmured, a smile at the corners of her lips, suggests that albatross bring the mariner bad luck, Stephen.

I make my own, Stephen answered.

Helene frowned at his curt, dismissive response, her shoulders trembling slightly.

And besides, Stephen continued, stammering a little, after a momentary pause, that’s only if you kill one, isn’t it?

Hmm, yes, you’re right, Stephen, Helene smiled, enjoying the opportunity Stephen had unwittingly given her to attack. You know, you are right. And your albatross is quite alive, isn’t she? And so is your luck! She smiled again, arched her eyebrows, and moved back to her lover.

He looked daggers into her back, as she walked away. He couldn’t stand her. They thought he was stupid, but he’d show them. With clenched teeth, he stared as she sat back down, then he turned his attention back to the sea and the shadowy, slimy, things, which swam beneath.

Soft music played across the decks, and in the haze of a declining sun, husbands, wives, and lovers embraced, as they glided through the tranquil waters. From time to time, a great shark appeared, to the delight and awe of those at the railings. Under the ship’s lights, the yacht’s guests danced, drank, and played in the moon-lit, cloudless night.

More than an hour had passed since Stephen left Laura’s suite. As he finally began to walk to his stateroom and to Myra, he saw, accompanied by a maid, his daughter Nina and two of her friends, Sharla Starnes and Austin Harvey. They were playing in a corridor, talking and laughing, with the maid hovering nearby. His sons, Andrew and Lloyd, were nowhere to be seen. He thought that they might still be playing ‘hide and seek’; but he knew that wherever they were, they were safe, perhaps now being watched by Laura, herself. He smiled, at the realization that she took a personal interest in his children. He smiled again, as Sharla laughed out-loud at something Austin had said. But he felt displeasure at the thought of the children’s parents: Carl and Deborah Starnes and Charles and Claudia Harvey, more of Myra’s elitist friends.

He reached his stateroom, opened the door, and walked through to the bedroom. Myra lay asleep, the contents of an overturned bottle staining the dense blue carpet beside their bed. She lay, ungainly, on her back, legs apart, toes pointing straight up, mouth open. She was fastidiously thin; her breasts pointed and erect; the nipples, little pink caps on little snowy mountains. Her heart shaped face, though reddened by alcohol, had that classical shape found in models on the covers of Vogue.

Shit! he mumbled.

She awakened at the epithet and looked at him, her nightgown barely covering her breasts, hair in disarray, face reddened, but her eyes brimming fire. Sleep had cleared her mind and she sat up slowly. She stared at him and he could see clearly the hatred in her eyes.

Was she better? Better than me? But you can’t remember back that far, can you, Stephen? You’re supposed to be a man, but you’re a whore.

You’re in a good mood, he responded. Try being civil, for a change. Why not? It doesn’t mean a damn and it doesn’t hurt."

You don’t know what civil is!

Her body trembled as she moved to the edge of the bed and sat staring at him.

You’re an excuse for a man; you’re deceitful and vile!

He feared she’d found out about Laura, and began to fashion a lie. But how could she? She was drunk and in their stateroom, when he’d left it, and he’d been very careful. He was tired, tired of fearing her, tired of being forced to lie. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of another one.

What’s wrong with you?! What’re you talking about? You’re an ass! And don’t talk to me like that, d’ you hear me?!—You’re drunk!

I hate you, Stephen!

Her staring began to unnerve him. The wealth was hers, money, businesses, properties, everything. He poured a drink.

I never really trusted you, but I began to really suspect you, just a little while ago. Someone told me about you; but I never dreamed I’d find out so much. And I didn’t believe you’d stoop to Laura. Tell me, does she know about the others? No. No, you’d just lie, wouldn’t you? But it was through your cheating, darling, that I found out other things, Stephen, serious things.

You don’t know anything. You don’t know me at all. What d’you mean, ‘serious’?

‘Serious’?? What did she mean?? She couldn’t! She couldn’t know anything!!

Myra, can we call a truce, just for today? Your friends are asking for us. They’re expecting us tonight at the Captain’s table, the—

She interrupted. At the same table with you?! With you?! You’re a monster! Are you mad, too? I’d rather die than sit at the same table with you, crawling dirty from Laura’s bed!!

Bed? What’re you talking about?! What bed?! To hell with you, then. Drown yourself in that shit, if you want to; I could care less!

Her body coiled like a viper but she controlled her rage.

When I first began to distrust you, years ago, I blamed myself. I thought it must have been something I’d done. I thought I’d failed you in some way. You see, I still loved you, at least a little. But not wanting to find out the truth about you, I never pursued my suspicion. Then, just a few weeks ago, someone told me about Laura, and I had to know. And all your dirty secrets began to unravel. Each new discovery was worse than the last. Laura was just the tip of the iceberg. You can’t love anybody, can you, Stephen? And you lie to everyone. Now I find that you really are fucking Laura, my poor, dumb, maid! My maid, Stephen! Why my maid!? Is that who you are, Stephen? Fucking her right here on my yacht, in front of my friends, in my face! I can never forgive you for that!! I’m divorcing you, Stephen. I’m putting you out with nothing, like the white trash you are!! And I’m taking from you everything you’ve stolen from me.—

Her voice seethed with rage, then, gradually calmed.

I’ve been recording your phone calls, Stephen. I’ve had you followed, taped, and photographed. I know more about you than just your dirty little trysts. I know everything! And what I know will put you in jail! You’re a thief, as well as a whore, Stephen!!

She strained forward, veins protruding in her thin neck, her hair wild, her face pale, her eyes riveting.

But I should thank you. If you hadn’t cheated, used me, made a fool of me, I wouldn’t know all that I know about you now, like the deals you’ve been making behind my back, darling!!!

The words she screamed seemed to hang in the space between them, as she sprang to her feet. He stared at her, his eyes wide with apprehension.

You’re going to jail, Stephen, and I’ll see that you never get out!! I can do it and you know it! And I will!!

For what? What’ve I done to you? What’re you talking about?!—

You know what I’m talking about!! Where would you like me to start? Link-Text? No, not them. How about Syn Con, Syn Con Pharmaceuticals? Yes!! You put the public at risk and hid behind that front corporation you and your crooked attorney set up to take the fall. And you were lucky, lucky despite yourself, that no one found you out. You knew, Stephen! You knew all along what was going to happen. You planned it. You ruined lives and you risked my family’s reputation. You did it for money. But then, a man who’ll betray his wife will betray anything and anyone!

You can’t prove a damn thing! And why should it bother you anyway, Myra? None of it put money in my pockets. You’re the one who made the money. You’re the one who benefitted. You always are. It was all for you!!

You really don’t understand, do you? You’re really that low, that far in the gutter. And I can prove it; and it wasn’t for me. I don’t want money that way. The Reinsdorffs have never done what you did.

You’re stupid, if you think that. You don’t know the first thing about your father, I can tell you that. He was no saint.

You’re lying! But no matter, that just makes me more determined to destroy you. I can link you to all of it, Stephen! I have you on tape. I have it all; the women, the dirty deals, and now Laura! Laura, our children’s governess! Have you no shame?! You wanted a few million for your self, didn’t you. Five or ten, just for you; so you could leave me when you wanted to. And you almost made it. The funny thing is, had I felt that you loved me, I would have given you the money. But you don’t want me, so you stole; from me, from others, from poor people. And you thought I’d never find out. You stole so that after you left me, you’d be able to live in the style in which I’ve made you accustomed. For you, decency doesn’t exist. It’s like trying to take a hog out of slop; you just can’t do it. Do you want me to prove it, Stephen; would you like to hear the tapes? No, let’s hear you and Laura first, so we can see what a man you are!! A fine man; a man’s man. But maybe not so fine, and maybe, not even a man.

Smelling of alcohol, her gown awry, partially exposing a breast, she walked past him to an elaborate tape deck which tied into the ship’s intercom system. With a thin finger, she pushed a single button. He heard his voice and Laura’s, two hours earlier.

How the hell did you—?? It was Kevin, wasn’t it?! Wasn’t it, you bitch, your goddam chauffeur?!!

Yes!! Yes!! It was him! He told me about you and Laura and I wouldn’t believe it! I couldn’t! I couldn’t, until I heard it myself, just a few hours ago. And even then, I could hardly believe what I heard. When Kevin first came to me, I had Laura’s rooms at our home bugged and the suite I planned for her use on this cruise. I had hoped that Kevin was mistaken, that I would find that she was involved with someone else. After all, you both couldn’t be dogs. And at first, it appeared that way. You were careful not to have your liaisons in my home and I began to believe that Kevin was wrong about Laura. But, it was only an untimely pause in your relationship. Perhaps you two were angry at one another, or just careful. But no matter, I continued to be suspicious, and I had you followed and your office bugged. And what did I discover? Other women, and Syn Con. I spent thousands on you darling, and you were worth every fucking penny. Yes, Kevin started it all. And he wanted to fuck me, but I wouldn’t let him. I don’t fuck the help!

Help yourself.

What? You son-of-a bitch!! A cry erupted hollow and twisted, as tears ran down her face. Oh, but you’ll like this next tape even better, darling. You’ll love it!

She removed the tape of him and Laura and inserted another. He heard himself and his attorney discussing Syn Con, and his attorney assuring him that he was safe, as long as no one could connect him with the front corporation or prove that he had knowledge of its operations. He stood motionless, mouth open, eyes wide, gradually comprehending that she really could put him away. She played the tape until it finished and stood looking at him, a smirk on her lips, hatred in her eyes.

I see. You’ve done your homework, Myra. You’ve done well, and now I’m backed into a corner.—Look,—um,—It doesn’t have to end this way.—

He looked plaintively into her smirking face, as her eyes riveted into him.

You did well, too, Stephen. You were careful and cautious, except as it concerned me! You were contemptuous of me, as a woman, and as your wife. And I will never forgive you for that!!

Myra! Myra! Look, you don’t have to do this! I didn’t do anything to you, for you to do this to me. You don’t have to tell anybody anything. You’re right! I cheated and I’ve done things that I’m not proud of. But I never stopped loving you. His voice broke, as the words choked in his throat. No matter what you heard on those tapes, we loved each other once. Didn’t we, Myra? Remember?

No!! I loved you, Stephen, and that was my biggest mistake, a long time ago. Its over, Stephen! And don’t beg; you make me sick!

I’ll make things different, Myra! I promise! I’ll make it right; I swear it! Who else knows about this? Look, don’t do anything rash, that we’ll be sorry for.

I won’t be sorry for anything, Stephen, except for marrying you and for taking you out of the gutter! I should have divorced you long ago.

Laura doesn’t mean a damn to me, Myra. You can fire her now, if you want. There’s no sense wrecking everything I’ve—we’ve worked for!

He sought to touch her, his hands reaching out. She backed away.

Forget it!! That’s the pity of it, Stephen, Laura doesn’t mean anything to you, nor I, nor anyone, except perhaps the children. And I’ve always wondered why you loved them. Perhaps its the ego in you. Its too late, now, Stephen! I needed your hands reaching for me years ago. Now, I just want you gone. I don’t want you touching me, near me, talking to me, ever again. I don’t even want to look at you. I want nothing to do with you. No, no one knows about you and Syn Con, except me and your attorney; and he’s going to jail with you. Yes, I could forget the whole thing. I taped that conversation myself, and I could easily forget it; but I won’t!! And before I’m through, the world will know just who you are, and about Laura, and all your whores. Think about that, while you’re rotting in jail!!

Myra, if its Laura, if its Laura, God knows, just fire her!!

So, you’ll give her up, for me, huh?! How nice! How sweet! How caring! How loyal! No! It’s not Laura, Stephen. Its you!! It’s you I want to hurt!! I’ll deal with Laura my way.

Don’t do this, Myra! Don’t do this!! Please!! It doesn’t have to be this way! Remember how it was when we first met? Remember the way we—

He moved toward her again, his hands seeking hers.

We can be that way, again, Myra!

Do you think I’d ever let you touch me again, after you’ve fucked Laura, had your mouth in her?!! Don’t touch me!! Don’t you ever touch me again!! I hate you, Stephen!!

He stared at her, wiped sweat from his brow, and tried to think of a way to reach her. But at the same time, he hated her and felt that hatred, now, more than ever.

Myra!

Don’t Myra me! Why not, Laura! Say Laura!! Let me hear you say it, Stephen! Laura!! Laura!! Say it!! Say it, Stephen!! ‘Do you love me, Stephen, do you really love me? Yes, Laura, I do’—humph!! Well, you can have your slut and you can both go to hell! Get out!! Get out!! And take her with you!! Maybe she’ll visit you in jail. But I won’t!!

She removed the tape of him and his attorney and reinserted the one of him and Laura.

Would you like to hear more? I would! It’s really good, and I didn’t even hear it all. I got sleepy, too much champagne, you know, I never knew you had so much stamina; you never did with me, you dog!! Say, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t I switch it to the intercom, so our guests can hear, hmm?? Would you like that, Stephen?? Hmm?? Would you??—

She moved toward the tape deck, her finger pointing to a button.

I’ll bet they already know, anyway. The wife’s always the last to know. They know, don’t they, you filthy dog?!!

Bitch!! he screamed, slapping her hand away from the intercom, as he leaped toward her. You drunken ugly bitch!! He grabbed her by the throat and shook her violently. I won’t let you ruin me!! I fought too hard!! I worked too hard!! I took your shit for years and years!! It’s mine!! I’m going to keep it. I won’t let you destroy me!! I won’t let you ruin me!!

She flailed at him, her nails biting into his arms. But her cries were muffled by the hands which grasped her throat, choking the air from her lungs.

Stop, Stephen!! Don’t!! No!! she gasped.

His hands tightened and tightened, as he bent her to the floor, his face