Fatal Indiscretions - Episode 1

Hello there! I am back! Did you miss me?

Firstly I would like to say that Fiona and Nyasha's story did find an ending, even though you didnt get to see it, but look out, I am in editing mode.

Now I am pleased to present Fatal Indiscretions. This time my story is going to be romance, erotica and a little mystery, it is something I cannot escape in my writing. I have a novel I wrote and was editing which is based on this plot I am presenting.
This plot is about a woman who has not been successful in bringing a child into this world and the hurt that this causes results in tearing her marriage apart. During this story we will get a view, through her narration, what this summer of her life is about and how it ends up being the last summer of her life. So come on in, and get your toes wet, it is summer, lets have some fun.

Fatal Indiscretions - Episode 1 - by Anjie Harrte

Prologue

In the marshes about five metres through the bushes by the big pond in the botanical gardens my body lay for two days. Earlier today I was discovered by a young man on his way through to the far end of the pond in hope of a good catch. This morning when he got ready and pulled on his long rubber boots, he didn’t know he would stumble upon me. Summer was almost over and the only thing on his mind was catching some big Tilapias to show off to his friends. He had been trying all summer; he had even seen me a few times by this pond over the last two months when he and his friends had come fishing. He had always caught the little ones and had been the laughing stock of his group. Today he was determined to redeem his name; he was determined to show them that he is the ‘man’. He didn’t account, however, that he may stumble upon the body of a thirty year old woman as it lay among the mud and dirt of the marshes, her throat with a long slit that was gaping  wide from the rigor. The moment he stumbled upon my body he forgot that he had come to show he was a man, instead like a little girl he screamed and ran off.

I remember how I died, the knife cutting the blouse I wore, tearing at my skin, crunching bones and then piercing my heart; the look of hatred driven passion upon the face of the person who plunged it into me. My body falling to the ground as the pain seared my skin and caused my body to go numb, and as just as I prayed; just as I looked up at them and pleaded with my eyes not to end my life; that I had done so much wrong during this one summer that I needed to correct them; just as I prayed to God to forgive me for my sins, to let my loved ones I know I didn’t mean to hurt them; just then, I saw my killer kneel before me and make one final move of their hand as  I felt the burning pain across my neck but only for a quick second.

As vivid as the memory of my death is, just as bleak is the face of the person who took my life. While the coroner zips up the body bag and the many onlookers gasp with fear, disgust or sorrow I ponder on whether my killer stands among them. My life plays before my mind like clips from a television show; every indiscretion, every sin, every sweet moment of this past summer simmers in my memory. Even though a floating soul, I still feel the pain of loss, heartbreak, betrayal and death. I still yearn for the same things that brought me to this garden two months ago, I still feel that emptiness within the depths of my soul. Except now, I am charged to remember this summer, to relive it over and over again until I can see who robbed me of my life.

Chapter 1

I was Sherry Miles, wife of the wealthy Pharmaceutical Giant; Ryan Miles. At the beginning of the summer I was plunged into a deep depression after my third failed attempt at bringing a child into this world. This time she was the full 39 weeks when my water burst. After twelve hours of no labour pains my husband refused to authorize a c-section. Six hours later was too late. She was still born and a little beauty. This happened early May but by late June we were living together almost in solitude. We didn’t speak to each other beyond the regular pleasantries and I spent most of my day staring through the windows, sitting in a corner of the nursery in tears or throwing things about the room in hysteria. Ryan tried convincing me to see a psychiatrist, but I didn’t see how that was going to bring my little Emily back. Finally, he threatened to have me committed. I checked it up, he could do it. He was my husband, and thus my legal guardian. I was determined not to go to a nut house.

I was reading the newspaper at Sunday breakfast when I saw my solution.

“If I can come up with an alternative method, will you let go of the psychiatrist idea?” I asked him.
I wasn’t sure if he wanted me committed to get rid of me, or if he truly cared about me. I had spent the nine months pregnant practically alone in this house. He always worked late, or had golf with his buddies. Truthfully, the day I was in labour was the one day through my entire pregnancy that he was truly there for me. It made me think sometimes that he delayed the c-section on purpose. Did he not want a child with me? Or was it that he didn’t want ME anymore?

“I’m listening,” he said without looking up from his breakfast or the other newspaper he read.

I knew that getting rid of me wouldn’t be an easy task for him, after all 75% of the company is mine. When he wanted to start this business fifteen years ago, my father invested it in my name. I was fifteen and he was twenty five, with a great idea. I don’t think my father ever foresaw us ending up together, or falling in love when I was nineteen and getting married a year later.

Ryan was now staring at me, his big brown eyes peering over his spectacles impatiently summoning me to speak.

“I can take these art classes for the summer in the Botancial Gardens, I’ll be with nature and art will be my therapy…” I waited for a reaction

He set his fork down next to the greasy remains of his cheese omelet. At least he still enjoyed my cooking.

“Let me see,” he extended his hand and I passed the newspaper to him and waited again.

“Okay, we can try this for the summer and see what happens, but if there is no change at the end of it, you will seek professional help,” he demanded.

He was good at demanding things. It is a shame he didn’t know I would be dead by the end of summer.

He pushed his chair away and got up, leaving his plate where it was. I watched him walk away; at forty he was still the handsome man I fell in love with. His broad shoulders shrugged as he walked away, his lean figure disappearing out of the dining room. He was gone but the air was still filled with the smell of Brut, his signature smell since I was fifteen and had a crush on my father’s intern.

I packed the dishes into the sink and wiped the table clean. I saw my image in the wooden table top and I stopped to look at her. She couldn’t be thirty, was it true that when you were with an older man he sucked the age out of you? Or was it all the stress and depression that made me look so old. The lines were evident on my face, fine lines on my forehead and at the sides of my mouth. My small brown eyes didn’t sparkle the way they used to, instead they seemed lost. My hair was hardly ever kept these days and so I had put a scissors to it, removing any excess; now it was a ruffled mop of short curls. My thin lips seemed pale and cold. Anyone who knew me any time before two years ago, and saw me now at thirty, would think I was already dead.

I shrugged off that feeling that overtook me this time of day. Even on Sundays Ryan found something to do to avoid me. Right now he would be on the treadmill and then he would go out to play golf.

I washed the dishes, wiping at them as though I could erase the memories in my head as I did. I heard him move and I turned around. He was already dressed.

“You’re early” I said, a little disappointed. It made me feel a little normal to have him around even if he we never said anything to each other.

“Yes I think I will exercise at the club today,” he said as he walked away.

My heart sank. I couldn’t figure out where my life had gone wrong. What I had done to deserve this punishment; childless and husbandless, alone and forsaken. Suddenly I missed my daddy. I wanted to curl up like a little girl on his lap and tell him about my pains and sorrows. I wanted to lean on his chest and listen to his heart beat. I leaned against the sink and the tears came down. Even my daddy I had been robbed of. Diabetes had taken a toll on his life until it finally took it altogether. I hated the disease. It was diabetes that had caused me my children too. It ran through my veins like poison, seeping into everything I loved and treasured, snatching them from my grasps and leaving me with just the thin air through my fingers. I clasped my hand and prayed, I couldn’t blame God for this; after all, I needed him now more than ever. As I heard the car pull away from the house I picked up the phone and dialed the number for the art class.

A deep husky male voice answered as though I had awakened him, I turned and watched at the clock it was 9am on a Sunday; I shouldn’t have called so early.

“Hello!” he beckoned into my ear for the third time.

“Oh I am sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you,” I apologized.

“No, no, how may I help you?” he asked, the thickness of his voice sending goose bumps down my back.

“I was calling about the summer art class, the ad says it starts tomorrow, am I too late to sign up?” I asked

“No, no, we have a couple spaces left to fill, just hold for me please,” I was willing to oblige, there was just something about his voice that made me want to listen to him.

He was back within seconds as he took my information and gave me directions to where the classes would be held; in the gazebo by the front pond in the Botancial Gardens at 3.30pm.

“Do you have any prior experience in drawing?” he asked

“Only what I learnt in school,” I responded.

“May I ask why you are interested in this class?”

“Is that important?” I asked

“Not really but I like to have students who will actually give it a try, not just come for the sake of coming,” he said

“Oh I love art and drawing and I have tried doodling stuff before, followed a few online tutorials, but I guess I need someone there to guide me for me to be able to produce anything proper,” I added.

“Well that is what I am here for,” he said

Several minutes later we hung up and I stood leaning on the dining table with the phone against my chin trying to put a face to the voice. I watched at the little writing pad where I had written his name; Paul Degannes, and then I noticed that while taking to him I had drawn in eyes, nose, and a mouth in the D and put little devil’s horns at the top.

The next day; I walked nervously through the gardens, my feet crushing green grass. I hadn’t visited this place in a long time. Children were playing about under adult supervision. A couple on a bench under a huge plum tree, were making out. The air was fresh with the smell of grass and pollen. The breeze blew through every now and again making the leaves on the trees dance and even causing a few branches to sway in rhythm. The sun was up in the west and beaming down with all its glory for 3pm on a Monday afternoon. It was summer and everything was out in its glory. The Hibiscus trees were flourishing with their pinks, reds, peaches and whites. I could smell the scent of pollen dust as the breeze took it up and it danced in the air. The Buttercups seemed perched on the trees like little goblets waiting to be used by the lovers to have their wine.

 I walked on with my arms wrapped around my body, my little cloth bag with my art accessories hanging from my right shoulder and my big straw hat on my head. I had chosen fawn colored Capris and a white cotton top, loose around my body for comfort. I looked up and saw the image of him standing in the Gazebo. His hands were on his waist, his chest puffed out like a superhero and a smile at the side of his mouth as he watched me walk towards him. Suddenly, I felt naked and tried to look away. His eyes, black eyes, seemed to swallow me. His caramel skin shone in the heat of the day as though someone had oiled him down. He was wearing a black vest and a pair of black track pants, and looked more like a bodybuilder than an artist. I tried to look away, but his stare had me ensnarled. I felt his eyes move about my body and it made me hug myself tighter. I quickened my steps so the torture of walking under his gaze would be over. In what seemed like a millionth of a second I went falling to the ground with my hands flaying. I had stepped into some sort of hole in the ground, my ankle twisted to the side and my body went crashing down.
I was sitting rubbing my feet and grimacing from the pain of my twisted ankle when a pair of strong hands wrapped themselves around me and helped me to my feet. Soon I was up; my body leaning on his. I could smell him; the smell of manly sweat mixed with a musky cologne. He smiled, his face inches away from mine, it wasn’t a complete smile, it was the one he had been giving me all the time with his lips barely curled at the side. I could feel the bulges of his chest against my breast, the hardness of his thighs against mine, the strength of his hold around my body and then I felt it. The blood rushed through my body flooding my face and eyes as I felt the snake like object pushing against my Capri pants against my skin. I looked up at him and his face bore no shame. He was still smiling, his lips still curled at the side and suddenly the image I had drawn on the D in his name appeared and I saw the devil’s horns above his head. I tried to push him away but the pain in my ankle was too much. Before I knew it, he was carrying me in his arms to a chair. With my arms around his neck, our eyes locked on each other’s as he walked me across the gazebo and for the first time in months I was aroused. It wasn’t like a teenage girl and her first crush, oh no, my entire body was alive in his arms and it was common decency that stopped me when he put me on that chair, it was the recluse inside me that held the reins and kept me from giving myself to him the first time we met.

******

So, did you enjoy my first episode? Are you interested in knowing what happens next? If so just come on back next week for episode 2, I promise the heat will be turned up.

Tomorrow our dear and lovely Cathy will be bringing Sea of Seductions and I can't wait to read it.