Infidelity

All Francesca Dominic wanted was a child of her own - a little one to hold in her arms and dote upon. Surely a child would fix all of her problems and help her to feel better about things, but unfortunately, her husband was sterile and there were not many solutions for such things other than sleeping with another man. But, she loved her husband, Willard Dominic, dearly and could not think to commit such an unforgivable sin.

Francesca had come from a poor home and her husband as well, though they were left a great sum of money when Willard's grandfather died. It was enough to leave them well off for many years. They were able to buy a sizable home with a garden that was tended often. Birds came to sing in the trees and butterflies flew around the flowering bushes. All was happy.

She would sit and read by the fire with Willard some nights or tend to her cross-stitch, talking about how she wanted children with him, but of course, that always spurned an argument that ended the same way - Francesca in tears and Willard seeking comfort from scotch down at the bar where he would chat with his friends. Things had been happy for so long, why did they have to come crumbling down when she mentioned children? Even when adoption was brought into the argument, Willard became even more enraged. Did he not wish for his wife to be happy? Or did he simply dislike children?

After their last argument, Willard ran off to seek comfort in his drink of choice, leaving Francesca to fend for herself. He had slammed the door so hard, that the glass nearly broke, another sob choked in his wife's throat.

Francesca quickly dried her tears with her embroidered handkerchief, tucking it away into her sleeve. An idea was forming in her mind. If she could not get a child from Willard, perhaps she may have to ultimately cheat on him in order for her dream to become a reality. She would sleep with a man and when the time came to tell Willard of their child, she would say that a higher power had been prayed to every night and they had seen it fit to bestow the couple with a lovely infant.

Dressing appropriately for the weather, Francesca put on her finest dress and finished it off with a lovely overcoat, then stole her way down to a different bar altogether. Of course she wouldn't jeopardize herself by going to the same bar as her husband. Upon stopping, the coachman let her out of the carriage and stayed with the horses as he should. He was paid to keep secrets and to tend to the equine, so he wouldn't speak of where the lady of the house had gone or what she had done - not that he could see her at all times.

She pushed the doors open, making her way into the crowded, noisy bar. A group of men played instruments and sanga jaunty tune in the corner while women danced on tables and men hooted and hollered. She would be likely to find a suitable man here that wouldn't tell of her misdeeds. Making her way to the bar, she took to sitting on one of the stools and ordered something to drink, keeping an eye out over the crowd.

Just when she was about to give up, a man approached her, good looking with a strong jawline, beautiful green eyes and dark hair. "Do you mind if I sit with you, m'lady?" Was asked, polite with an accent that hinted what area he might be from - not one of much money. Then again, she had to remember where she had come from as well.

"Yes." She answered, thankful that her wedding band had been slipped off as she lifted that drink to take a sip, patting her mouth in a smooth gesture afterward with a handkerchief.

"What is a woman such as yourself doing here?" He inquired, placing a calloused hand on the bar, a sign that he was a hard worker.

"I'll tell you the truth." Francesca began, "I am merely looking for a casual encounter and nothing more. Your name isn't even important to me, but you can tell me if you wish." It was convenient that his looks were at least somewhat close to Willard's own, though his cheekbones were more prominent than her husband's own, but that could be passed off somehow when the time came. She was sure of it.

"My name is Anthony." He said, "Most women that come to this place are just looking for casual encounters, so it's really no big deal."

"I am Francesca." She then offered her hand.

Anthony paid for a room upstairs and offered his arm, leading the way. "Might I ask why a woman of money is in the poor part of town?" He inquired, taking a silver flask from his pocket and downing a gulp, the cap then screwed back on and tucked away.

"Why would I go to a bar near my own home for something like this?" She started to undress, showing the olive skin of her shoulder, "Now are you going to ask for my life story or do what I have asked?" With a huff, she undressed, letting the garments fall to the floor in a rush of noise as they made a heap.

"Alright, alright." He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a strong chest and abdomen, if a bit hairy as a man should be. Taking down his pants after shoes were discarded.

Anthony took Francesca, the excitement of being with a stranger somewhat driving her over the edge. However, she would have to get home soon. She went to get up, throwing that crumpled dress on and fixing her hair, the overcoat her next detail, and in the rush of putting it on, her wedding band slipped out of the pocket and toppled to the floor.

The man stared for a long time at the piece of jewelry, rolling until it came to a stop and fell just at the corner wall, stopped by the solid surface. "You're married!" He accused, pointing at her, though his own plan was formulated and he smiled as greed overtook him. "Francesca. If you don't pay me off, I will certainly tell your husband. I will find out who he is and make your life hell."

"You will not!" She screamed, face contorting to a look of anger.

"I assure you I will. I have wit as well as connections." He sat draped in the crisp sheets, a wicked smile on his face.

This couldn't get back to her husband and she would go to all costs to make sure of their happiness. Backing up, she took her purse, a small gun procured from the confines.

"Are you going to shoot me?" He asked, grinning still. "Your gun is petite and every man knows that women can't shoot."

But, she raised to gun to his head and pulled the trigger with no regard, thankful that her father had taught her to shoot when she was but a girl - it had come in handy now. "My life will be happy forevermore." She promised, stepping to the window and getting it open slowly, for she could not be caught. After some time, she slipped free and made way to the carriage, telling the driver that she needed to go home. He obliged.

Luckily, she was home before her husband, and it would always be this way. He would stagger in drunk late at night or near daybreak to sleep off his drunkenness, an alcohol scented kiss for his wife before he fell to sleep.

Francesca dressed for bed and they slept. The next morning she sat on the balcony to eat breakfast, waiting for her husband to join her. However, this morning was different than the others as she heard a faint knock at the door behind her, with a turn, no one was seen and no one was close. She shrugged it off and continued to eat her toast, not bothered.

That night at the dinner table, she cut her meat delicately, her husband on the far end that was when the knock was heard yet again, as if it were coming from in the walls. "Did you knock?" She asked, spearing a slice of chicken to place into her mouth.

"No Francesca, I did not, dear. I didn't hear anything either." He continued to eat as well, though the knocking persisted, getting louder and closer until she could not stand but to yell for it to stop, causing Willard to gaze up at his wife with a look of surprise. "Francesca my love, what is this nonsense!? Nothing is there." With a sigh, he ate.

This went on for weeks, she would hear the knocking so much that she could not concentrate. Sleep was lost and she cried for hours on end for the noise to stop, making Willard grow worried. Soon a doctor was called in to intervene, but the man merely shook his head and passed off Francesca as being all right.

When weeks turned into months, Willard grew furious at his wife as he was starting to lose sleep as well. He was impatient with her, "Stop this nonsense!" He would yell, hitting her. Day by day, the abuse grew worse for her, until she was bludgeoned so badly that she passed away, leaving Willard to cry on his knees for what he had done. He did not want to kill his wife, merely make her stop.

Francesca awoke in a room unlike any other, one she had never seen before it was dark with a shroud of mist - was she dead?

"Hello, Francesca." Anthony spoke, coming toward her and lifting her hand to kiss it. She pulled away in fear to stare at him, "What are you doing here!?" She asked in surprise.

"I am dead, Francesca. And now, so are you. You are a sinner and you killed me. But, your husband is now a sinner too." A smile pulled at his lips, "You must bring him to this side with us."

"How?" She asked, surprised when Anthony lifted her hand, pushing it into a fist. He took her to the wall of this strange place and made her rap on it, the knock echoing in nothingness.

Willard Dominic sat on the other side with the body of his wife, crying over her. He picked his head up however when that knock was heard, coming from somewhere within the room though no one was present. All of the servants had retired to their quarters for the day and didn't know of the tragedy of Francesca's death.

For many weeks the knocking was heard, and he would not let anyone into their home. For days he paced in his study, Francesca's body left in the exact place where she had died. The scent of rot was of course prominent in the home by now. The knocking continued and when he could no longer take it anymore, Willard Dominic pulled a gun from the drawer of his desk, pulling the trigger and allowing the bullet to take him where he would be with his wife once more.