What's In A Name

What's In A Name

He opened his eyes; his worst fear had come true. It was dark, he could not see anything, he was trapped. He was inside a coffin, buried inside the earth, no chance for him to escape. “SOMEBODY HELP MEEEE” He yelled, but even he knew that no one was going to listen to him, this was the end. He started crying, his body shaking from the terror. Then he felt something, something was crawling up his leg. He screamed as the rat dug his teeth into his flesh, he felt excruciating pain. “Oh god, please help me” He cried but there was no one to help him.



“Mr. Bryant.”
“Yes.”
“I am Frank Barron; I want to talk to you about your wife.” Frank was a young and handsome man, he had long dark hair.
“Please, leave me alone, I don’t want to talk about her.” Mr. Bryant was a man in his fifties. From his appearance it can be easily seen that he was a wealthy man. He was kneeling beside a grave that read “In Loving Memory of Maggie Bryant.”
“Sir, this is about your wife’s death.”
“She’s dead, end of story, when you reporters will leave me alone? Even in a graveyard you had to come nosing around.”
“I know how you feel, Mr. Bryant, but I am not a reporter, I am a detective. Your wife hired me as she had a hunch that somebody was trying to kill her.”
“Nonsense, she committed suicide, Mr. Frank, nobody was trying to kill her so why would she hire a detective.”
“Mr. Bryant, I agree with you, she did commit suicide but murder can be done in two ways. One when you commit the act by your own hands or a weapon, Second when you harass and torment the person so much that he or she had to commit suicide.”
“So you are saying somebody drove her to suicide.” Bryant said shockingly.
“It maybe possible, but there is something else you should know.”
“And what is that?”
“She was having an affair, Mr. Bryant.”
“Who the fuck are you? Who gave you the right to come and talk bullshit about my wife? I can get you arrested; you don’t know who I am?”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Bryant, but I am telling the truth, somebody was tailing her, one time he even tried to ran her over by his car, I am surprised she didn’t tell you that.”

Bryant was in deep thought and then he said “You know who she was having an affair with.”
Frank took a long pause and then said “No, my job was to find out who was after her, not who she was having an affair with.”
“Who made you detective, hasn’t this thought crossed your mind? Maybe her lover is behind everything,that her lover drove her to her death.”
“No, that can’t be possible.”
“Why not, Mr. Frank.”
“Because she told me that it can’t be him.”

Bryant laughed and said “She told you, what else she told you, did she tell you that she was a whore, a bitch who roam around the city looking for young flesh to fuck.”
“You should not talk about her like that.”
“Oh, did I hurt you? Boo-fucking-hoo, I bet she slept with you too, you were her kind, fucking bitch.”
“I said stop talking about her that way or…”
“You seem to be more intimate with her than a detective should be. Why did you come here, tell me the truth, detective, are you the man she was having an affair with?”

Frank looked ashamed; he sighed and then said “Yes, I am the man she was having an affair with, but I was telling the truth, I am a detective and somebody was trying to kill her.”
“You are really a lousy detective, exposing yourself like this. You know, I don’t care, I know how she was, so you better leave this matter alone.”
“What kind of a man are you? You don’t want to know who was trying to kill her?”
“Maybe I don’t, Mr. Frank, so what, she’s dead, what difference would it make?”
“It makes all the difference in the world, Mr. Bryant, because I have a feeling that it was you who was trying to kill her.”

Bryant smiled and shook his head, then he said in a authoritative voice “It still won’t make any difference, ‘cause you see Frank, you can’t prove anything.”
“So, it was you, you bastard, she loved you.”
“Yeah, she does, that’s why she was having an affair with you, what kind of a love is that?”
“You are a cold man, your wife only had an affair ‘cause you were not with her when she needed you, you did not respect her.”
“Yeah, you are telling the truth, I never respected her, she deserved my love. She was a decent woman, I should have told her how much i loved her. I indeed drove her to suicide. But you are wrong at one place, my wife never had an affair.” And Bryant smiled.

Frank was confused, his eyed narrowed. He did not understand what Bryant just said. Then his eyes moved to the grave and the date engraved on it “1965-2011” He stared at the date and then again at Bryant who was still smiling. “Whose grave is it?”
“My wife’s, Maggie Bryant.”
“But Maggie was young, she was………”
“I never said your Maggie was my wife. You see, Mr. Frank, I am a very wealthy man, we have wives and then other women to satisfy our needs, I mean mistresses, that was your Maggie, my whore. They both just share a common name, made things much easier for me."

"When you said my wife was having an affair and somebody was trying to kill her, I was shocked but the moment you said that she was nearly ran over by a car, I understood, ‘cause the man who was driving that car was hired by me. I am surprised she never told you that she was a whore. She started to interfere in my life which was too much for me.”
“It can’t be possible; you disguised Maggie as your wife and buried her here, but somebody must have recognized her body.”
“What a stupid thought from a detective. This is indeed my wife and she did commit suicide. She never had an affair and I never tried to kill her. She was just, say, bored with life. And i would never come to the grave of a whore to moan.”
“But if your wife committed suicide, and this is her grave, where is my Maggie?”
“You really wanna know where she is, Mr. Frank, what I did to her?”
“Yes, is she alive? You didn’t kill her, did you?”
“No, I don’t think so, but for you to know, you have to get to my car, will you please lead the way.”
As Frank whirled and made his way out of the graveyard, a sharp object hit his head and he was unconscious within seconds.