The Victims

Awarded an HM in the September round of Short Stories Unmasked Contest.

Luke Anders sat behind his desk staring down at the large manila envelope which had arrived by courier. He ran his fingers through his hair - delaying the moment when he would have to open it.
He looked around his office, and his gaze fell on an abstract painting he had bought several years before. He turned away and then forced himself back to the package. He picked up his letter opener, and made a swift clean cut along the envelope's top, and shook the contents out onto his desk. Before they landed he started to taste the bile rising to his throat. He shifted the photos around. His jaw clenched as he looked at pictures of his beautiful wife, with a stranger. It was obvious the man was not a stranger to Isabel.

Lovers in the first flush of passion.

The photographs showed different locations: restaurants, parks, bars, museums too. Favorite old haunts of Isabel’s that they had not gone to in years. A few revealed them entering an apartment building, and then more of his wife leaving alone.
Luke made it to the rest room before the contents of his stomach emptied. He laid his sweaty brow against the cold tiles. Silent tears ran down his face mixing with the bitter tasting saliva. Luke ran his hands under the faucet and filled his cupped hands with water. He relished the assault of the cold water on his face. He returned to his office, and stuffed the photographs back in the envelope and placed them in his safe. He looked around for the letter that had come with it.
This time he showed no hesitation—he ripped it open.
His eyes scanned this. At the end of the report he saw what he wanted, a name and address.

He spoke the name out loud Grieg Stanton.
The name suited the handsome face from the photographs. He gave a short involuntary laugh, walked over to the window and looked out onto the city. Hoping, perhaps it would engulf him. Rain battered against the window dulling the sounds of the traffic ten floors down. For a few seconds he wished he was one of the nameless, faceless people in the crowd below.

His mind began to fill with the unthinkable.

Would she leave me for him . . .? Who would take care of Cassie? Isabel of course, that was her role.

He was the provider. She looked after them.

His jaw clenched at the thought of the empty home. They moved out of the city to give Cassie all the benefits of a small-town upbringing. Isabel wanted to stay. She had planned to return to work when Cassie went to kindergarten, but he convinced her that moving was the best option for them all. Now, he realized that perhaps that had been a mistake. Isabel lived and breathed the city. She loved her job, and had worked as a PA to the owner of one of the better Art Galleries. It was where they met, at the opening night of a friend's exhibition.


She still needs excitement for herself; she isn't just a wife . . . or a mother, she’s a woman, who needs more to life than looking after her family. No wonder she turned to another man for excitement. I may have crushed her dreams.

Each thought delivered a punch like a body blow.

Luke remembered that night.

He watched her as she studied a painting he could only describe as hideous, mesmerized by her beauty. She stood under an overhead light, which encompassed her in an ethereal beauty. Her blond hair fell to just below her shoulders, and it swung as she turned her head from side to side as she studied the painting. Her neat figure flattered by the long silky dress she wore. Her dark smoky eyes, held a serious expression, which he thought made her appear to be an old soul.

He walked straight towards her and tried to offer a more endearing description for the painting.

"It reminds me of . . . I adore it. . . It's haunting. . . “

He grinned at her. She turned towards him and laughed.

"I think it’s one of the worst offerings I have seen, from any artist. Even so, I am not Clement Greenberg, but this is no Jackson Pollock”

She leaned closer to him, covered her mouth and whispered to him.

"I am sure you're not alone in your admiration for it...you should buy it before someone else snaps it up."

He had never seen a more attractive woman, and he wasn't about to let her get away. He insisted she handle the sale herself. It now hung in his office. Isabel refused to have it anywhere in the house. He turned to look at it. Staring at it, he got angry. He wanted to jerk it of the wall and smash it. To him it was a symbol of their beginning, which until a few weeks ago he thought was happy ever after. He had never looked at another woman in the years they had been together.

She had just turned twenty one. A seventeen-year age difference, but it did not matter to them. They shared similar interests, almost identical senses of humor. They laughed a lot together.

His friends did warn him, saying it was too fast. As much as they liked her, they thought the age difference would show up sometime in the marriage. They married within nine months of meeting.

Now, he realized they were right.

Cassie was born five years into the marriage and was now nine. It seemed like only yesterday.
He felt complete; having both these wonderful females in his life, he would tell them often he got a decent bite of the apple.

Luke turned towards the painting.
What used to be a symbol of love for them looked grotesque in the dim light. Continuing to stare at it, he punched the picture in anger. The glass cracked, but it was still intact.

As he thought about this Grieg Stanton, Luke walked back to his desk and stood a moment gripping the side of it.
It had to stop he told himself. He would go and speak with this man and demand the affair to end, if he wanted money, he would give him whatever it took.

The phone rang; he jolted back to the present. He reached over and grabbed it from its cradle and sat down.

"Luke Anders."

"Hello darling, how's work?"

The sound of Isabel’s voice cut through him. He cleared his throat. He knew then, hearing her voice, he could not or would never confront her.

"There are a couple of problems that have come up today, and I aim to sort all by tonight. Never mind that how is Cassie today?"

“She's good; her shoulder doesn't hurt at all. I called because I was thinking, Cassie and I could meet you from the train tonight? We could all go out to dinner? We're going stir crazy here. The weather is awful—not that I'd let her out in the yard, in case she hurts it again. What do you think about dinner?"

Her voice held all its usual cheerfulness.

"Sorry Isabel, I meant to call you; I’ll be here until seven at least . . . You should both go out. I can grab something here.”

"No, it wouldn't be the same without you. I'll cook at home—please try to come home at a decent hour. We miss you. You've been working much too hard. We should plan a trip . . . soon Luke. We need it, especially you."

He heard the sadness in her voice - his anger pushed aside for the moment. His voice softened.

“I will, darling. I'll take time off soon. We can go to that little place in the Poconos you like so much. We'll talk about it when I get home. Give Cassie a hug from me.”

"I will see you later.” said Isabel.

“Isabel . . . wait”

“Yes?”

“Isabel, I love you. . . Cassie . . . You . . . is what’s important to me. I want you to know that.”

“I know that Luke. But sometimes you forget to show.”

Luke held the phone in his hands for a few moments after she had hung up.
Hearing those words satisfied him and gave him hope for the future. He had to speak to this other man.
He ran it over in his mind; wouldn’t be the same without you…
He vowed he would be around more often. If he got another chance.
He sat in the quiet of his office with his head in his hands. His thoughts stilled, as the afternoon light faded and the shadows engulfed him.
Luke became lost between hope and despair.

** * **


Luke found the building. It was a block away from the 42nd street subway. He looked upwards to the fourth floor and saw lights on in the apartment.
He turned up his collar and walked on down the street. He felt weary and needed to sort out his thoughts before he went to Stanton's apartment.

The predicted storm kept people inside, the street looked deserted in this affluent area. He had walked around the block twice before he decided to go to Stanton.
A side door to the apartment building was open. He chose to take the stairs. When he reached the fourth floor he was breathless. He stood for a minute before walking up the hallway to Stanton's apartment.


He knocked on the door 412, and heard movement inside.

“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any.” The voice muted by the heavy door.

"I’m looking for a Grieg Stanton. Can you please open the door?"

Chains rattled, locks snapped back. A tall man in a bathrobe with tousled hair stood in the open doorway. “I’m Grieg Stanton, look; I'm busy here as you can see. I am just out the shower."

“I’d like to talk with you about Isabel Anders. It might be better if we talk inside.”

The man, Grieg Stanton, looked up and down the hallway, and nodded Luke inside.

"I'm Luke Anders, Isabel's husband. I thought it was about time we met, and talk.”

Stanton began to smile; he didn't appear embarrassed. He almost looked smug. Luke fought to remain calm. Anger boiled just under the surface; he clenched his gloved fists, then thrust them in the pockets of his coat.

"Ah, caught are we? You should know it’s all over—did she confess?"

He flinched at Stanton's words. The timbre of his cultured voice resonated through Luke, like fingers clawing down a chalk-board.


"No, she didn't. I love my wife. Our daughter needs her. I need her. I have come to ask you to stop seeing her. I’ll give you money… Name your price.”

Grieg Stanton shifted on his feet, looking at the floor. It seemed minutes to Luke before he spoke.

“Dude, you’re a day late for that; she ended it already."

What a bastard!

He did not know how he should feel. Angry with Isabel, of course, still he would forgive her this brief lapse of fidelity. Stanton was contemptible. only who could blame him for his attraction to Isabel, a beautiful women.
He felt stupid pleading after Stanton told him the affair was over. He realized then, that he had nothing more to say to him. Luke turned and reached for the door knob

"Wait... I have something of hers."

Luke followed Stanton to his bedroom at the end of the hall. The bedding was expensive, and rumpled in the moonlight streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows. Stanton snapped on a lamp and crossed the deep Persian carpet. He picked up something on the bedside table among a jumble that included a lipstick stained glass and a torn condom wrapper.

"She left in a hurry yesterday, after she got a call—something about the kid falling at school. She left this behind. This is good; I won't have an awkward meeting with her to give it back"

Luke turned his wife's bracelet over in his hand; it was his gift to her when their daughter was born. Yesterday, Cassie fell in the playground at school and needed to go to the emergency room. Isabel hadn’t arrived until a half-hour after him. This explained how he could arrived before her. She was here. She was in those rumpled sheets.

Luke saw the same sly look of amusement on Stanton’s chiseled face, and he reacted without thinking.

It was like watching a movie in slow motion. He was calm as his fist came out of the coat pocket. He seemed surprised to see it, as if it belonged to someone else. He saw Stanton's eyes widen and his jaw drop open. He saw the man stumble backward to avoid the punch. Luke saw the man’s feet come out of his slippers as he tripped over the edge of the carpet. Feeling the shock of the blow travel up his arm gave him a feeling of satisfaction that he had not felt in many years. The blow wasn’t effective. It only glanced off Stanton’s hard head, yet it was enough.

Stanton fell hard. A loud crack startled Luke. It almost sounded like a firecracker erupting. Stanton’s head struck the foot-board of the bed. He lay crumpled on the floor; a small pool of blood began accumulating on the plush carpet. A rush of guilt passed through Luke, and he knelt beside his rival.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, it’s just that…”

He stopped - realizing that Stanton life hung in the balance. Luke watched the life drain from Stanton’s eyes, and knew his life had changed forever.

He pulled his cell phone and began to dial for help; then he snapped it shut, help was impossible now for Stanton, he was dead.
The stench of the fresh flowing blood nauseated him, and he ran out the apartment. All that mattered was that he finally made it to the gutter outside before throwing up.

Luke staggered into the shadows of the alleyway. He leaned against the wall, and then dropped his hands on his knees, his heart was thumping. The wind was throwing up garbage, swirling around, then waiting to drop again. Sweat oozed from every pore in his body. He wiped his brow, desperate to get his thoughts together. He then saw a sheet of newspaper swirling around the corner of the alleyway. Fear gripped him as he thought he could be tomorrow's headlines.

** * **


For the next few days, Luke tried to keep up a pretense of normality, only his mind would not rest. Reliving the few seconds when Stanton fell against the bed over and over.
Luke woke by Isabel’s shaking him from his nightmare.

Fear ripped through him as he saw the look on her face.

“Look at you, you’re drenched in sweat, and you were screaming in your sleep. What is wrong? Luke, talk to me, please. I am worried about you.”

The muscle in Luke's cheek clenched. He couldn’t talk to her. Not now, not ever.

“I must have stomach flu, or food poisoning.” He tried to smile at her, but he did feel ill.”

He grimaced as a pain shot through his stomach.

“That’s it—you’re staying home today. No argument. I’m calling the doctor. You go and shower and I’ll change the linen, the bed is damp.”

"No, I don't need a doctor. I'll be fine if I just rest today."

Luke got out of bed and headed for the shower.
As the water poured over him, he scrubbed away at his body; a feeble attempt in to cleanse himself of all that happened in the apartment. He closed his eyes, all he saw were the dead eyes of Stanton looking up at him. He got out the shower, dried himself, and went back to their bedroom.

Isabel stood in the middle of the room with a pile of linen in her arms; she seemed miles away.
She jumped when he spoke to her.

"Maybe I could drink a cup of coffee?"

“You look so much better, I'll bring you one before I go to wake Cassie and get her ready for school. After I drop her off, I'll have to go to the dry cleaners and do some grocery shopping. I'll drop into the drugstore and ask if I can get something for you. Why don’t you try and get some proper sleep.”

Luke nodded and climbed back into bed, his energy spent having a shower. Isabel’s voice soothed him as he listened to her planning her morning.
She came over and sat on the bed beside him, and brushed his hair away from the forehead.

"You look much better—and smell better" She laughed as she placed a kiss on his cheek.

He held onto to her and whispered.

"I love you Isabel. I will always love you."

Luke saw a flicker in her eyes, guilt or sadness. He couldn't be sure. He watched her as she left the room, she was beautiful and caring, he loved her more now, than when they first met.

Why did this get so crazy.

Luke drifted in and out of fitful sleep; it took him a few minutes to realize the doorbell was ringing.
He pulled himself out of bed and looked out the window; he saw a police car in the drive.
He stood for a moment; he filled with dread. Is immediate thoughts were, they have come for me.
He walked downstairs gripping the handrail as he did. The bell rang again.

"I'm coming, just a moment please," he called out.

Two men stood at the door, the smaller of the two flashed his badge.

“Good Morning Sir, I’m Detective Fernandez and this is my partner Detective Shultz.”
The other detective nodded in his direction.

"We are here to speak with Mrs. Isabel Anders. Is she home?”

Luke shook his head and replied

“My wife has taken our daughter to school, then doing errands. I don’t think she should be too long. Is there anything I can help you with? I’m Luke, her husband.”

Luke felt his heart race, each beat reverberating through his head. His hands shook, and he leaned on the door frame to steady himself. The other detective stepped forward and spoke.

“Are you okay there, Mr. Anders? Can we help you to a chair?

Luke could only nod in agreement and let the officers guide him into the living room. They helped him into the nearest chair.

“Thanks . . . I have stomach flu or something. It has laid me low for several days. Isabel should be home soon . . . She is doing some errands after she drops our daughter off at school.”

“We won’t keep you. Here’s my card, please ask your wife to give me a call when she returns.”

Detective Fernandez placed the card on the coffee table.

“What is this about Detectives? Has my wife unpaid parking violations? ”

The detective smiled.

“No, nothing like that, we need to ask her a couple of questions.”

Luke noticed a look pass between the detectives; then the quiet one spoke.

“Have you ever heard your wife mention the name Grieg Stanton, Sir?”

He looked at the detective, a blank expression on his face.

“Nope, I don’t think so…” he shrugged.

He thought he saw a dubious look pass between the detectives, he decided he should recall.

“Wait… Is he an interior designer from the city?”

The detective nodded

“My wife contacted him and several others I think, she wanted to do some work on the house. She decided to hold off until spring.” He smiled towards the detectives. “Or, it could be on again, who knows with my wife.”

“Why are you asking? He’s not in any trouble is he?”

Fernandez stepped forward.

“He’s dead.”

Luke feigned shock.

“I’m sorry to hear that, was he young? I don’t know if my wife hired him, she never mentioned it."

Detective Fernandez shook his head as Luke spoke.

"Early thirties, the coroner's findings are that he hit his head at an awkward angle and burst his temporal artery. Poor man died straight away. We’re here because your wife left a message on his answering machine, the night he died.”

A sharp pain grabbed Luke. He rubbed his temples to try to ease the pain.

"Yep, a one in a million accident where it ends in death," added Detective Shultz shaking his head.

"That is too young; did he have a wife and a family?"

The other detective spoke, “Single, and from what we gather a bit of a lady's man."

Luke offered no reply.

"Mr. Anders thanks for the information; you've explained your wife’s association with Mr. Stanton. Please, it’s important that she speaks with us herself.”

“No need to show us out,” said Detective Shultz.

Luke sat still in the chair; hot tears ran down his cheek. He wasn't sure how to feel. Stanton's life had ended at his hands.

He turned when he heard Isabel's voice

“Luke, what is wrong? You have to talk to me? Is there something you're not telling me?”

He hadn't heard Isabel come in. As she reached over to hand him a tissue she saw the card and picked it up and read it.

“I passed a police car on the way home. I didn’t realize they had been here. What did they want?"


“You… they wanted you.”

“Me, why would they want me? Luke you're scaring me. Is it Cassie? "

"No, it's not Cassie."

Luke stood up and walked over to the window. He looked out onto the yard, and saw Cassie's playhouse, a tree branch had broken off and landed on the roof. He had meant to fix it, but he had been so busy this past year with the business. It looked desolate out there in the bare yard.

“Honey?”

He turned around to face her.

“One of those interior designers you thought in hiring died in an accident the other day. Seems there was a call on his machine from your cell. The police are doing routine questioning to determine his last movements. I told them you may have been going to hire him. ”

Isabel’s hand flew to her mouth as she let out a squeal.

“Who is it?”

He watched her ball her fists, and struggling to stay calm.

Luke hated having to say his name; he did not want to see her reaction. He felt tight deep inside like the taught strings of an instrument. His vision blurred, he could not see her as the throbbing pain in his temples intensified.

“Stanton, Grieg Stanton, your lover!" He spat the name at her and managed to look her in the eye.

“Oh no Luke, what have you done?”

As she spoke to him, Luke watched her. She stood up and pulled something from her coat pocket. She thrust it in front of him. A ray of sunshine broke through the dark clouds at the same moment illuminating the bracelet. Luke blinked as the reflected light hit his eyes, the pain intensified in his head.

He turned away from her.

“ Look at me, I checked the pockets of your coat in the dry cleaners and found it. There is only one place you could have gotten this. Luke, tell me it wasn't you?”

He put his hands up to his head; in a vain attempt to rub away the pain. Isabel’s voice sounded far off in the distance.

“Why. . . Why? He didn’t deserve to die, not over an affair. Did you kill him?"

He could hear the hurt in her voice, but still he could not look at her.



"Luke, answer me, tell me you didn't do it.”

Luke tried to reach over to a chair. He needed to tell her it was an accident. Only his legs and mouth would not work. He held the words inside his head, and couldn’t form them. Pain shot through his whole body as he fell on the floor.

Isabel knelt down beside him, he felt her body tense beside and he heard her sharp intake of breath.

“Luke! Oh my God. . . Luke, stay with me. I’ll call for help darling. Just stay with me.”

His Isabel, her voice so soothing, he lay there, allowing the blackness to consume him, and it was the only way to escape the pain.

* * ** * *

* * ** * *

Word count: 4032