Whether Alice was murdered by Len or not remained a dark question mark hanging in
my mind like the gallows. I cannot be certain of anything regarding her, her fantasy life
boundless. But, this I’m certain: Tonight, two women shared a double bed, Alice secure
with my hands tightly holding her uplifted buttocks. I shared
my life now with Alice, not Len.
I have a restraining order against him from coming near my house. Two weeks so far
without his jealous threats because he left town. We lived in a restored Victorian thanks
to the pricey meals at the vegetarian restaurant, people craving unadulterated food and
non-hazardous lives.
“I bought a rabbit I named Wobbly today. It’s in the basement, protected behind a wire
cage,” Alice said a few minutes after she plunged a ribbed vibrator into my Ms. V,
tickling my clit for what seemed hours of pleasure. “I fed him carrots tops, Swiss chard,
and broccoli this afternoon.” I owned Riff’s, a vegetarian restaurant. I let Alice order
anything from Riff’s menu, including food for Wobbly. I saved her from the dark
streets, strange men, and death at an early age.
The pressure from Len’s reappearance dissipated, the emotional valve releasing
most of it. “If you see Len before I do, holler.”
“A sorceress might help him get over his hurt, work on his spiritual double” she said.
Men like Len having a double meant twice the trouble, I no longer his sexually abused
partner.
“Sorcerers can’t heal beans, you now. Len’s a bad omen, a hurricane waiting to
drown us.” She smiled and went downstairs with bok choy for Wobbly. She came
back and read a fantasy novel. Looking up, she said:
“I sang an Enya song to Wobbly and he shook all over he was so pleased.”
“Sweet, if you see Len call me at Riff’s, kick my butt if I’m napping on the cushions
after a long day.”
“I really love The Sweet Far Thing, Gemma entering the Realms where anything
magical happens,” she said. “I love it when you call me ‘Sweet’.”
How comforting Alice’s nickname was, the one I gave her. It soothed to me when I
called her that. “Listen, Len’s the opposite of fantasy. He’s hardboiled and dangerous.
Stay clear of him.”
“A wizard petted Wobbly, Sue. His hands huge yet gentle. When I told him Wobbly
said to me, ‘Watch it, girlie, trouble brewing’, he squeezed Wobbly’s neck too hard.”
“Len, here?” I said disbelieving, her words’ fuzzy. “When I’m at Riff’s, don’t let
anyone in, that means Len.”
“I raised my shirt, the red and green one you bought me, to distract him and he
patted Wobbly’s soft white fur, and handed Wobbly to me and then touched my bare
breasts.” What went on in the basement? Damn, Len could get in through the exterior
door, steps leading down to the basement. He had the special key.
“Will you?” A demand more than a question. She nodded and walked upstairs to her
reading room. I let the talking rabbit business pass, Alice’s delusions as good as reading
novels. She had hundreds neatly shelved in a room on the third floor. A hour later she
went to the basement to feed Wobbly mustard greens.
“He told me he wanted to see more of me next time, giving me a wizard’s blink
blink, raising a fistful of starlight, saying he’d throw a lightening bolt at Wobbly if I
didn’t.”
Just then, my smartphone’s email pinged the first few notes of Christine Harnische’s
Etude Pathetique Opus 124 composed by Cecile Chaminade. She loved Enya’s fantasy
songs. Picture Y, two slanting lines our musical divergences. Those same slanted lines
meeting that upright line marked our conjoined exposed men in a boat. She fingered her
clit and that excited me and I wanted her hot friction. She was young while I was middle-
aged, my face wrinkled.
“Shit, Len’s in town,” I said after reading his email. Her face flushed as if sexually
aroused while Len stomped out my desire.
“I told the truth and you thought it was dreaminess and didn’t believe me.”
She went back to her reading room. I slept and woke up with a start. It was 3:30 a.m.
and no Alice. I checked upstairs and she wasn’t there. She took her mobile. My
smartphone did the Christine Harnische ringtone. The email read:
We listened to Enya’s, “Someone Said Goodbye” and then he
turned me into hot churned butter with his plunger. He won’t
bother you anymore. Didn’t we have fun, our wild sex so good?
He put a spell on me and turned me into cold, cold weather from
which I might not return. I’ll gift you something from the other
side. Don’t wait up for me, Susie Q.
I hit Alice’s reply five times, each bounced back: Mail System Error-Returned Mail,
Message undeliverable. The next morning I opened a bright, shiny box on my way to
Riff’s. Wobbly’s bloody head was inside.