Suspense Short Story – Disclosure
Photo credit: krosseel from morguefile.com
I was raising a hand to suppress a yawn when his next words hit me. “I killed my wife.”
I half-turned my head to look at him, stopping midway through the arc only because of some sudden ill-conceived notion of not wanting to draw attention to myself.
He sighed. I could not make out his features in the gloom of our surroundings. I could see his face was down-turned, his eyes fixed on something beyond my visual horizon. “Eight days ago I was the happiest man on earth. Well, perhaps happy was not the right term. Satisfied. Mmm, that fits how I felt back then. Satisfied… That everything was fine in my world, that things couldn’t be better.” He gave a short bark that I deciphered as a bitter sort of chuckle. “Of course, it’s when things are hunky-dory that your world starts falling apart…”
He was rambling, I decided. Drawing on his reserves, building up his courage to get to what he really wanted to tell me. Was he speaking the truth? Had he really slain his wife, or was this simply the digressions of a less-than-sane mind? He looked normal enough, but at this point I simply could not say.
His head suddenly came up, and I quickly looked away from him, wary of giving any sort of offence. “We got married nearly three years back. I had known her only four months before that, an arranged thing, you know. She was working as a clerk, some government post. In the beginning, there was so much romance that it breaks my heart if I sit down to think of it. So much love, so much passion! We had eyes only for each other. There was so much we wanted to give to the other, and we had a whole married lifetime to do it in.” That raucous laugh again. “Or so we thought…”
I glanced at my wrist-watch surreptitiously, wondered what was on the menu for lunch, a mere hour away. Breakfast already seemed a whole lifetime away. The only item I had with me at the present to drive away the pangs of hunger was a bottle of mineral water.
“For a year, it was just the two of us. We were both working, she said she didn’t want to leave her job, we were just starting our new lives together and we needed whatever income we could get. I loved her for her unselfish way of thinking. I thought myself so very lucky. She was the kind of wife I had always dreamed of one day having. She was so perfect I was scared that one day I would wake up and find it had all been a dream.
“Then one day, something changed. It was early morning. Sometimes, before the alarm rang, we would open our eyes and just lie in bed, arms round each other, awake but inert, simply wallowing in the luxury of each other. And then I brought up the topic. Children. When should we start thinking of having children, I asked her.” A long-drawn breath escaped his lips, as if he could recall with clarity that moment past in time. “She went taut, and got up, got out of bed in an instant. Her mood changed. She said she didn’t wish to speak of such matters. It was too early, she was still young, and she didn’t want the intrusion that children would have on the fabric of our lives.
“She was quiet that day. It was the worst Sunday since we married. That night I told her I would not bring up the topic again. If it was too soon, I could wait. One more year, she said, and when I agreed everything was alright again. But a year passed, and again she was resolute. Wait, she said. And then I got a job-offer to work on a ship. It would mean good money, but I would be away from her almost a year. She told me to go ahead; she said it was the right thing to do, and that when I returned she would be ready, that we could start the family I had always wanted. And so I went.”
He leaned closer to me and involuntarily I stiffened. I exhaled slowly, realizing that nothing was going to happen, that he had simply changed his posture in a gesture I had misconstrued as threatening. His postural shift had brought him nearer, and I could hear his heavy breathing in the silence that had suddenly enveloped us.
“We kept in touch. There was e-mail. The work was hard but the pay made it worth it. That and the thought of the fine life it would buy us when I returned one day to her. She left her job after a while, stayed at home. Said she was preparing for her role as a home-maker. I was thrilled. She had finally come around to my way of thinking. Maybe it had only been a matter of time. I was glad I had not tried to insist, that I hadn’t pushed her earlier on when she said no.
“I was supposed to return home in March, but our ship docked unexpectedly at Mumbai four weeks ahead of my due date. I suddenly had the opportunity to go home, see my loving wife. It was a two-day pass, and I flew home, thinking I would surprise her.” He paused there. “And I guess I did surprise her. It was afternoon when I reached my doorstep and I had a spare key. I knew she’d be asleep, so I let myself in and went to the bedroom. I heard the sounds before I reached the door.”
I closed my eyes, at last feeling something, a molecule of compassion for this man. But not an iota more, because of the dispassionate almost ruthless way he was telling me his story. As though he was totally unruffled, as if it were someone else he was describing, and not himself.
“I approached the doorway slowly, disbelieving. Knowing but disbelieving. And then I saw, with my own eyes. My wife, my dear beautiful Irina, in my bed with another man. Something died in me then, and what rose in its place was rage. Red-hot and blinding. I wanted to rush in and throw myself onto them, striking out with murderous blows with designs to leave nothing in the room alive. And then I saw the look on her face as she lay beneath him: love. The look that had been in her eyes when she gazed up at me. I knew then that I had lost her, and I turned away, without either of them having seen me.
“I retreated to the kitchen and sat there with my bag. I sat there for a long time thinking about how my whole life had so suddenly, so unexpectedly changed. I heard them coming down the steps, walk past the kitchen. I heard her speak to him, words so intimate I wanted to curl up and die. And then he left, and a few moments later, she walked into the kitchen and the first thing she saw was me.
“She was shocked, but when she saw the look on my face she knew that I knew it all. I said nothing. I didn’t have to. Bit by bit, piece by piece, with every word that came out of her mouth, she took my world down before my very eyes. I never knew words could hurt so, and now they hurt because they were coming from the lips of a woman I loved with all my heart, a woman I would gladly have died for.” There was no change in his tone as he spoke, nothing to indicate how recalling this was affecting him. “And so I killed her. Broke her neck and then made it look like she had fallen down the staircase. After that I left, and went directly back to the ship. I didn’t think there would be any suspicion of foul-play. No one home even knew I was in India. A day later, I got the call I was expecting, and 36 hours later, I buried Irina.”
My hand had gone up to cover my mouth. His words burned through my being and as he said something, I turned and saw him looking directly at me. His look was expectant, almost predatory, and in a daze, I mumbled something from memory, not even cognizant of the words that went past my suddenly dry lips.
He got to his feet in a kind of lurching motion but I was not aware of this because I was suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. I stood up and got out of the confessional box unsteadily. Both to my right and left, parishioners had formed lines for their individual confessions to be heard. They looked at me, expressions ranging from puzzled to dismay as I staggered away from them.
In the box next to mine, Fr. Walter noticed the commotion and caught my eye. Something he saw there made him rise and come to me. “What is it, Fr. Eric?” he asked me, his voice low, conscious of those around. “You look unwell.”
I nodded, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “A confession. I heard a terrible, terrible confession.” The words came from my mouth in gasps.
His eyes were wary. “We all hear horrible things, Fr. Eric. You are young, have not yet-”
I shook my head in despair. “No, Fr. Walter! Not like this! Not as horrible as what I just heard!”
He raised his hand in caution. “Careful, Fr. Eric. You know that what is disclosed to you in the sanctity of the confessional cannot be divulged-”
I looked down, and whispered. “I know. But right now, I need to confess my sins.”
He peered at me for just a few seconds before leading me to the confessional.
I knelt, and bowed my head. “Forgive me, Father, for I have committed a terrible sin. Two months ago I fell in love with a woman. Her name was Irina…”
