A Novella by Filmgirl39
Created: March 19, 2017 at 08:04 pm
Upload Type: Novella, G (All)
Category: Mystery & Crime | Mystery & Crime | Mystery & Crime
Upload Stats: 12 views
The Similars. Part TwoShe wasn’t flirting (thank goodness for her because even though this woman wasn’t his wife, her “sameness” made him fantasize in each case where he roved and spotted a girl like her that the other woman was actually his wife – materialized into a reincarnated form that would give them a chance to...
The rude stranger and old wife woke with a jolt to their hearts and a puff of hopefulness that they were still alive; and the odd sensation that she, like the younger version of herself in the dream, had glass particles in her mouth that she had almost accidentally been swallowed. It was this perceived puncture to her throat that made her cough and shake herself awake with horror. All she remembered of the dream was her eyes focused on the shadows on her bedroom ceiling was someone that looked younger than she being stabbed with glass that she was forced to swallow. She splayed her hands across her face and felt no cuts and she gulped several swallows with no sign of soreness. The horrors of these night visions were too sobering and she desperately wanted another drink. She slipped groggily from the bedroom to the kitchen where, finding no trace of alcohol, she decided that she better try to find her second wind and go out for some excitement with imbibement. She slipped again from the kitchen to the living room where a few buried videos now interred out of boredom and loneliness were situated at the top of the pile. She popped one in for no other reason than to retain an excuse for her constantly-simmering anger directed at a man who was long gone and off chasing the fantasies in the videos now that he had so dutifully declined in the early years when he made every effort to be a doting husband. She figured if she scoured these videos long enough and she started becoming social again, that she would side swipe herself into one of the women that he had preferred and she could confront the fact the she still existed despite his objection – and theirs – directly with the person or persons who had inspired her demise. She brewed a pot of coffee and gulped down half of it. That would ensure her second wind. Then she muted the video as she stared transfixedly trying to memorize faces. She made her way into her clothes from the night before. When she thought that she saw the first “similar”, she pointed at the screen and made a mental note to herself. This one was Chandra – a woman that she had seen so many times before but had never really spoken to – not even on the day when they were a mere foot from each other and around the same corner. She had always wanted a twin because she thought it was one of those glamorous lives where two people always knew each other's moves and problems at all times. She never was one or so she thought until she had gotten to Solemnity and seen this woman who looks so much like her from a distance but had been afraid to approach. Long before she had found Solemnity at all, her actually family and friends had joked that everyone had a twin somewhere but that none of them were really related. Most of the time, they were just “similars,” but if you discovered one another later in life, it would amuse you even if for very briefly. But there would be nothing very amusing at all for Chandra having this wife as a “similar” in the bar later that night. The wife did not bother to stop the video before she left for Chandra’s bar. She scrapped against something on her way out of the house just as the young wife from the dream was peeling herself off the pavement.
Minutes later, the old wife found herself in Chandra’s bar. When she saw her, her jaw dropped – for they really did look alike and their deliberate close proximity that she had caused deliberately to confront her dream and Chandra’s appearance in the buried video would mean that there was no way that they would dance around each other now. The old wife stood with hands on her hips in righteous indignation, pointing, “You! You’re the woman in the video that he killed me for.” Chandra looked at the troubled woman sweetly, “What are you talking about, Sugar?” “You were in a video – a video my husband made of our friends…” “Sugar, if you think your husband has been in this bar he probably just left.” The old wife looked quizzically at the bartender. She was positive was the woman. His defenses were up and she was definitely planning on following through. “Some man just left here a while ago with a younger woman – looks like you might have looked when you were younger. Very violent. Very rude. I wrangled him."
What does that mean you fucking rude bitch?” “It means that I followed him to an exit where he would be asked to leave.” “YOU DID THAT?” “You are an fucking rude bitch. You owe me!” The old wife slammed her palms twice on the bar and slapped down a $20. “Give me the strongest drink you have.” “Okay lady, one drink…but you call me anymore names and I’ll wrangle you like I wrangled your…” The old wife slammed her palms down on the bar several times to shush the woman while she stood with her back turned to mix her drink. Chandra turned toward the old wife and slid the drink in front of her. She proceeded to gulp it down in more than four swallows and when she was done, she asked, “Where?” She hovered her hands over Chandra’s face at a social distance like a frustrated person who was trying to think things out things out while she continued, “What direction did they go?"
Chandra pointed her arm straight at the old wife and then sort of shook her head negatively, knowing that they had not gone straight but rather to then back and to the side corner of the building where the stench was. But before Chandra could swing her arm sideways and offer an explanation, the old wife grabbed Chandra’s arm and slapped backwards trying to get Chandra to slap herself as punishment as she accentuated, “WHERE DID THEY GO?” Chandra looked a bit troubled, fearing this scene might escalate. And sure enough seconds later, the old wife practically flipped Chandra over the bar and then twirled her around a half turn ready to start a catfight. “Did you dance with him?” The old wife questioned in an accusatory tone. “Did he dance with her?” By this time the old wife had some of Chandra’s hair in a firm grip. Chandra tried to wriggle away to answer and getting her head to hang low and then look up almost upside down. Chandra clenched, “Well if you would let go and let me…” but the old wife was unbudging. She dragged Chandra all the way to the back entrance where Chandra lost her balance and fell to the ground. She scrambled upwards to her feet again and leaned against the door to show the old wife the exact site where the two exited. Chandra pointed, “They left through the back and might have made it to the front before they left…” The old wife cut her off as she leaned against the back door to drag Chandra out by the hand where she would subdue her. Then the old wife would regain control of her life again. “Gone ALL TOGETHER? Do I look gone all together to you?” the old wife said in a semi-drunk, semi-mocking tone. Chandra’s expression changed from sweet to sour “I’m not quite sure, I…” the old wife cut her off. “You are going to say that you are not quite sure that you understand?” Chandra nodded helplessly. “But, you do understand that I am still his wife?” Chandra nodded speechlessly. The old wife put her hand and arm out near Chandra’s face to discourage further conversation and then concluded, “That’s all you need to understand. Now let it rest. I have had no rest in sight.” Chandra looked puzzled. Then from behind something like chains, handcuffs or numchucks made Chandra feel as though she was being choked and strangled. And her last conscious breath of air was the pungent whiff off the other women who had died like Chandra had just done--on behalf of demented fixation with the idea that everyone around her husband was a guilty one--except for her.
Chapter 8: The Blurring of Shaky Zebra Stripes in Her Maudlin House
Lorna still had not made movie history and she wasn’t inside the bar to hear Chandra’s confrontation of the wife. She also had not seen Hector at all – outside, inside or anywhere around. She wondered if he really knew anyone who would help her or not, whether he had met someone else somewhere who would, or whether he was lying. Since there was no sight of Hector at all and since she was desperately trying to stay somewhere more secure than the edge of a hillside, she figured that she would wander up and down the street a bit, around corners and away from the club scene to see where that might lead. Things had stopped hopping inside and outside of the clubs a few hours before, though laser lights still beamed on the store fronts in every direction out of a sort of a reflex to deter loiterers and break-in artists. Because there were less club-hoppers out, both directions that Lorna looked in appeared virtually pitch black and unpopulated. She stepped fearlessly one foot in front of the other and after getting almost but not quite half a block down, she decided that she was going the wrong way and turned directly behind her to skulk head first in the other, even more darkened direction. The air around her seemed almost temperatureless -- neither hot nor cold almost the whole way down the block; but then, at the same tempo as one might breeze oneself around a mystery-laden corner came a gust of hot and cold mixture-wind that pushed effortlessly toward what she would see next. Right in front of her was a man that she was sure was Hector standing with a woman that she was sure was the woman who called her a fucking rude bitch. Hector didn’t seem to flinch at the sight of Lorna in the least, though the always assumed-to-be hostile woman jumped and then tried to speak more sweetly than she had before, “Hey sweetie, were you looking for us?” Lorna gulped, “Chandra?” trying to look natural while pretending that she did not remember that this was the same woman with the viperous tongue of a venomous snake. The old wife (not Chandra) nodded ever-so-slightly and was very unconvincing in her pretending. “Did you ever tell that twin of yours that I did not appreciate being called a fucking rude bitch?” The old wife (not Chandra) nodded, yes and then no – “because I didn’t,” Lorna said a bit more tersely with a definitely deliberate stare backwards to put a period on her point. The old wife (not Chandra) wanted to hang her head but quickly decided that that diminished her in her attempts to pretend to be someone else altogether if she seemed nicer than she actually was in reality. “I’m sure you didn’t Sweetie,” resisting with every muttered breath to plummet her eyes to the pavement Lorna decided that since the old wife (not Chandra, knew that Chandra would say “Sugar” not “Sweetie&rdquo knew full well that she was not who she was claiming to be that she would follow her anywhere that she was going out of the old wife’s definite obligation to lead her there. And has she began her heel-to-toe pursuit to what would eventually become the wife’s now maudlin home without her husband, the wife said not a word. When they arrived at the wife’s front stoop, however, she seemed to become her defensive real self, saying “So you are gonna be in my bed too?” The wife (not Chandra) swung the door open until it made an obvious thunk. She threw something from her fists into the air that sounded like the jingle of keys that landed soundlessly. The room seemed a little cleaner and a little less cluttered than she imagined it; with no cheery invite to make herself comfortable, Lorna scrutinized the room looking for the best place to begin examining this whacked out woman’s life anonymously; for she hoped that she would not even have to make the excuse that it was far too late for her to head back into the Island’s rustic outdoors – for one night at least. She scanned as rapidly as her eyes could without being seen as moving. Searching and accusatory, she saw several pictures – mostly of two woman looking very similar – very similar to Chandra and the wife herself. Her eyes darted downward to the coffee table and the sofa – just has cluttered as she thought this women’s mind to be. Both table and sofa were riddled with clothes, napkins from meals, and the archive videotapes – only one or two slightly out of place since the last time that either Chandra or the wife had been in here. She stared momentarily, trying to keep her face motionless. Though she craved watching the actual images that for now, until the forward stare was possible, looked only like the shaky stripes of a zebra in fill light. When Lorna did finally get a chance to sideways- glance, she noticed what looked like the same video (sadly, not made by her) of various bombshell beauties with a man – a man that looked menacing and dangerous. Lorna knew that even if so much as one eye was not looking straight ahead, that this dangerous, possibly unpredictable and unforgiving woman would not like it at all – so she digressed – her eyes forward and all on the wife. Down the block, around the corner and back toward the club, Hector (or Jorge) arrived way too late to be helpful with any sort of movie magic and he was busy – his mind filled with bombshell beauties that the wife told him on the first day must be buried in her honor. Then with spade, shovel, and pitchfork in hand he stabbed at an imaginary ground that he thought was ever so real considering the stench behind him; though when he knew for a fact that he was stabbing only at concrete and not at corpses, his exhaustion made him faint backwards and roll toward the unconscious survivor that lay in the diagonal corner behind the bar. With his eyes open at first, he noticed vaguely that someone was with him but did not notice whether this person was dead or alive. She was, of course, as dead as the relationship between he and his wife that had left this now- maudlin house in the past. But this did not faze his tired extremities and fragile bones. Back in the wife’s place, Lorna collapsed in the bed without any indication that the wife cared. Lorna faded to dreamland and woke with a start: for her dream consisted of a row of innocent bombshell beauties (including herself) standing in line outside her house with the former husband. Lorna’s jolt upward had awakened the wife also who opened her front door to reveal the real beauties that Lorna had seen in her dreams – one with the dead woman in his arms. Lorna went redder than embarrassed and whiter than a sheet, remembering clearly what the unconscious woman had looked like and she was not happy in the least to see a “similar” looking woman or the husband, for that matter, outside the wife’s door. Lorna’s vision was that of a door halfway opened. Inside, the wife was scurrying around half-clothed or less and blurring her senses with alcohol. She plopped on the sofa, and changed the video to one that very definitely had her husband in it looking as though he was having sex with another woman (and she hoped that it had not been the woman in his arms) the wife drunk and sloppy – with hands as always held in the air horrid objection, “Is this what happens after sex with one of your whores?” Her drunken state (which was normal and always) had made her really believe the husband and the woman were there. But the more sober that she would become, she would realize that they were really just figments of her imaginative sleep. Really, she was torturing herself with the past and Lorna with the idea that if what happened in her imaginative sleep was what eventually happened to bombshell movie queens, she was better off to leave movies in the cage (in the can) with the shaky blurring zebras. The wife rewound the catalyst whore scene over and over again until she thought her head was pounding. The pounding became a knock at her door. When the wife jumped up to answer and Lorna peered intently with sober eyes, there was no one there. No one was there, of course, but the wife and Lorna – just the way the wife liked it. And Lorna and the wife lay two women in bed; Lorna heard a firm inner- voice. “Take two.” Lorna went redder than red and whiter than white and rolled faster than the dead woman behind the bar all the way to the side of the extra-large king bed (or it was most probably a queen) with another inner-voice going, “She is going to take two without you.” Overhead was a vision of Lorna and Hector (or Jorge) in tattered formal wear and more than a little late for the ubiquitous honor that would have been bestowed. Lorna awakened to a yank, a pull, a wrap, and the vague awareness of her frozen and suspended body in tattered, torn, and dirty clothing. Was this real? Was it a dream? A sheet whose value is the tabula rasa white of heaven serves as a cloak of angelic protection against the still-sleeping wife’s rogue grimace. Dripping, dripping, dripping - oozing, oozing, oozing. Lorna pats her face clumsily – a sticky hole. Yellow puss. Was this monster a force to be reckoned with in the middle of the night? Stinging from this gaping injury jolts Lorna’s body into an upward spasm – the sheet goes flying. In a momentary sideways glance, Lorna senses that she will be in peril in no more than an instant if she doesn’t thrust herself off of the bed and out of the house as soon as possible. Rays of everything but angelic protection magnetize her eyes to the wife’s eyes. Her staring is her downfall – thunk. Lorna reaches forward, grasping first at the air and then finally far enough forward to wrap herself in the softness of her down quilt – thud. Then a roll. Lorna tries to stop herself, to no avail. The monstrous wife is now stretching herself into consciousness as Lorna squirms slinkily through an unobtrusive vent. Particles of dirt seep through her mouth to her tongue. She could taste something like the dirt on her clothing. She sputters, spits, kicks, and twists her way upward. She is outdoors, but she is free.
Last Modified: March 20, 2017 at 12:18 am
© Filmgirl39 - all rights reserved
part two of the similars which is really part one of a novella that is so long that it won't fit n the boxes
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