P. Wish's Blog, page 6

Short Story Wednesdays #12- Anatomy of a Divorce

Anatomy of a Divorce 

Calamity. Disaster. The end of the world. That’s how I would describe it. The heavens poured tirelessly until they had exhausted the water supply of the entire universe. Of all days, why did it have to be Sunday? 

Eight pairs of eyes examined me sharply. An array of colourful irises passed me one by one like M&Ms rolling down a kaleidoscope. From the right, I saw my mother in law sitting exactly six inches away from my father in law. His blue eyes were colored with a mixture of confusion and anger. Her eyes, well, they looked downright hopeless. 

My parents sat at the left corner of the room, a few inches away from me. My father’s scruffy breath made the loudest noise. My mother sat near him, her hand placed in his. Her face was coloured with a similar hopelessness as my mother in law. Her green eyes remained fixed on the dull, beige carpet that hadn’t been vacuumed in ages. 

It had been six weeks since we fought about vacuuming the carpet. The argument had escalated and we’d finally decided to leave vacuuming to next year. That showed how serious the situation was. Only the most serious of arguments could force my cleanliness obsessed wife to leave vacuuming to next year. 

My sister heaved a heavy sigh. She had dropped in from work. Yes, she worked on Sundays. She was a workaholic. Every waking hour of her life was spend in and around the office. This situation was so momentous that even eight rows of paperwork couldn’t keep my sister away from my house. Her hazel eyes looked at me blankly. Her lips twitched and her eyebrows raised in an involuntary gesture. This was her way of saying ‘what the hell were you thinking?’. My brother in law held my nephew who had also decided to betray me at the last moment. What kind of one year old doesn’t cry? 

You’d think I’m talking about something as sudden as death or as spectacular as a miracle. But, a divorce fits neither. 

There are many religions in the world. The most fanatical of religions is called marriage. The institution of marriage has withstood the test of time. Or so we like to think. Young or old, gay or straight, white or black or blue, doctor or actor, we all share the same fantasy. It’s the chimera of a perfect union. It’s the promise of a soulmate. Since a very young age, we’re all taught that no matter how successful you are in life, happiness depends on family. 

And so, despite the high divorce rate, we take the plunge hoping that somehow we’ll find that El Dorado.  That’s what I did. Who doesn’t want to be loved?

You’d think that in twenty first century, nobody would care about marriage or divorce. It’s nothing but paperwork, alimony, assets, children, more paperwork and the end. People get divorced all the time. That’s what I believed. Now, I know better. Divorce is never so easy. 

My sister-in-law edged forward. Her arms were wrapped over my wife’s shoulder. She was preoccupied with crying. God knows how many times I had seen this scene since our first year or marriage. Our passionate love affair had turned into a rocky boat soon after our wedding. Now, it was nothing short of a shipwreck. I squirmed uneasily in the sofa. Everybody’s eyes looked at me as if they were looking at a sinister criminal behind the bars. I was a fool for having thought that this was going to be easy. 

Nobody was happy to be here. I wasn’t happy to have them here either. It was all my wife’s idea. The minute I brought up divorce, she went into a frenzy and called everyone up. Honestly, who cares about family in this day and age? The only time you remember your mom is during mother’s day. Father’s day isn’t even that special. Then, there’s the obligatory thanksgiving and Christmas break. Christmas is a humongous strain on the purse and Thanksgiving is a shortcut to a Buddha belly. Why does every festival have to be about food and money? 

I looked at my (ex)wife. She looked at me with teary grey eyes. I cringed. The unpleasant memories flooded my mind. I wondered why I had decided to marry her in the first place. Her shopaholism, endless lectures about weight gain, her preoccupation with appearance, her constant need for emotional support, how she always wanted every painting in the house to be straight, her insistence on vacuuming every morning and evening, the annoying sound that her metallic grater made....phew! Thank god it was over. I was proud of myself for having held myself together for two years. Not only had this marriage ruined my bank balance, it had also ruined my health. In two years, I had developed everything from high blood pressure, nervous disorders, paranoia to skin allergies, cracking joints and stress. At this rate, I’d have to see my next wedding anniversary in the hospital. Thankfully, there wasn’t going to be one. 

“Did you cheat?” my mother asked, gathering enough courage to break the silence. Thank you mom for your unwavering trust in me. 

“No.” I said. My tone was low. My head was low and I didn’t dare to breathe loudly. I felt like a criminal. Why did my parents have to skip Sunday mass and show up at my house? 

My wife’s cries grew louder. She began to wail like a banshee. 

“He...he....suddenly told me ....th-...he wants a div-.....” she broke down. I rolled my eyes involuntarily. This was too much drama for one day. My sister law rubbed her arms over my wife’s shoulder to comfort her. But, nothing could keep her from sobbing bitterly. 

My father stood up. He looked angry. My mother-in-law broke in. 

“Ally’s done everything she can for you. I don’t understand what the problem is.” she broke in. 

“Exactly,” my mother chimed in. “We’ve never heard you complain about her. What is this all of a sudden?” 

“Mom...” I didn’t know what to say. I needed a divorce lawyer right now. “I’ll give her the alimony she wants...”

“What!? Alimony? Is that all you care about?” my (ex) wife asked, indignant. “We were in love.” That’s right, we ‘were’ in love but we aren’t anymore. 

“I’m shocked,” my dad broke in. He sat down, trying to collect this thoughts. 

“It’s all right, dear,” mom said. “he’s not in his right mind.” 

The odds were against me. 

“Give me one good reason you want a divorce?” mom asked. 

“She spends too much money...” I said weakly. 

“So?” my mother-in-law broke in. “You knew that when you married her.” 

“But I didn’t know it was so bad.” I muttered to myself. “She is a shopaholic. Have you seen my credit card bill?”

“Huh?” my (ex) wife broke in. 

“You clean too much. Why do we need to vacuum everyday?”

“It’s good to keep the house clean.” she said. 

“But twice a day is too much!” 

“Now, now...why don’t we reach a compromise?” my father-in-law broke in. I turned to him. I know where this was going. He had worked as a mediator for twenty years. His reaction was kinda expected.  

“Dad...” Ally said. 

“You can decide on how often you want to vacuum. How about once a week?” he put in. 

“That sounds like a good idea.” my mother cut in immediately. 

“But that’s-” Ally began.

“It’s settled then.” my mother-in-law said. “You’ll vacuum once a week. Anything else?”

“The grater is too noisy, she always talks about her weight and calories, she nags and she wants all the paintings to be straight all the time-” I began.

“Hold on, it was your idea to buy the painting,” Ally broke in.

“But, I never asked you to obsess over how straight it was.” I said. 

“I nag you so that you don’t put on too much weight. I’m worried about your health.”

“All we ever eat is salad, juice and zero fat yoghurt. I need food.” I said.

“Well, food makes you fat.” she said. 

“See?” I put in. “This is what I mean. Are you sure you’re not anorexic?”

“Hold on, just because I’m a little careful doesn’t mean I’m anorexic-”

“Stop-” my father-in-law tried to break in unsuccessfully. 

“Well Mr. Perfect, you’re not so perfect either. You’re a hypochondriac.”

“That’s because I got every health problem in the world after marrying you.”

“You’re the one who keeps the medicine rack ordered alphabetically.”

“It’s easier to look for medicines that way.” 

“Really? Why don’t you organize your dirty socks too?”

“Hey-”

“Stop, you two!” My sister broke in. “If you’re going to fight, I’m going back to work.”

“Go ahead.” I said. 

My sister left instantly. My quiet nephew and brother in law followed. They left the door open. I waited for someone else to go through but the others stayed. 

My parents and in laws looked at me. 

“Is there no other way? Have you tried relationship counseling?” my father-in-law asked. 

“Counselling? I’ve been in therapy for years.” I said. “And so has she.”

“And?”

“And it’s not helping.” my wife put in. 

“All right, forget it. Try to remember why you got married in the first place.” my mother said. “Think about love…think about why you liked each other…”

“Well, she was beautiful…” I said honestly.

“And, he had money. He bought me expensive things.” my wife said.

“And of course, there was the one night stand…” I said in a low tone. 

“Now that I think about it, we never married for love.” my wife said, suddenly switching to her philosophical mode. “We married for looks and money.”

“This is not going the way I want to.” my mother broke in.

“Well, I guess he is right. We need a divorce.” my wife said. Thank you. “But, I want the house.”

“What!? I can’t live on the streets.” I said.

“Well, you said you’d give me anything in alimony. I want the house and a lot of money.”

“Darling, this is not how it’s supposed to be.” my wife’s mother put in. 

The argument went on for an hour. After we decided upon the house and bank balance, I turned to the couch. Everybody was gone. They had left amidst our heated argument. My life and I looked into each other’s eye. It was deadlock.

“I’ll use my room and you sleep in the guest room.” my wife said, dismissing me with a flutter of her bony hands. I walked away. 

And, that is how we got divorced. 

- P. Wish 

Anatomy of a Divorce: Official Trailer

New article on wikihow: Use Yoga to Improve your Creative Writing Skills

Hi everybody! It's been a while since I posted something other than my short stories and novels. 

I'm excited to announce the publication of my article 'How to use yoga to improve your creative writing skills' on wikihow. If you're planning to take up yoga or looking for an unconventional way to boost your writing skills, check this article out:

http://www.wikihow.com/Use-Yoga-to-Improve-Your-Creative-Writing-Skills

Yours truly,
P. Wish 

Short Story Wednesdays #11- The Bridge of Memories

The Bridge of Memories

We stood near the bridge, overlooking the river. My eyes trailed over the calm, dark pool of water that extended under my feet. It met the horizon. I remained silent. My eyes glanced sideward. My gaze extended to his sharp profile that faced the endless river. His sharp nose was as aristocratic as I remembered it. He had lost weight. His firm cheekbones were sagging. He looked familiar but an impenetrable distance lay between us. The moon cast its shadow on the black river. A trail of faint stars lit the night sky. My eyes remained on the full moon. I noticed his thin lips curve into a slight smile. 

His presence sparked a trail of thought. They replayed in my mind,  rewinding the reel of my memory. I remembered our first meeting, our first day at college, our first day at work and our parting.

 My first love shone with the fizz of youth. It disappeared like a stream of fragile bubbles. My eyes were moist. I didn’t dare face him. I had so much to say. I had so much to say when he left. But now, ten years later, only an uncomfortable silence remained. A new, predictable life had taken its place. The angst and recklessness of youth had been replaced with predictability and routine. I didn’t regret it but I wondered if it could have been different. I was forty now. He was forty too. 

“How have you been?” I asked, trying to bury the vulnerability in my voice. I sucked in the tears in. I didn’t turn to face him. His eyes remained on the horizon as he spoke. 

“Good. How’re you?” he asked in a formal tone that I did not recognize. We were strangers now. The continuum of love had been broken by time. 

“I’m doing good…” I said, hiding behind a mask of success. It was all I had now. 

“I haven’t been here in ages,” he said, his voice distant. His eyes gazed at the moon, without blinking. 

“Me neither…” I lied. I had been to the bridge dozens of times since our break up. 

“How’s everybody? Joe? Anna? James?” he asked, trying to make polite conversation. The level of discomfort increased by the minute. 

“They’re doing well. Anna had her third child two years ago. James is looking after his father’s business. Joe’s doing well.” I said, trying to remember all the details. 

‘“Hmmmm….good for them…” he said. 

“You’ve lost weight.” I said, trying to be honest. He turned to me. His dark eyes gazed at me. He didn’t respond. I turned to face him. A determined expression covered my face. The white scarf on my neck kept the winter chill from biting into my skin. I held on to my purse that nudged my hip. My eyes met his. 

“You’re look beautiful,” he said. There was a depth in his tone that hinted of sincerity. His eyes didn’t move. They were fixed on me. 

“Thank you,” I said in a placid voice. I brushed the feeling away. “How’s business?”

“It’s doing great.” he said. 

“You always knew it would,” I said, smiling softly to myself. A faint smile appeared on his face. I could see bones sticking out of his gaunt face. He had worked himself to death. 

“How’s your job? I heard you became a partner.” he said.

“I did.”

“Congratulations.” 

“Thank you.”

“I miss this cold weather sometimes.” he said. His gaze turned to the river. 

“We used to come here very often during college.” I broke in. 

“Memories….” he said in an airy tone. He inhaled. 

“So, why did you want to see me?” I asked. Silence prevailed as a few seconds ticked by. He met my gaze steadily. 

“I’m getting married.” he said. His eyes pierced mine like a bullet. The clockwork in my brain stopped. I was swallowed by the gravity of those words.  I wanted to burst out with an enthusiastic line but my voice didn't come out of my throat. It took me a few minutes to find my voice.

“Congratulations.” I said in a broken voice. I couldn’t feign any enthusiasm. 

“Thank you.” he said, in a low voice. 

“When is the wedding?” I asked, trying to ease my discomfort. 

“Next month.” he said. “We’re having it at The Ritz.”

“Good for you…” I said weakly. 

“You’re invited.” he said. I didn’t reply. 

His phone rang all of a sudden. He answered immediately. 


“Yes, darling, I’ll be there soon.” he said. Ten years ago, he  said those words to me. I waited for a while. I waited for a year. When things he didn't come, we decided to part ways. We dated for five years. We broke up with two words- ‘Good bye’.  Two words had engulfed five years of love.

I remembered our frequent visits to the bridge. We sat in on the grass in the evening and looked at the brilliant sky. We exchanged the events of the day as the orange twilight faded into a dark night. We laughed, cried, smiled, exchanged kisses, hugs, valentines day cards, roses, chocolates, memories and our lives. 

“I should get going.” he said after a long moment of silence. I nodded my head weakly. “I’m glad to see you after ten years.”

“Me too. Congratulations.” I said. My eyes met his. The intense passion that I once saw in them had been replaced with a warm glow of friendship. I wondered if I could erase those memories and move on. I took a deep breath in. Time does change a lot. I held on to my handbag. I stood straight in my stilettos. The made me look more confident than I was. We embraced for the last time. It was not the passionate embrace that I remembered. It was a warm, friendly hug. We mumbled pleasantries. 

 He walked away. I remained at the bridge, looking into the river.

“Good bye.” he whispered faintly. And for the  last time, we said good bye. 

- P. Wish 

Bridge of Memories: Official Trailer

Here's the official trailer for my next short story 'The bridge of memories':

Short Story Wednesdays #10- Case of the Scheming Widow (Part 3)

Finally, the last part of this short story is here. This is the longest short story I've written. I tried to wind it up in this part. Hope you all liked it. I'll be back with a new short story next week. I regularly post short story trailers on my youtube channel. You can subscribe my clicking the subscribe button on the right side. 

In the mean time, you can check out the new novel that I am serialising on my blog. It's posted under the 'Confessions' bar on the left hand side. I update the Confessions page every Sunday. 

Here's the final part of this short story. Enjoy! 

Case of the Scheming Widow (Part 3) 

Detective Adams woke up to silence. His eyes opened gently, letting the first rays of the morning sun seep in. His eyes hit upon the tall ceiling. The humdrum of morning routine beat against his ears. He heard the clanking of metal. The mansion was buzzing with activity.

He heard whispers outside the door. His body woke up with a jolt. The memory of Ruby Woods burned across his mind. He inhaled sharply. His fingers ran down his back. They met with a smooth vertebra. He looked for any other sign of a stab wound but there was none. Had he been imaged the encounter? 

He walked up to the door. He stopped. Two of the maids were busy gossiping.

“This is a secret, okay?” one of the maids said in a loud whisper.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone.” the other one said in a solid tone. 

“I saw Mrs. Graham on the night of the murder.” she said.

“What!?”

“She came in early. Actually, she came before Ruby left.”

“How?”

“She has the key to the back door. Her train arrived early.”

“Do you think she-“

“No…why would she?” the other maid asked. 

Detective Adams pressed his ear against the door.

“Did she meet him?”

“I guess not. If she did, they probably argued about the widow.” 

“Ever since she came along, the Grahams have been arguing.”

“Mrs. Graham feels insecure.” the other maid said. 

“You remember what she did to poor Lucy?” 

“She forced her to immigrate!” the maid said sharply. “Poor thing. She’s stuck somewhere in Africa now.” 

“I’m sure Mrs. Woods doesn’t want to immigrate.” the other maid said. 

“But that won’t stop Mrs. Graham from finding ways to eliminate competition.”

“You think Mr. Graham really likes the widow?”

“I don’t know….they only ever talk…. we don’t know the details.”

“Girls, please get back to work.” a stern voice echoed in the hallway. The housekeeper interrupted the conversation. The girls cleared the way. Detective Adams opened the door. Three shocked faces looked at him. The maids muttered something and disappeared. The housekeeper stared at him with her erect spine. Her eyes looked at him sharply. She cleared her throat. 

“Yes, Detective, how may I help you?” she asked in a low, formal voice.

“Ummm….how did I get here?” he asked, his voice shaky. His hand clutched his head. 

“Well, I brought you here,” she said. “You fainted in the corridor last night. Mrs. Woods informed me about it. I had you moved to the spare room.” 

“Ruby Woods, huh?” he muttered. “Did she tell you why I fainted?”

“I have no idea…” the housekeeper said. “It was too late to call the doctor. One of the staff knows some medicine. He said you’d be fine. It was fatigue.” 

“Fatigue…I see…” he said. “Has Marianne left?”

“Yes, she said she had to get back to the office.” the housekeeper said. 

Detective Adams was silent. He felt his stomach contract. 

“Would you like breakfast?” she asked, noticing his lack of ease. 

“I would. Thank you.” 

After eating a large breakfast, Detective Adams left for Raven Publishers. The press was a small, crammed one located in the city centre. He wondered how the press had managed to afford a spot in the city. It was situated on the second floor of a three storied building. A narrow, dark staircase led to the office. A neat, glass door stood between him and the office. The glass was neatly polished, unlike the building. 

He opened the door and stepped in. The smell of paint rushed in through his nose. He noticed that the ceiling looked brand new. He could almost smell the plaster that held the wallpaper. The wallpaper was brand new. The table at the reception was polished so neatly that he could see his reflection in it. The place had been renovated recently. Framed images of book covers hung on the walls. A certificate of achievement hung on the wall. The press had been featured in many leading magazines. To Detective Adams, it seemed that the press was doing very well. 

A petite lady looked at him from behind the table at the entrance. He walked towards it. 

“How may I help?” she asked. 

“I got a book published by your company recently,” Detective Adams said. “I wanted to interview the author. I was wondering if you could give me his contact details.”

“Sure,” she said with a bright smile. She was eager for publicity. Detective Adams placed the book on the table. She examined it. A strange expression spread across her face.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think you’ll be able to meet this author.” she said. “He passed away recently.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Detective Adams said. “But, can you tell me a bit more about him? Where did he work?”

“He was self employed.” she said deceptively. 

“Did he live in Manchester?”

“He did…most of the time. He travelled quite a bit.”

“Is Aaron White a pen name?” 

The receptionist didn’t answer. 

“No…” she said hesitantly. “That’s his real name.” 

“I see. Thank you for the information.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

“That’s all right. I see the press is doing very well.”

“We recently renovated. A lot of new authors have been choosing to publish with us.” she said brightly. Before he left the publishing house, his eyes fell on an image of the family solicitor. 

“Excuse me, who is this?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the image.

“Oh that’s our president,” she said. “He owns Raven press.” 
Detective Adams immediately rushed out of the door. He spent rest of the day hunting for information about the company’s tax records. The company had been established three and a half years ago. The press had been financed by a company called ‘Woods ventures’. Coincidentally, it was a part of the group of companies that the Grahams owned. 

Detective Adams glanced at the book again. Electricity ran through his body. He touched it. He felt flames engulf him. A blinding light flooded his eyes. He closed his eyes tightly. When he opened them, he found himself in the library. Before him sat Mr. Graham, alive and healthy. His eyes widened. Detective Adams smiled to himself. 

                                             ********************************

Detective Adams stood at the centre of the drawing room surrounded by an array of baffled faces. His eyes were fixed on the edge of the wall where the door met the wallpaper. The wooden door opened. The solicitor stepped in. He left his briefcase near the sofa and sat down. Mrs. Graham fanned herself ferociously. The bright daylight was beginning to fade into a bright orange. Ruby Woods sat behind Detective Adams, her face masked with confidence. 

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Detective Adams said in a confident manner. Marianne rolled her eyes. She sat next to Ruby Woods. She had called the police, just in case. “I’m sure you’re all waiting for me to reveal the murderer.”

Nobody in the room was even vaguely interested.

“What I discovered during my stay at the Graham mansion is something very simple. Everybody lies. Whatever their motivation, everyone lies.” 

“This is not a philosophy class…” the solicitor remarked, rolling his eyes. 

“For instance, Mr. Solicitor, let’s begin with you,” Detective Adams said. A shocked solicitor looked at the detective.

“Me? What have I got to hide?” 

“You were well aware of Mr. Graham’s financial situation. You were his closest confidante. You knew of all his entrepreneurial endeavours. Not all his properties were disclosed in the will.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Nobody except you know who Ruby Woods really was. You also knew about the book he wrote under the pen name, Aaron White. In fact, Raven Publishers is run by you.”

“I-“ the solicitor was hesitant. “He insisted that the publishing house be under my name.”

“He didn’t include it in the will-“

“It didn’t make much money. It wasn’t meant to be an investment.”

“It didn’t make much when you started it but it is doing quite well now. I went through the records of the company last evening. It has been turning in a handsome profit. In fact, it’s been renovated recently.” 

“Do you mean I-“

“Before we jump to conclusions, let’s reveal some more secrets,” he said enigmatically. “Why do you think Mr. Graham left everything to Mrs. Woods?”

“They were having an affair. That’s why!” Mrs. Graham spat out. 

“You sure made it seem that way,” Detective Adams said. 

“I confronted him about Ruby one night,” she said. “He refused to admit to being in a relationship with her. I knew he was lying.” 

“None of the maids thought they were having an affair,” Detective Adams said. “In fact, their relationship was strictly business. They only spoke in the presence of others. They retired to the library for private conversations. However, a library is not a bedroom.” 

“What do you mean?”

“The only people in the house that night were the staff and Mrs. Woods. Nobody came in until after the murder. It could only have been someone inside the house.”

“I told you it was her.” Mrs. Graham said. “I always knew-“

“No, it wasn’t her,” Detective Adams said. 

A flurry of shocked faces filled the room. 

“That’s not possible…” Mrs. Graham said in a state of shock. 

“You see, Mr. Graham died while reading a peculiar book.” Detective Adams held the book up for everybody to see. The solicitor’s eyes enlarged. “This book was published by your press, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” the solicitor said, in a low voice.

“The author is Aaron White.” he asked.

“What’s so special about that book?” the maid asked. “Sir read it frequently.” 

“The book was in fact, written by Mr. Graham.”

“What!? I know nothing about this….” Mrs. Graham said. 

“Aaron White is the pen name of Mr. Graham. 

“What!?” 

“I heard of this when I visited the press.” he said. “Mr. Graham had a sister.”

“I don’t know anything about this.”

“They were separated at birth. He wanted to find her. That’s why he wrote this book. In fact, he wrote it after he found her.”

“Who is his sister?” Mrs. Graham asked, filled with curiosity. 

“Ruby Woods.” Detective Adams said. 

“No way….that’s not possible…” Mrs. Graham rested her back against the sofa. The maid handed her a glass of water. 

“There’s also something else that I discovered while reading the book,” Detective Adams said. “Mrs. Graham was very possessive about her husband.”

“Isn’t that normal for married couples?” The solicitor asked. 

“It is but her jealousy bordered on obsession. The staff knew of the frequent fights they had over Ruby Woods.” he said. 

“Any woman would feel threatened in my situation.” Mrs. Graham said. 

“But you actually went to the extent of killing your own husband.” Detective Adams said in a sharp voice. 

“Detective- this is rubbish.” she said frantically. “Why would I-“

“Exactly, why would you?” he said. “It wasn’t Mr. Graham you wanted to kill that night but Ruby Woods.” 

“I don’t understand-“

“You arrived early that night. One of the maids saw it and was gossiping about it. You came in through the back door. Being the mistress of the house, you had the key. Then, you headed to the kitchen where you heard of Ruby Wood’s presence. The maid left the tea to attend to her. Assuming that the tea was for Ruby, you dumped rat poison into it. Then, you disappeared. The chef saw your shadow when he left the kitchen. However, Mrs. Woods does not drink tea in the evening. The tea was for Mr. Graham. He drank his tea late that evening. That is how he died. When the butler visited the library, he found him dead.” 

“This is ridiculous! Why would I kill my husband?”

“I’m not saying you intended to kill him. Your intention was to kill Ruby Woods. Your relation had turned sore over the issue of Ruby. He refused to let her identity be known. He wouldn’t tell you about it. He also couldn’t stop meeting her. Therefore, he contrived the  idea of social justice. He partnered with her so that they would have more opportunities to meet. You didn’t like it. Jealously got the best of you. When you saw the cup of tea, your jealously overtook your senses. You assumed it was for Ruby Woods and poured the rat poison into it.” 

Bewildered expression filled the room. 

The police rushed in through the door. Marianne had done a good job of informing them in advance. A shaky Mrs. Graham was surrounded.

“I didn’t know it was for him…” she said weakly. “I thought it was for her….I never knew they were siblings….” 

She walked away weakly. Another case was over. The crowd dispersed. Detective Adams prepared to leave in the evening. 

He stood outside the train station with a suitcase clutched in his hand. He pulled his coat closer to his body. The sound of trains filled his ears. He gazed at the setting sun. The orange rays of the run lit up the sky. He smiled.

“Eddie.” he heard a loud voice call out. 

Ruby Woods appeared in the horizon. He turned around, his eyes widening with shock. She ran towards him dramatically. She wore a dark red blouse and a skirt. She panted, as she stopped before him. 

“Ruby…” he said, his eyes filling with emotion. 

“Thank you,” she said between two breaths. 

“Do you remember me?” he asked.

“I do…” she said. Their eyes met. “I waited for you. I wanted to wait for you but I couldn’t. Fate was cruel.” 

“I waited for you….I’ve waited for you all my life.” Detective Adams said. 

“I had to find my brother. Marrying was the only way. My husband knew him personally.” she said. “Oh Eddie, I didn’t have a choice.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wasn’t sure…I had to find my brother before I told you anything.” she said. 

“I always believed in you.” he said.

“I know. When I thought I wouldn’t meet you again, I wanted to die. But, my brother asked me to keep going.”

Their eyes met. Rays of light emanating from the warm orange sun were reflected in their eyes. They embraced. Detective Adams felt his heart beat for the first time in many years. He felt alive and vibrant. 

“All’s well that ends well.” he said. 

“Finally, we’re together.” Ruby said. 

“Forever…” he said, deepening the embrace. 

The suitcase fell to the floor. They walked hand in hand into the setting sun. 

Short Story Wednesdays #9- Case of the Scheming Widow (Part 2)

Case of the Scheming Widow (Part 2) 

Her green eyes entered his bloodstream like opium. The particles of his body re-oriented themselves in anticipation of an unforeseen ecstasy. The realisation shot through his blood like a drug, slowly making its way to his brain. A drug like haze came over his body, clouding his mind. Memories played like a movie. The reel was endless. Each memory triggered another one. The reminiscing went on for quite some time. Silence hung like a sharp dagger over the chill autumn air. Marianne tapped Detective Adams, bringing him back to his senses. He examined her carefully. 

Ruby Woods was every bit the beauty he remembered. She was not the innocent girl with hay in her hair. The pure smile of her pink lips had transitioned into a seductive pout of ruby red lips. He didn’t know her eyes could be so intense. The rouge highlighted her warm complexion. Her large, dark eyelashes fluttered, shielding her green eyes. She wasn’t the reed thin Ruby he remembered. She was a woman now. Her skirt clung to the curves of her body. Her waist was tiny. Ruby Woods was a femme fatale. Her green eyes examined him sharply. He strained to notice any glimmer of recognition in them. There was none. 

He sat on the sofa, trying to make sense of what had just occurred. The solicitor had left after announcing Mr. Graham’s will. Mr. Graham had left everything to Ruby’s charity- his houses, his companies, his liquid assets and his antiques. Mrs. Graham had received a cottage in the countryside. She had also received a meagre amount for upkeep of the house. To Mrs. Graham, it all looked incredibly suspicious. Her husband had passed his entire fortune to an unknown woman. There was no doubt that they shared a deep relationship. Ruby Woods was a full time activist. She ran a publication that highlighted issues with labour laws and environmental laws. Her office was located in a suburb of London. It was incredible that she was acquainted with Mr. Graham. 

Mrs. Graham weeped tirelessly on one end of the sofa. Her lace handkerchief was soaked with salty tears. Ruby Woods was the first person to get up. She stood up silently and began making her way to the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mrs. Graham asked. 

“I have work to do.” she said. 

“Work? Aren’t you happy that you received everything?” she asked in a bitter tone. “You seduced my husband-“

“Please refrain from making unsubstantiated claims.” Ruby said in a formal tone. 

“Unsubstantiated? I saw you leaving the house at night. What else could you have been doing? Unless-“

“I was here to talk about the working conditions in the factory. Mr. Graham agreed to the reforms I proposed. We were to carry them out together.” 

“Together? That makes no sense. I’m sure you killed him.” Mrs. Graham said in an emotional outburst. Marianne rolled her eyes. She hated drama. 

“You have no proof.” Ruby said, raising her eyebrows. 

“We’ll see about that.” Mrs. Graham said. Ruby Woods walked out of the door, shutting it loudly behind her. 

Mrs. Graham broke down on the sofa. 

“We were married for thirty years…” she said between sobs. “He left me nothing.” 

Technically he left her a house. 

“Mrs. Graham, I am sorry for your loss,” Detective Adams said. “We need to have a look at the library where he was murdered.” 

“Sure. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Mrs. Graham walked out of the room to get herself together. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Marianne hissed.

“Hmmmmm…” Detective Adams said. “I need to break this curse.”  

The details of the murder were unspectacular. Mr. Graham collapsed while he was studying at his library. He had been poisoned. There weren’t any fingerprints on the cup. Nobody except Mrs. Wood had come into the house that night. Mrs. Graham came in when she heard the news of Mr. Graham’s death. All the servants had been present during the murder. The kitchen staff were interrogated. 

The cup of tea in question was served by a maid and prepared by the chef. On further inspection, the chef revealed that he saw a shadow near the library while he was on his way back. The maid had left the cup of tea at the counter, unattended for less than five minutes. She had been summoned by the housekeeper to attend to Mrs. Wood. Mrs. Wood came in at five that evening and stayed until six. After she left, Mr. Graham moved to the library and drank the cup of tea. The butler came in at quarter past six and noticed that he was dead. He immediately summoned Mrs. Graham and the police. Mrs. Graham who was on her way to Manchester arrived at eight that night. The police arrived immediately. 

Detective Adams looked at the remnants of the murder in the library. It was sealed off. The police had warned the staff to stay away from it. Detective Adams stepped under the tapes and walked to the chair where Mr. Graham had collapsed. It was a large red velvet chair. It must have cost a fortune. He surveyed the cozy library. Legions of books lined its shelves. They were mostly covered with a rustic maroon, dark green, black or dark blue cover with golden letters. A book lay next to the chair. Detective Adams picked it up. 

‘One October Night’ the book read in a golden print embossed on the maroon hardcover. Detective Adams opened the book. A flash of blinding light enveloped him. Before he could react, his body disappeared into the realm of time. He saw the years of his life pass before his eyes like a movie. The blinding light carried him to the past. He opened his eyes. The light was gone. Darkness filled its place.

Detective Adams was still in the library. He couldn’t transcend time. The book lay in his hand. He looked at it and sighed. He examined the cold scenery. He opened the book. The first page was embossed with the title of the book. The book was an old one. The pages had turned yellow over time. He examined the position of the chair. The murder was rather simple. Somebody had put the poison in the cup while the maid was busy attending to Ruby. It could have been one of the servants. The murderer must have been in the house that night. If an outsider were to come in and poison the tea, it would take longer than five minutes.

Detective Adams opened the book. The first page was a deep yellow. Small, black words ran like ants along the muddy surface of the page. He focused his small brown eyes on the words. The book was printed three years ago in 1947. The book was published by Raven publishers which was a small vanity press in Manchester. The author of the book was somebody named Aaron White. Detective Adams had no recollection of that name. Mr. Graham liked to read books written by local authors. Detective Adams turned the page. 

The acknowledgements were brief. The book was dedicated to the author’s sister. The story was a memoir of the author’s journey to find his lost sibling. Detective Adams turned to the first chapter.

‘It was an October night. The gloomy England weather was at its worst. Rain poured perpetually from the dull, grey skies. The city was a toxic dump. Smoke mingled with the rain and poured on the modern buildings….’ 

Detective Adams yawned. He didn’t need to hear how bad English weather could be. He had lived there all his life. He turned to the next page.

‘I noticed her frail form in the distance. She emerged like diamond from the dust. It was ethereal. The clouds of smoke parted. Her pale face, her dark hair, her frightened eyes and her frail form looked at me with a deep sense of need. My heart skipped a beat. In her eyes, I saw my childhood. It had to be her. Memories flooded my mind. Tears poured from my eyes. There were no words to describe the emotion I felt at that moment. She was here. She was alive.’ 

The author met his long lost sibling that night. Detective Adams shut the book. He had no time to be reading books. He had to investigate the murder. He tucked the book in his arm and left to question the staff. He decided to begin his investigation by questioning the butler and the maid. 

The maid was a petite creature with large brown eyes. Her pale skin was rough and dry. The aged housekeeper accompanied the maid. Detective Adams wondered if houses with butlers and maids still existed. The Grahams opulence showed in the battalion of helpers that they employed. It must cost a fortune to maintain this place. 

“What happened on the night of the murder?” Detective Adams asked, getting to the point. “The chef gave me a cup of tea that was supposed to be delivered to Mr. Graham,” she said in a shaky voice.

“Does he drink tea every evening?”

“Yes, at six sharp.” she said.

“Does everybody in the house know about this?” he asked.

“Yes.” the housekeeper broke in. 

“And what about Mrs. Woods?”

“I can’t say…” the maid said. “She was a frequent visitor to the mansion.” 

“Why did she come here?”

“I don’t think-“

“Mrs. Brown, I would like your co operation,” Detective Adams said. “Your silence will not help me solve the case.”

“She was here to discuss the reforms they were to implement at the factory.” the housekeeper said with a prominent lack of expression.

“How long did these conversations usually last?” he asked.

“Two or three hours.” 

“Did she always come in the evening?”

“Yes. She works in the morning.” the housekeeper said. 

“Was it you that summoned her that day?” he asked.

“Yes. We were short on staff that night. I asked her to serve Mrs. Woods some refreshments and make sure she was comfortable.”

“Did they speak in the library?” he asked.

“Mostly.” Mrs. Brown said. “They moved to the drawing room sometimes.” 

“Did Mrs. Graham know about this?” 

“Not really….” the maid said. “She discovered it by accident one night. She came in early one night and found Mrs. Woods at the mansion.”

“How did she react?”

“She was angry, of course. She suspected they were in a romantic relationship. They argued in the library for hours.” 

“Would you say Mr. Graham and Mrs. Woods were in an intimate relationship?”

“Detective-“ the housekeeper broke in. “We can’t comment on such things.” 

“You must have a take on it?” 

“No…” the maid said in a low voice. “They only spoke in the library or the drawing room when somebody was present.” 

“Did Mr. Graham go out of the house often?” 

“He went to work in the mornings and came back home by five. He drank tea at seven and had dinner at nine.” she said. “Mrs. Woods usually visited between six and nine.” 

“I see…” Detective Adams said. “Thank you for your co operation.”

“You’re welcome, sir.” the maid said. 

“One more question, did you find anything strange when you came back after serving Mrs. Woods?” 

“Ummm….not really….she said. The cup was where I left it. No…there was nothing strange.”

“And, where did you leave the cup of tea?”

“I left it on a table near the kitchen.” she said. 

“I see. Thank you.” Detective Adams said, concluding the meeting. The staff went home that evening. Detective Adams stayed in the mansion with Mrs. Graham and Mrs. Woods. They were busy sorting out the inheritance. Night fell. The moon rose in the sky. Detective Adams looked out of the window at the night sky. His feet were restless. Something troubled him. He bought out the book that he had picked up from the library. He opened it. He was on Chapter 3 now. With every chapter, the story became clearer. The author was a journalist who worked his way up the ladder. One night in October, he met his sister. They had been separated at birth. Many years later, the author discovered that his sister lived in Manchester. He went down to her place one night and they met by a stroke of luck. They stayed in touch ever since.

Detective Adams was sure that some sort of clue was buried in the book. He searched for information on Aaron White that night in the library. There were no other book written by him. He had debuted with this book and hadn’t written anything ever since. The press that published the book was situated in Manchester. He made a note to visit the place. Detective Adams stepped out of the library. He was lost in his thoughts. The book was tucked in his arm.

He took a step. He stopped. He dropped the book. Ruby Woods stood before him. Her green eyes examined him relentlessly. There was a deep sense of recognition in them. Her pupils dilated. His eyes remained fixed on her. Memories began to play in his mind. He remembered the touch of her skin. He remembered the feel of her lips. He remembered her sweet voice. She took a step towards him. He stood still. There was nobody in the hallway except the two of them. Detective Adams’ heart was thundering.

“Eddie…” she said in a low voice. His ears stood up. His brain soaked in the sweetness of her voice. Detective Adams turned to face Ruby Woods. Her eyes looked into his. They emanated the bitterness of goodbye. She left without saying goodbye. When he heard that she got married, he decided to end his life by jumping into the river. However, instead of drowning, he had gained the ability to travel through time. This was where it had all begun. 

She inched closer to him. His heartbeat escalated. She was too close. Her breath caressed his skin. He felt his body ignite. She closed the gap between them in an embrace. Her hands came over his back, clutching him tighter. He dropped the book he had in his hand. It fell to the floor, opening on a page. Before he could soak in love and nostalgia, he saw a deep red stain on the page. His body was numb. His hands ran up his spine. He could feel something hard nestled against his back. His breath stopped. 

Ruby Woods parted. On the edge of her skirt stood a sharp dagger stained with blood. 

“Ruby….” Detective Adams’ voice was weak. His knees bolted. He collapsed on the floor. The red carpet, the red blood and the stained book covered his vision. A hazy image of Ruby floated before his eyes. The red faded to darkness. 


(To be continued...) 

Short Story Wednesdays #8- Case of the Scheming Widow (Part 1)

Case of the scheming widow 

The cold stone streets clicked under his shoes. The familiar December chill bite through his long woollen coat. Fog draped the streets. It drizzled slightly. Dark clouds covered the sky. British weather. 

His tongue clicked. His lithe form slid into a narrow alleyway. There was a faint glimmer of light at the end of the street. He slipped past the trash cans to reach a small door. ‘Piano Club’ the sign read in a rustic print. The wooden sign was creaky and loose. It hung by a hair to the iron rod sticking out from the club’s front door. Jazzy piano melodies filled the air. Through the misty windows, he saw yellow light make its way to the street. The street lights were on and a few people walked by. They smelled strongly of alcohol. A drunk man shouted from across the street. Others walked by singing loudly.  

Brushing aside the prickly raindrops on his coat, he pushed the wooden door and entered the club. The sound of the piano became louder. A deep contralto voice filled his ears. It sand a distant melody. The singer’s pouty lips pronounced each vowel deliberately. The tables were full. Alcohol flowed from colourful glasses. The bartender was busy mixing drinks for a never ending stream of customers. The night had just begun. 

The stranger moved to a solitary spot near the window and took a seat. 

A long shadow  stretched over the piano player. He went on, unaware of the reflection it cast on him. 

The singer shrieked in the highest pitch she could produce. Her shriek was matched by the piercing sound of gunshot. The window glass shattered. The piano halted abruptly. Customers got up. The club erupted into a loud mixture of murmurs. 

A wave of panic ran through the Piano club. People ran around the club chaotically. The singer abandoned the stage and joined the crowd. The piano man stood up but his panic was paralyzed by a sudden appearance at the club. His heavy form sank against the piano keys, playing a discordant chord. Vivid, red blood began to flow down the piano. The white keys were forever stained with the melody of death. 

The shrieks got louder. Hysterical customers ran around in a state of panic. Customers disappeared out of the door like water going down the drain. But, the door was closed. They were stuck in the chaos. The only person that remained was the stranger in the grey woollen coat. He sat calmly at the table and watched the customers find a place in this scene. The flickering light at the entrance got dimmer. Jarring sounds of people mumbling reverberated through the club. 

The club owner rushed to the corpse and yelled loudly “Call the police.”. The bar staff quickly began dialing the local police. The stranger stood up abruptly. He dug into his coat pocket and flashed a small card at the club owner. 

“I am Detective Adams.” he said, his tone filled with authority. “Everybody, stop right there.” 

A room full of shocked eyes looked at him with surprise. The murmuring stopped. Everybody looked at him with shock. 

“Now, please go back to your seats. Nobody is going anywhere.” he said. “There was no sound of glass breaking or doors closing. The murderer must be one of the people inside this room.” The murmuring escalated again. He heard a sharp voice outside the club. His eyes looked through the shattered window glass. A pair of light grey eyes met his gaze. Detective Adams got up and hammered at the door. The shadow ran away. He jumped out of the window. Blood flowed down his palms. The shards of window glass cut his hands. He followed the shadow that disappeared into the dark alley. His tired legs crept into the alley. He produced a silver revolver from his coat pocket. It shone brightly against the moonlight. The sharp glare of silver was matched by the criminal’s revolver. He lurked somewhere in the shadows. 

Detective Adams cautiously moved along the stony street, making sure not to breathe. He didn’t want to alert the criminal. two garbage cans stood before his eyes. The narrow house chimneys framed a portrait of the night sky. Moonlight burst through the narrow opening between the houses. Drain pipes secreted dirty water that formed a puddle near the garbage cans. The perpetual rain didn’t help. Detective Adams stormed to one of the garbage cans and opened it. His revolver was sharply pointed towards the contents of the can. He saw nothing but smelly garbage inside. He quickly shut the can. His eyes fell on the other can. The criminal was hiding in there. 

He kicked the steel can. It rolled along the ground and burst open. Smelly paper, old shoes and dark bags fell out of it. It was empty too. Detective Adam’s lips formed a straight line. The criminal was not in either of the cans. An image of those sharp grey eyes blazed in his memory. A long shadow stretched behind him. He didn’t turn back. He smiled. The shadow grew larger. The moonlight hit his face. He turned around instantly. He saw the grey eyes. They were accompanied by a short, stout body. The criminal wore a long, brown coat ended right above his feet. His squarish jaw was illuminated by the moonlight. Ben. 

The criminal pulled the trigger. The sound of gunshot filled the air. Birds squirmed in their nests. The serenity of the night was rippled. Detective Adams collapsed on the floor. 

He opened his eyes. His hazy vision hit the ceiling of this run down office. The yellow ceiling needed some work. Paint chipped off from the edges of the room. The light on the ceiling moved in hypnotic motions. It flickered for a moment. Detective Adams sat up. His eyes fell on a large wooden desk filled with papers. He had a hell of a lot of paperwork to get through. 

“You’re back.” his secretary said in a calm, low voice. The sound of the choppy typewriter filled the air. His eyes turned to Marianne who sat on a  small leather chair by the door. Her hair was cotton white. The crows feet around her eyes intensified as she looked at him from under her spectacles. Her fingers continued to type. Her pale, fragile skin was wrinkled. Her bony fingers typed away. She took the piece of paper out of the typewriter. It was done. 

“Have a look at this when you’re done.” she said. She walked across the wooden floor. Her long skirt brushed against the rug. She placed the piece of paper on his desk that was already filled with papers. He sighed. 

“Did you send the couple the letter?” he asked. He sat up on the sofa, leaning on its arm for support. 

“I did. They sent me a thank you note.” she said. 

“So, I was right, huh?” he said.

“You always are.” she added with a blank face. He smiled. 

She walked across the room and opened the window. The sound of chirping birds filled the air. The skies were clear blue for a change. 

“Who was it this time?” she asked. 

“It’s Ben,” Detective Adams said. 

“The brother?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“He shot me,” 

“I’m sure he did.” she said with pronounced disinterest. 

“Write a letter to the manager,” he said. “I’m done with this case.” 

“Sure.” she said, returning to her seat. She was back to typing. 

“We need to get the ceiling refurbished once the manager pays up.” Detective Adams said, gazing intently at the ceiling.

“That’s what you always say,” the aged secretary said with a sharp grin. 

“What would I do without you, Marianne?” he asked in a dramatic fashion.

“I can’t work forever. I’m getting old.” she said. The sound of typing abruptly stopped. “is there anyone else who knows about this ability of yours?” 

“I haven’t told anyone.”

Her blue eyes met his. 

“It’s time to hire a new secretary,” she said. “I want to retire.”

“What’s this all of a sudden?” Detective Adams asked. 

“I’m getting old. I want to go live with my kids in the countryside. London air is stifling.” 

“You’ll be missed,” he said. He sat by the window and started smoking his pipe. 

“I’m sure,” she said in a sharp voice. “My niece is keen to begin work.”

“You want me to hire her?”

“Have a look at the girl before you decide,” she said. 

“Does she know my secret?”

“No but you will have to tell her once your hire her.” Marianne said. 

“Twenty years have gone by real fast.” he said.

“I know.” she said. 

The smoke from the pipe wafted outside the window. Marianne and Detective Adams glanced outside with a distant expression filling their eyes. 

“Did you meet her?” she asked. He turned around. “Your first love.” 

“No. You know I can’t.” he said. 

“What if you see her in London?” she asked.

“I doubt that. She must be married now. She probably has kids and lives in the countryside.” he said, his voice ringing with emotion. 

“It’s been twenty long years.” she said. “You’re forty now.”

He smiled. 

“I’m getting old.” he said. “How old is that niece of yours?”

“Eighteen. She’s good at typing-“

“I’m sure she is.” Detective Adams said. “Being a private detective doesn't pay much. I’m thinking about writing a novel.”

“About what? The adventures of a time travelling detective?” she asked.

“That would sure be interesting. Nobody would believe it.” he said. 

After the sudden disappearance of this first love, twenty years ago, Detective Adams decided to die. His love affair with Ruby had been the talk of the town. He loved her like her had never loved anyone before. He wanted to get married as soon as he could procure a license. However, she mysteriously disappeared one night. He didn’t want to live a life devoid of love. He was a very dramatic young man, he remembered. He found a small lake far from the village and jumped into it. However, he had not only survived the incident, but also acquired a mysterious ability to travel through time as a result of it. Soon after, he met Marianne. They decided to start a private detective’s practice in London. He had solved many cases during the last twenty years using his ability. However, during a particularly difficult case, he realised that he could not go back to any event where Ruby was present. She was his only weakness. 

The door burst open. A middle aged female burst through the door. Detective Adams and Marianne turned to the door. His eyes popped out. A middle aged woman stood before him. She was pleasantly plump. Her round face had an expression of surprise etched on it.  Her soft pink lips were straight in line with her prominent nose. Her blue eyes moved rapidly through the expanse of the room. She wore a long, grey skirt and a white blouse. A beige cardigan was wrapped around the shirt. Hr brunette hair was tied in a small bun behind her head. A rosy flush highlighted her cheeks. 

“Welcome.” Marianne said immediately. 

“I have a case.” she said. “Something happened!” 

“Have a seat.” Marianne said calmly. She escorted the lady to an old sofa. Detective Adams sat facing the lady. She was panting. Marianne made two cups of tea and placed them on the glass teapoy. The still air formed ripples on the surface of the light brown tea. 

“Sugar?” she asked. The lady nodded. Detective Adams leaned forward. 

“May I ask what you need my help with?” he asked. 

“My husband was murdered.” she said. “I found his body in the library this morning. I came here straight after the incident.”

“I’m sorry.” he said. 

“My husband was a wealthy man,” she said. “He owned horses and clubs.”

“Hmmmmm…”

“I am Mrs. Graham,” she said.

“Oh.” the words escaped Marianne’s mouth. “Now I know why she looked so familiar.” 

“I am honoured to be of service to you.” Detective Adams put in.

Mrs. Graham was the wife of Mr. Graham, one of the most famous industrialists in England. The Grahams owned estates that were worth millions of pounds. Lord Graham owned a cotton mill in North West. The mill had been passed down by his great grandfather.  Though cotton production in England had mostly declined, he maintained the mill for sentimental value. 

However, the working condition of the mill were similar to what they had been a century ago. He frequently received flack for the ill treatment of factory workers. The trade unions grew stronger over the years. Activists had also turned their attention to the pollution that the factory generated. Mr. Graham had resolved to transform the working conditions of the workers. The newspapers were filled with news of the Grahams’ philanthropic activities. 

Mrs. Graham leaned in.

“Whatever I say hereafter is meant to be a secret,” she said. “Can I trust you with these words?”

“I have a stellar reputation when it comes to being tight lipped.” Detective Adams said. “I’m sure you’ve heard.”

“Yes. That is why I came to you. They say you can solve all sorts of cases.” she said. 

“What is troubling you?” he asked.

“You see, my husband was paying special attention to a widow before his death.” she began in a shaky voice. “I think he was having an affair.”

“What makes you suspect that?”

“I’ve seen them together a few times. She is an activist. She has taken a sudden interest in the working conditions of factory workers. My husband was involved with the her charity. I visited the North West a few times to take part in their activities.”

“I’m sure you did. Did you notice anything?”

“They were extremely close. He paid her compliments and she constantly smiled at him.”

“It could be mere professionalism.” Detective Adams said.

“No. I saw her leave his house one night. I was supposed to be in London at that time but I decided to visit him.”

“And?”

“They were intimate.” she said. Her eyes filled with hate. Her body shook violently. “She seduced him. I’m sure of it.”

“Did he leave a will?” Detective Adams asked. 

“Yes. He left most of his wealth to the her charitable institution. I’m sure she influenced him. She is the beneficiary of the will.”

“That is hardly surprising.” Marianne put in.

“I suspect the widow murdered him for his money. I want you to investigate this death.”

“A widow, you say?” Detective Adams said, scratching his chin. “What is the name of this scheming widow?” 

“Ruby Wood.” she said. 

Detective Adams stopped breathing for a moment. Marianne’s eyes turned to him.

“Hold on, I have a photo of her.” Mrs. Graham put in. She dug into her purse and pulled out a small photo. She laid it on the table.

 It was the same Ruby that had left him twenty years ago. Her brown eyes were as bright as he remembered. She looked as beautiful as he remembered. Her eyes sparkled brightly. Her thin frame was more balanced now. Her dark lips lent an air of seductiveness to her fragile expression. He saw the striking familiarity. Ruby was his first love. Ruby was his only love. And, Ruby was his biggest weakness. His enlarged eyes turned to Marianne. She inhaled sharply. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. His eyes looked into hers. “I cannot do this.”

(To be continued....) 

Official Trailer: Detective Adams and the Case of the Scheming Widow

Welcome to another wonderful Tuesday. Are you excited to read my latest short story tomorrow? 
Here's the official trailer for my next story. Part 1 of Case of the scheming widow will be uploaded on my blog tomorrow. Make sure to check it out! 

-P. Wish 

Short Story Wednesday #7- Dream Diary (Part 2)

Dream Diary (Part 2) 

Emma felt something tug at her neck. She clutched the necklace that John had given her. A force akin to gravity sucked her. She felt her body travel through the vacuum of time. The shadow disappeared. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The grey ceiling filled her vision. Reality hit her. She felt the bedsheets. She crumpled them between her fingers and held on. Her breath was jagged. Her pupils dilated. She was sleepy and energetic at the same time. Her mind was numb with thoughts. 

The sound of the alarm clock faded. She picked it up and turned if off. It had been ringing all morning. She glanced at the wall clock. It was three in the afternoon. She overslept again. She rubbed her eyes. Her dreams were merging with her reality. With every passing day, she found herself being sucked deeper into the dream. Alpha was calling out to her. It filled her dreams and reality. She had to go there. Her eyes fell on the large piece of aluminium at one corner of the room.

The Dreamscope was large and bright. Colourful lights went off on its surface. It recorded her dream. She looked at the television screen. She turned it on. Her most recent dream filled the screen. She saw the splendid cliffs made of crystal. The sky was beautiful and vibrant. Stardust glittered like a million diamonds across the surface of the pink sky. Her eyes feasted on the visual extravaganza. She saw the shadow more clearly now.  It was shaped like a human male. It stood slightly taller than Emma. It wore a cape and a dark red suit. Its voice was deep and hollow. Emma felt a deep connection with the shadow. She tried to hold its had but her heavy hands slipped through its translucent fingers. Her heart pounded. She was very close to becoming one with the shadow. She looked at the television screen. She was at Level 4. She remembered John’s words. It was time for them to meet again. 

She typed an e-mail to John in a state of trance. She glanced through the pages of research material that she had collected. She wondered if she would ever complete her thesis. It didn’t matter anymore. She wanted to be free from this world. She wondered what the challenge that John spoke about was. She didn’t feel any discomfort or pain during her dreams. 

John arrived the next morning. He was drenched in water. His eyes looked through the water droplets at Emma’s weak form. Emma opened the door wide and let him in. He went straight to the Dreamscope.

“So you’re at level four already, huh?” he asked. He examined the Dreamscope. He turned it on. He spent a few moments glancing through a highlight video of Emma’s dreams. The Dreamscope showed that she was at Level 4. 

“Have you experienced anything strange?” he asked, his voice rising with curiosity.

“What do you mean by ‘strange’?” she asked.

“Can you see the shadow in your dreams clearly?” 

“No, not yet,” she said. “I see his form clearly but our hands don’t meet.”

“Hmmmmm…..” John scratched his chin with a thoughtful expression etched on his face. 

“Is something wrong?” Emma asked, her eyes looking at John with concern.

“Do you remember what I told you last time?” he asked. His eyebrows were raised.

“You told me something about the ultimate challenge,” she said in a low voice.

“And?”

“And, I don’t know I’m there yet.”  she said. “My dreams have gradually become my reality. I spend more time in Alpha than on Earth.”

“You said you saw the shadow clearly. What did he look like?” John asked.

“He was tall. He was male and he had large hands.” she said. Her eyes fell on John. John stood slightly taller than her. His hands were large. They reminded her of the shadow in her dream. She inhaled sharply. Her eyes met John’s. Her hands clutched over her heart. Her eyes widened.

“Bingo.” he said. "You passed the challenge." 

She walked towards John shakily.

“What does this mean?” she asked. Her body began to vibrate. 

“Everything you saw was a dream,” he said. She recognised the hollow voice clearly now. She looked into his eyes. The ceiling began to spin. The room disappeared. It was replaced by a vacuum that shone in the seven colours of the rainbow. Emma’s eyes hurt. Her mind was numb with questions. 

“I-“

“You called me here,” John said. “Your dreams are vivid. Your desire to transcend space sucked me into this world. I had to wait until your body and mind were ready to leave. You’ve made incredible progress. Now, you are ready to join me in Alpha.”

His hand extended to her. Emma looked at it in a state of shock. A sense of calm came over her. It was time to leave. Her concern transformed into a smile. She took his hand. This time, they met. She felt the warmth of his palms dissolve the weight in her body. They were one. The scenery around her changed. She was sucked into the rainbow coloured vacuum. 

Together, they arrived at Alpha. It was everything she imagined and more. The colours were brilliant. The scenery was pervaded by a sense of calm. Everyone smiled at her. She wouldn’t be interrupted by the alarm clock anymore. Reality was a distant dream. She was here now. 

She was home. 


-P. Wish