Public Service Announcement

Dear Readers,

I haven't yet had a chance to post the next episode, "I Will Still Find Out If You Lied" - so be on the lookout for a DOUBLE ENTRY this Friday, 7/16/2010!

Thank you for your patience, and your ongoing patronage!

--Nusy

The Secrets of the Basement

Nothing is what it first seemed to be

NUPTIALS OF DEATH

If you haven't read the previous episode yet, click here

He was watching the video he made of one of the show hosts when somebody was knocking on the door. It was the mason, announcing that he would finish the job by the evening. With that he signed his sentence. He was working for weeks on the new basement area to be constructed under the garage. He was told he's making a bunker for the paranoid owner. The master came from Transylvania, and he was grateful for the huge sum he got for his work as well as the food and board in the house.

Throughout the first week he was watching the worker day and night, but he didn't see anything suspicious. He wasn't going out to the pub, he wasn't going out anywhere at all. He ate what he got and after work, whilst watching the TV he drank the two bottles of beer he got prepared in the fridge every day.

He tweaked with the mason's cell phone right on the first day, so he wouldn't be able to talk to anyone about the odd job. He promised the worker to get him a replacement, but every day he had a new excuse why he didn't do it that day.

The new rooms were accessible from a metallic, changing room-type locker from the garage. The ladder opened from the bottom of the locker by turning a secret latch. Down below he got two room made, separated by a sound-blocking steel door. Into one he even got a sink and a metallic toilet installed. As the mason knew, that would be the area where the owner would live during a nuclear fallout, whilst the other would be his control room. From there he can keep the outside cameras in sight and analyze the radiation. Behind the control panel he had a hole made, saying that he will have to store several months' worth of food and bottled water there. He didn't let the mason take the dirt out. He explained the worker how food stored under dirt is good longer. The mason was a little startled by this, but he didn't object. By hiw own idea he even lined the bottom and the sides of the hole with concrete, he must have thought that a little bit of cinder can't hurt the stocks dug in there.

All in all he did a nice job, he would've deserved his pay, but since the location was of key importance to the final game, no one could know about it. That was part of the Death Matrix too.

He tricked the mason to the edge of the hole, and thrust his knife straight into his heart. His final payment was that he could die fast, without much torment.
The corpse dropped in the hole soundlessly. He tossed the knife next to him, and with quick moves he started to shovel the dirt onto him. Metal and Earth, one more step.

As the hole filled up the paved its place with concrete. In a few days he will even put down the missing floor tiles, concealing the mason's grave forever.
He won't need any helpers for the installation of the electronics, so nobody will catch wind of the first, privately owned, remote-controlled execution room in the country.

*

They were guessing until the dawn, what could the blog group have in common with the death of the husband. Máté kept by his idea of Psychofairy being the key character, whilst Anna wanted to go after the commenter named Sangel, but as they re- and reread the blog, it got clearer and clearer that nothing is what it first seemed to be. Carefully revisiting the last two days' posts they noticed that more commenters appeared to have posted something that may bring up the possibility of them knowing of the husband's death earlier than Anita posted it. Around 3am they decided to ask for Dávid's help to take a closer look on the commenters.

Máté haven't yet talked to his girlfriend about Dávid's suspense, he didn't want to get her worked up for no reason. Even though they didn't find exact proof of the unknown hacker having anything to do with what happened a year before, all three of them knew that this person was dangerous. The police didn't really deal with why did Dávid's e-mail girlfriend die exactly the day after the hacker attack, and why from that day did Anna feel like as if she was being followed. Every clue lead into a dead end, and no matter how Máté and his people were expecting the new attack, the hacker disappeared as if he never even existed. But if now he turned up again, that can bring unforeseen consequences. Even though the first counter-moves have to be made by Dávid, Máté wanted to be next to him when he does so.

The next day their flight left at 1.30pm for home. When Máté woke up, his girlfriend has already finished packing, as she said, so they can say a worthy good-bye to Paris. For Anna it meant disappearing into the underground maze of shops of Forum des Halles, and Máté sat down at a cozy terrace on Rue Montmartre and ordered a petit déjeuner. At home he never had breakfast, but in Paris he got used to the freshly baked croissant, and to staring at the passers-by from the side of his poison-strength coffee.

The waiter just appeared as his cell phone rung. As he was waiting for his breakfast, he read through his messages, and then he forgot to turn it off.

Even though there was no number on the caller ID, he listened to his sixth sense and picked up.
– Are you okay? – Orsi asked desperately.
From the over-the-top excitement of the voice, Máté guessed she has already gotten drunk, or that she hasn't even sobered up from the previous night yet.
– What would be wrong with me? I'm sitting on a terrace on Rue Montmartre, the sun is shining, there are all well-dressed folks around me... But what is wrong with you? Don't tell me you...? I thought you would be on screen tonight.
– I've been clean for three days... because of you.
– Because of me? I couldn't reach it in a year being next to you almost every day, and now from a thousand miles away I suddenly can?
– You wrote me you were in trouble, and that you needed me.
– Thanks, I'm fine... Anna too... but...

– You called me to City Park for midnight!
– Me? I've been in France for a week now.
– You sent me an e-mail.
– I swear I turned my PDA on for the first time in a week just now.

That wasn't quite true, but he really didn't write any e-mails.
– It came with your name.
– Farkas Máté? (translator's note: in Hungary, people don't use the Western name order, but the last name comes first, then the first and middle names)
– Reverse, in Western order, as you always use it: mate.farkas.
– I never ever had such an address. And did you go to City Park?
– Do you swear on your life that it wasn't you writing that?
– Think, Orsi! I would never take you to an empty park at night. I know exactly of our phobias, and even if it was about somebody's life, I would still invite you to some crowded place. Actually it's easier to hide there. When did you get that e-mail?
– Friday. I immediately wrote back, something like don't fuck with me, and I keep calling you since then, but nothing...

Máté put down his croissant.
– I hope you didn't go there? – he asked worried.
– No. I wanted to, but I was so scared... I knocked myself out.
– Thank God! – he answered immediately, and after a little pause he added: – I didn't think I would ever be glad about you getting fucked up.
– But last night I did go out – she went on –, and I talked to a dog-lover there, who did see a man out there around that time. So far I didn't think it would be important, but now that I know it wasn't you, it may be important…
– What did he look like?
– Average 45-ish man, no special features.
– It must have been some journalist trying to get some info out of your fears!
– I don't think so. Or do you think they would do such a thing?
– I ain't get startled on anything anymore – said Máté darkly.
– Are you still there? – she broke the long silence.
– Yeah, I'm just thinking. I really don't like this whole thing...
– I'm terribly scared! – Orsi said with a frightening tone.
– Be really careful! Try not to remain alone for a minute. Ask somebody to take you home. And most importantly, don't drink!
– I don't drink anymore. When do you come home?
– We will be home tonight.
– Can you come over?

Máté almost promised to, but then he thought of Psychofairy and Anna, and decided otherwise:
– Maybe, I don't know about my programs yet. It would be better to ask a girlfriend of yours to sleep over…
– I have no girlfriends… – she said in a colorless tone.
– I give you Dávid's number – he changed topics, – talk to him, maybe he can find it out who sent the e-mail!

He could hear crying from the other end of the line.
– Don't worry, it will be all right, Márkus is dead, he can't hurt you any longer – he was comforting her.
– I know, but I'm so scared…

Menacing Signs

If Psychofairy starts to correspond with a woman, somebody will soon die around there.

NUPTIALS OF DEATH

If you haven't read the previous episode yet, click here

They argued through half Montmartre until they finally got their peace. In the hotel, Máté read the woman's blog whilst Anna was clicking the TV remote. Work-related disease.
– Still it's not nice of you to cover it up from me. It's super exciting – Máté was groaning.
– Don't start it again! – Anna shook her head.
– I would never have thought of this saas being you. The front-line warrior of emancipation. No rights to the men!
– I just tried what it would be like, to think like this.
– And?
– I'll just stick to myself.
– So you just throw fits to get what you want rather than going to protest or to court.
– You're being scum, I'm not even a hysteric one... – she pouted.

They were silent for a bit. Máté read on.
– I really, really don't like this Psychofairy. If he starts correspondence with a woman, somebody will soon die around there.
– You're just jealous of him, that's all your problem. Anyways, what could be his link to the husband's death?
Máté fell in his thoughts.

– I think the question is whether there's anything between this woman and Psychofairy. What did you say, what was her name?
– Anita.
– So did this Anita ever meet Psychofairy?
– I don't know, but why is it important?
– Because it was Psychofairy and saas provoking the woman. Those are the comments where I can feel that pressure overload that may signal involvement. I don't think you murdered the guy...
– Thanks! – Anna interrupted.
– … because you couldn't have made a trip from Paris without me noticing it...
– I could've just hired some hitmen…
– True – Máté laughed –, so it's you and Psychofairy being personally inovolved in the case. What if Psychofairy fell in love with the gal and they hooked up? There's the motive...

– Doesn't seem to be probable.
– Why?
– Like, she never mentioned in her blog that she has a lover.
– This woman wanted to get pity out of others. If she posts how much fun she has with one of her commenters, the sympathy is gone. Speaking of which! Psychofairy is from Pécs, where is she from?
– I don't know. She never mentioned. I guess it was on purpose, so they can't get too close to her.
– Call her and ask her!
– Now? – Anna asked, pointing at the clock. – It's 2am.
– If she's asleep, I guess she turns her phone off.

Anna reached for her cell phone, but before she could've unlocked the keys, she tossed it on the bed.

- It's all just stupid!
– What? – asked Máté.
– What would the husband's death have to do with the blog? You just want to incriminate Psychofairy, and I go blindly after you. What if it was the mafia icing him? If they put him out of circulation for some business stuff? Isn't it more likely?
– No – Máté shook his head confidently.
– And why are you so sure about this? – Anna asked, pulling her legs under herself.

Máté knew this motion well, it was the sign of locking up for her girlfriend. At these times, she tried to unconsciously get rid of his intellectual effect on her. He jumped up, walked around the room and sat down intentionally in a way that he would touch Anna.
– Because she thinks the murder has something to do with her blog. And if she feels so, you can be pretty sure it is so. So, will you call her?

Giving up, Anna reached for the phone. A sleepy voice moaned on the other end of the line, but she got immediately more lively as the hostess introduced herself.
– Oh, is that you? I just dozed off a bit... – she was excusing herself.
– I'm sorry to bother you so late, but could you tell me where you live?
– At Siófok.
– It must be cool, next to the Balaton…
– Yeah, we sure do love it too!

Máté was silently signing to her what else to ask, but Anna waved no.
– Could I have a personal question?
– Of course!
– Do you have anything going with you and Psychofairy?

She was silent for a moment before she answered.
– No, nothing. Why do you think so?
– You two never met in person?
– Never.
– Phone calls, e-mails?
– Nope. Just all that you can see in the blog. Why do you ask?
– Ah, nothing. Not important, just forget about it.
– You sure don't make extra rounds if you want to learn something. Boom, to the middle...
– That's my job.

They were both silent.
– Then once again, sorry for bothering you late! – the hostess finished up the conversation.
– I'm glad you called me – she answered on the other end of the line, not too convincingly.

– Have you seen this yet? – Máté showed his PDA to Anna when she got off the phone.
– The entry is old, but the comment is from the day before yesterday.
She had to read the sentence twice.

In deathly nuptials, ore meets ore, And life acquits in mourning galore?

– I have no idea what it is – she said finally, – but it does sound really creepy. Do you think this Sangel knows something?
– I'm sure he knows more than we do. One more sign to start off on.

*

The hacker suddenly stopped typing. He grabbed his fingers off the keyboard as if it burnt him. He was listening. The computer was quietly whirring.
Dávid Seres was officially editing the show In the Line of Fire, but in reality he was their resident hacker.

– I got attacked! – he yelled excitedly, even though there was nobody else in the room. He quickly quit all applications one by one, then he finally connected an external hard drive loaded with fake informations and special antivirus softwares to his USB drive, whilst he locked up the internal HDD.

– Now you're over! – he said out loud, still not bothering about not having an audience.
He leaned back in success. He knew exactly what's happening on his computer. The spyware will start reading the fake information, and in the meantime, the antivirus he wrote himself will read the intruder bit by bit, then it will smooth itself into the data seamlessly. Dávid spent all his free time with writing and perfecting this program ever since an intruder broke into his computer a year ago, read all his e-mails and brutally murdered the woman with whom he was just about to get more serious.

And free time he had a lot of, as even though he had already gotten over the murder, and he even started dating a similarly monitor-faced girl, in reality they rarely met. At first they were planning on moving in together, but soon they decided against it, as they realized they are perfectly fine in cyberspace. They were in a near-constant connection via the computers, physical contact would occur only on Tuesdays - on the card nights of Dávid's parents.

As the spyware left the computer, a new window popped up on his screen. He was scrolling down the coded lines and nodded quickly.
– So you came back… – he mumbled to himself and reached for the phone.

He couldn't reach his boss, Máté Farkas, so he tried with Anna.
– Dávid, what the heck do you want? It's 3am at home too – she asked, but her voice told that she wasn't sleeping yet.
– Is it really that late? Well, then tell the hackers not to attack the office at night. Is Máté there?

Over the noise of passing the phone he could still clearly hear the words insane, fucking computer geek.
– Tell Anna I love her too – said Dávid laconically as the editor-in-chief answered the phone.
– I hope that's not the only reason you called me to tell this, is it? – asked Máté half-joking and half-angrily. Dávid never knew exactly how things were with his boss.
– We got a trojan. Just like the previous one, just a little further developed.
– Are you sure? – asked Máté.
– Well, not quite a hundred per cent – answered Dávid, as he still wanted to run a few more tests on it before giving the final answer to others, even though his guts already told him the truth.
– Wait a sec. let me move over so I get better reception. Okay, we can talk now. Did he get into the system? – the editor-in-chief was worried.
– All he could get was the fake data. I picked up the glove. Now I will catch him, no matter who it is!
– That's what you said last year, and… – the editor-in-chief didn't finish his sentence.
– I know exactly what happened, but it won't ever happen again!
– Still, be careful! Do it only if it's a thousand per cent safe. If you think it's him, we immediately have to get the police involved. We can't do the same mistake twice – Máté reminded the hacker.
– OK, no worries. Now I know who we are facing.
– Don't mention it to Anna yet. Ah, and one more thing – he switched topics. – Can we find out who are the regular commenters on a blog?
– I haven't really had any experience with blogs yet, but I'm sure there is a way to remain anonymous, guaranteed. Why, do you want to drop a few nasty ones?
– No, just the opposite, I want to find out of the others.
– Don't tell me you're writing a blog too?
– No – Máté answered impatiently. – There's this blog, it's not mine, nor is it Anna's. A woman, you don't know her. She asked us to find some info of the people who comment on her regularly. Is there a way to do it?
– Tell me where I can find that blog, I will take a look!

Dávid didn't want to use the virus-ridden computer, so he just scribbled the address to a piece of paper. A bit later that paper floated off to the floor, and remained right there.

Caught In A Net Of Lies

A more and more radical community was gathering around the blog. Many of them have been encouraging her to openly face off with the despotic husband.

NUPTIALS OF DEATH

If you haven't read the previous episode yet, click here

Anita was wide awake by 6am, even though it was well past 2am when she finally got to sleep. She felt the bed next to herself. Empty. She ran across the house, but her husband was still not at home. She finally gave up her pride and called his cell phone, but it was only the voicemail. She turned the radio on and started to make breakfast and coffee.

Five minutes before seven, her son stumbled out of his room with sleepy eyes.
– Sanyi? – he asked instead of a good-morning.
– Not yet at home.
– Did he go out of town somewhere?
– No... or well, I don't know, um, maybe, I think so – Anita stuttered.
– Normally you always know – said Romi with some reproach in his voice, and he marched off to the bathroom.

Throughout the morning Anita called her husband's cell phone several times, to no avail. She looked for him at the company too, but nobody answered the phone. If they had a bigger order coming in, Sándor would schedule people for Saturdays as well. She called the secretary too, but she didn't know anything about him either. They weren't working this weekend. Around eleven she finally reached the co-owner of the LLC, he was in Vienna, shopping with his family. He has last seen Sándor Friday morning, since then he tried to reach his cell phone several times, but to no avail still.
– Zsolt, do you think they will laugh at me at the police if I report he didn't come home? – asked Anita unsecurely.
– Why would they laugh at you? That's their job, to find him!
– They will just think he's at his mistress' place… – she bluffed.
– Why, does he have a mistress? – the business partner asked, maybe just a moment too slow.
– Don't tell me you don't know of it!
– Of what? – he asked back, now without a delay.
Anita was silent.
– Look, I know it hasn't been quite cool between the two of you lately, but all in all, Sanyi is not a bad guy. Best is if you just call the police.
– What did he tell you about us two?
– Not much. Something like that you just kind of cooled apart…
– Yeah, something like that, cooled apart – said Anita sarcastically.
– Now what the heck is wrong?
– Nothing, forget it. If he does contact you, make sure you call me immediately!
– But of course. You too, if you learn something!

Anita shared her plan with the bloggers too. Neither Psychofairy, nor saas have answered. She waited until the early afternoon hours, until then most have approved her idea about telling the police. A few minutes after two she dialed 112. (translator's note: 112 is the general emergency hotline in Hungary, similar to 911 in the US) The officer on duty tried to act empathetic, but in his voice Anita could almost hear a little male chauvinistic cynism.

The body was found by the security guard the next day, in the late afternoon. He was bored, so he decided to take a walk around the whole grounds. He noticed the collapsed fence. He went some closer and he could see the new, clean cut marks on the wire. He called his boss over the radio, and following the footsteps he headed to the rear warehouse building. He lost track on the concrete flooring. He looked through all the barrels, and in the first row all seemed untouched. He was always curious what those rusty old drums may hide, but his boss always said it's better for him not to ask around.

In the second row one lid was out of place. He went closer and noticed the knife too. Somebody stuck it through the rusty steel. A pungent odor was present. With an iron rod he knocked the lid off. As soon as he leaned over the barrel he started retching. A smoking, bloody mass of flesh was boiling at the bottom of the tank. The blade went through the wall of the barrel straight into his back, but there was a huge, gaping wound on his throat too.

One of the policemen arriving to the scene recalled a woman reporting the disappearance of her husband the previous day.
Early next morning the corpse was identified by his teeth.

*

Monday evening in Paris, around the beginning of Montorgueil street, Anna Somos, show host of Criminal News was drinking house bordeaux on the terrace of Bistrot de St Eustache when her cell phone notified her of a new text message.

The husband was murdered. Psychofairy

Máté Farkas went off to find the waiter about ten minutes before. Anna turned back and pressed her hand againt the window as she peeked in. Her lover was widely gesturing as he was explaining something to the waiter. He had an impossible talent for making long conversations with parisians on the fifty French words he spoke. And for the question what the heck can he be discussing with complete strangers, he usually gave a one-word answer accompanied by a mysterious little smile: Women. Or wine. Or cheese.

Anna keyed in the number from where the text came. Not available. Using that her mate was not around, she turned her PDA on. She got it from Máté for her birthday. He was fond of digital gadgets. At first she thought that one goes in the pile of useless gifts too, but when he taught her how can she connect to the internet from any point of the world, she slowly became an addict.

She immediately found a free wireless network, in Paris that wasn't a problem. After she ran through her e-mails, she went to the blog portal where a desperate wife was sharing her most intimate secrets and problems day by day, and with shocking honesty. Anna followed her blog regularly, and often, on a fake name, acting as a glorified warrior of women's rights, she commented on the entries.

The day before the blogger was horrified to tell that her aggressive husband suddenly disappeared without a trace. She was blaming herself for it, she thought her partner disappeared because of the blog. True, lately a more and more radical community has been gathering around the blog. Many of them were encouraging her to openly face off her despotic husband, to protect herself, even by violence, if so needed. Especially a person nicknamed Psychofairy was on the revolt side. It was exactly because of him that Anna never told Máté about her new passion.

A year ago, three TV show hostesses were brutally murdered, and one was kidnapped. Anna got into the investigation as a reporter for the show In the Line of Fire. A slightly over-aged college student from Pécs was giving psychic-mental advices to one of the victims under the name Psychofairy, that's how he got in the scope of suspense. Anna, together with Máté, who then was the editor-in-chief of In the Line of Fire, have found out his identity, and they even made an interview him, covering the purpose as a sociological study. Anna was really diggin' the guy. She loved her long black hair, tawny skin, harsh Balcanic profile, and she made no secret out of it. Máté was seriously jealous about the college "kid". The situation was further scrambled by the fact that this was the very trip to Pécs where Anna first slept with Máté. Psychofairy finally cleared himself of any charges, but the editor did not believe in his innocence at all.

Anna hasn't met the man a single time since the investigation was over. She almost forgot about him when he wrote her an e-mail a few months ago, mentioning the blog of this woman. They have exchanged a few mails, but it was always about the woman and her sufferings, never a word about themselves or them together. Even though nothing has happened between them, Máté would've felt horrible if he found out she has been e-mailing the man whom he's the most jealous of behind his back. So Anna just remained silent of the blog, Psychofairy and the humiliated woman.

She peeked in the window again. Máté was still conversing with the waiter. At the moment they were just patting each other's back.

Quickly she read through the newest entry of the blog. The husband never went home. His mutilated corpse was found at a lonely factory grounds. The poor woman was blaming herself for the death. She was desperately asking for some help from the blog community.

Anna, driven by a sudden idea, sent her a short message saying that it was her writing under the name saas, left her e-mail address and asked for the wife's phone number. She sent the message private, to keep her incognito throughout the rest of the community.

Just a minute later her e-mail arrived with the phone number.

*

The news of Sándor's death just knocked her out. It's different to imagine something than having to face it happened. The officers didn't tell her over the phone. They just asked her to go to the station as they have news about her husband's disappearance. She felt the trouble, she couldn't even hold back on the street, she arrived to the police station weeping. They sat her down and offered her some water.

– He's... dead, isn't he?
One of the officers was nodding sadly, but the other immediately asked back:
– Why do you think so, madam?
– This whole thing... the way you called me here... and the way you're looking at me... – Anita stuttered.
– My sincerest condolences, madam, your husband was murdered.

She has no recollection of the rest. They said something about the dentist IDing him, but she paid no attention to how they got to the doctor. She just kept repeating she wants to see the body, even thought the officers tried to dissuade her. They couldn't convince her, so they agreed that first she just takes a peek from afar, and she only goes closer to the autopsy table if she thinks she will be strong enough. She wasn't. As the pathologist took the sheet off the body, she fainted. On the table laid a shapeless, bloody mass of flesh, it didn't even resemble a human. What stroke her the hardest was recognizing the checked shirt she got him for Christmas the year before.

At home she tried to write the pain out, but this time not even the blog could bring her peace. She was anxious to get any advice in the comments, how to deal with such a huge pain. A few people dropped a line, but all of them were the usual, generic clichés.

She forced herself to get up from the computer and go to the bathroom so she can correct her makeup. Rómeó was just about to arrive. She didn't want him to be scared not just by the death announcement but also by the pitiful look of her mother. He was already psyched out by his father not returning all weekend. And that's when her phone rung.

– Maybe it's Sándor – it flashed through her brain, just like every single time her phone rung throughout the past two days. The pain just struck her with an unbearable force, she started crying again.

The caller ID gave her no number. A pleasant female voice was on the other end of the line. She was listening to the condolences numb, and she only rose her head when the voice told her she has been writing to her under the name saas. She was absolutely moved and started crying again when she introduced herself. Somehow everything suddenly seemed a lot easier this way. After all, it's the star of Criminal News who has been giving her advice. Her tongue set loose and all the questions that she never dared to even think up about the disappearance of her husband burst out of her.

to be continued next Thursday

Temptations

It's suffering that opens the gate to pleasure. But beware if your secret comes to light…

What would YOU do if you had to choose between the life of your untrue lover and the life of a complete stranger, and your choice was watched by millions of your fans LIVE?

NUPTIALS OF DEATH

If you didn't read the previous part, click here

Hours passed unnoticed whilst Anita was writing her blog. She suddenly heard somebody scratching on the door. She shrugged. She exited the blog portal and tiptoed to the hall. In the doorway, her son jumped into her neck.

– -Mom, you're home? – he was surprised. – Grandma said you're still at work, that's why you can't come to pick me up.
– I slipped away – she smiled mischievously to her son –, how was school?
– And you, why didn't you come to pick Romi up? You know how much my feet hurt – her mother yelled at Anita who was still meddling with the school bag in the door. Usually it was her picking the kid up after school, and he stayed with her until Anita was done at work.
– I got sick, I asked to leave early.
– Oh, aren't you...? – her mother's face shone up.
– No, Mom, I'm not pregnant. I told you a thousand times, we don't want any more children.
– Then why didn't you come to pick Rómeó up? I work my guts out for you, and you just siesta around at home.
– I told you I got sick. I took some medicine and I laid down so I can get better by tomorrow. We have an important deadline, I can't call in sick.
– I can't either, even though I thought by my retirement years I would have a little time for myself… – the woman just kept grunting. Luckily Romi interrupted her:
– Is Sanyi home yet?

Her husband got the kid to call him by first name. Anita never understood why Dad wasn't okay for him, but she didn't want to start a fight on that.
– Not yet!
– I'm sure he's again out drinking with his buddies! – her mother added.
– Yea – groaned Anita gloomily, then she turned to her son, forcing a smile on her face:
– Have you had dinner yet?
– Yup – nodded Rómeó –, can I watch TV?
Anita just wanted to say no, but when she thought she could sit back to her blog, she allowed him half an hour.
She could hardly wait until her mother left, she ran to her computer.
At the afternoon post, there was Sangel's message in its full glory:

In deathly nuptials, ore meets ore, And life acquits in mourning galore…
She was just about to delete the ill omen of a sentence when she noticed another Sangel comment a few lines lower.
It's suffering that opens the gate to pleasure. But beware if your secret comes to light…

She shivered. Christ Almighty, who are you, and what do you want from me? – she whispered, and she quickly deleted the messages.

*

Orsolya Manner could barely wait until Snapshots ended. On the way home, in her car she couldn't even remember what the show was about. She kept calling Máté every five minutes, but to no avail, the editor-in-chief didn't switch his cell phone on for a second. In despair, she tried to call Anna Somos too, but the number she had in her directory was not active anymore. Máté's girlfriend must have immediately switched numbers after she became a show host so she can avoid the journalists sniffing after her private life.

Orsi knew it exactly that Anna hates her to death. And not even without a reason. Even though Anna most likely had no idea, Orsi slept with Máté the night before she was kidnapped to try and persuade him to take over the editing of Snapshots. The traces of their passion were found by the police in her empty apartment, so the editor got suspicious too. The cops only got off of his back when he risked his life to trap the kidnapper and serial killer, the programming director of Channel Three.

Orsi had to thank Máté that she got out of her captivity alive. She didn't want to be ungrateful to her savior, so she decided she will go to the park meeting even if she dies from fear. She planned to run home for some strength concoctions, then she takes a cab to the meeting spot. She won't let the driver go, so she won't be alone, whatever happens.

She didn't even take her shoes off at home before she headed straight for the bar. Her hands were shaking as she opened a bottle of white rum, and poured a tumbler full of it. Before she always drank cocktails, but after a while the filler ingredients just got lost. She chugged it down. Even though it burnt her throat, she didn't shiver from it. The knot in her body loosened immediately. She turned the computer on, but she couldn't wait until the system started up, she filled another glass.

– The last one – she said out loud to make her decision even more binding.
She got a bunch of emails, all spam. Nothing from Máté.
Deep in her heart she was hoping that the editor-in-chief would get back to her and it turns out the whole secret meeting thing was just a bad joke.
Now that the last ray of hope vanished, she gave the fight with the demon up and opened the medicine cabinet. First she only put one bright-colored pill for herself, but she got weak again, and dug another five out from the bottom of the bottle.

She washed it all off with some rum.
She was undressing with slow, unsure moves. She hasn't seen the editor-in-chief in a week. She tried not to think of it, but his e-mail just messed everything up. If he starts something, that annuls their agreement that there will be no continuation to whatever happened the night before she was kidnapped. She wanted to appear on the meeting that she would leave no chances to Anna Somos if Máté got unsure. She was selecting in her closet for long, but she couldn't find a dress she would've found satisfactory. She glanced at the clock: it was just barely past 10.30. She poured another glass of rum and she flopped down to the armchair.

*

Anita waited for her husband until a quarter till midnight, then she went to bed. Her head was hurting, she was dead tired, and still she couldn't sleep. She was staring into the dark until her eyes got dry.

Sándor came home randomly. If there was a good company at her usual bar, he would stay out until dawn. Her feminine instinct, however, told her that this time he was not in the bar with the buddies. He changed in a very worrying way ever since she revolted against him. He drank less often, but then he was more insatiable. At those times, in one moment he was sweeter than honey, and in the next one, with no inbetweens, he turned violent on her.

He never hit her anymore, but his words hurt more than any beating. He slurred her, called her a slut, incapable of raising children. He was threatening her that he would take Rómeó to his parents, because he only learns nasty things from his mother.

After they were over-bidding each other in throwing select obscenities at each other, Anita usually broke down crying and locked herself in the study to confess everything to her blog. Well, almost everything. But she never made it a secret that she had played with the idea several times, how to get rid of her husband once and for all.

When she got ashamed of it, her core readers were comforting her by saying that fantasizing about a crime is not yet a crime, and that it's much better that she lives out her aggression in writing rather than in deeds. They encouraged her not to retreat, to keep out by her rights. She was especially keen on the advice of Psychofairy and a woman called saas. Their friendship gave her strength.

When she sometimes felt pity for Sándor and almost let herself be tempted to bed, she thought, what would they think of her weakness, and she refused his approaches. Now she wanted to fit for them, not for her husband. She didn't even care anymore if Sándor turns to whores because of it.

Soon she was so hungry for some intimacy that she took the advice of saas: she should look for happiness elsewhere. Sándor must have felt something, because between the waves of cutesiness and aggression, he mixed depression more and more often. Sometimes she was afraid he would harm himself.

After ten minutes of tossing and turning, she realized that no matter how hard she tries, she won't fall asleep. She put on her bathrobe and a thick pair of socks. She carefully opened the door of her son's room. The quiet, even breathing calmed her down a bit.

She turned the computer on, and listening towards the hall, she pulled the fresh comments. Sangel wrote again, just the same as before, with only one difference. This time the sentence ended with a question mark.
She reached for the Delete button as if she had to crush a cockroach with her bare finger. She shivered. She decided that the next day she will find out if she can ban this madman named Sangel from her blog somehow. She didn't even notice how Sangel dropped his riddle to entries from weeks before.

*

He would've been surprised if she came. He knew exactly that she has been dreading anything and everything ever since she got out of the kidnapper's captivity. She saw her drink herself under the table every single night. And she didn't say no to drugs either, so reaching her was child's play.

She won't kill her, not even if she comes. Not yet. Water and Fire have to unite in steam first.

She just wants to scare her. So she can feel he's after her. So she will see him everywhere. When she gets completely upset, she will ask for help from Máté Farkas, but by then neither of them will trust the other. If there's more Water, it will put the Fire out, but if Fire is stronger, it burns up everything.

Suddenly a branch cracked, and a shapely, twenty-ish girl stepped out from the bushes. She was crying. She must have felt she wasn't alone as she looked around scared. They looked each other in the eye.

He reached to his pocked instinctually. The girl suddenly stopped crying. She opened her mouth, but no sound could leave her.
His hand on the grip of the knife. He had to decide in a split second.
Life or death.

If he lets her live, she can recognize him later.
If she kills her, he rewrites the Death Matrix, and the consequences would be unforeseen.
Finally he just smiled instead, whistled out loud and left towards the trees.
He was waiting for the scream.

– I'm sorry, I was a jackass! – he heard from behind his back. Must have been her boyfriend. – Who was it? – he asked frightened.
– Just a dog-walker – she answered.

When he was way away by the trees, he looked back. They were kissing with such wild desperation as if they knew: life and death are divided by a little difference, small as a hair, almost nothing.

to be continued next week

The Rebellion

It's you that makes me lose interest because you're like an icicle. I'm sure you're thinking of your loverboy again instead of paying attention to me.

What would YOU do if you had to choose between the life of your untrue lover and the life of a complete stranger, and your choice was watched by millions of your fans LIVE?

NUPTIALS OF DEATH

If you didn't read the previous part, click here

I laid there with my lips stiffened – she wrote to her blog around dawn. – I didn't have the willpower to reject him, to fight, to argue, I was just watching him push himself. He was grabbing me harshly with his shovel-like hands. He must have noticed that I'm not feeling a thing because he started to pet me where I like it. I tried to let myself go, but I remained totally insensitive. His touch almost hurt. I told him to skip it today because it won't work for me, so he yelled at me angrily:

"For your loverboy you would absolutely let yourself, no, and that's why you don't want me anymore!"

I didn't feel a bit like the same old record played thousands of times that – no, I don't have a loverboy – don't lie to me! – I'm not lying – which little dipshit are you messing with at the office? – get off of me, don't you understand I don't have anyone!! – your boss, he would try you on, I've seen how he was drooling over you – you're talking of me, not some clothes, and he's anyways married – etc etc etc so I again just got used to the fact that today there will be another strike on the list of joyless sex encounters. I started to caress him so at least I can get the maximum out of him.

When he crawled over me, I could hardly keep gagging back. His skin was breathing a stale smell of beer, a gust of body odor came out from under his arms. I was suffocating under his fat body. Naturally he didn't notice a thing of it, he just kept thrustin' around. The worst part is that when he drinks too much, he doesn't get hard enough, or he goes limp almost immediately after penetration. I don't feel anything, and he is not able to come either. So then he always wants me to go on with my mouth. And then when he finally manages to come, he goes a grace of moving down between my legs.
Oh how much I hate it when in a minute or two his head resurfaces and he asks me with an urgent expression: „Now, is that enough, baby? I don't want your PH-balance to go nuts!”

On other nights I just nod in submission and I squeeze the blanket between my legs and try to fall asleep as soon as possible, but now I remembered how he made me tiptoe around the shore whilst he was showing off his fat, and it just slipped my mouth:
„No, it was not enough! I didn't feel anything! At least once in this lifetime you could satisfy me!”

He looked at me startled:
„By this you mean I'm not good enough in bed?” – he rose his tone like a hurt beast.
„Yup, exactly. All you care about is for you to get off as fast as you can and you don't give fucking shit about me feeling good. If you drink, you don't even stand up right, and you drink every single night.”
I was surprised myself too that these sentences would rip out of me.

He jumped off the bed as he started spattering:
„What, me not being good enough? Why don't you even say I'm impotent? Well, you should know then that it's you that makes me lose my interest, because you are like an icicle. I'm sure you're thinking of your loverboy again instead of paying attention to me.”
I couldn't help laughing as he was standing there, gesticulating wide that made his fat and his dick shake around vigorously.
„You laugh at me, you cunt?– he lunged at me. – Now I will beat you until you tell me whom you fuck yourself with, since you got such a big mouth.”

„Don't hurt Mommy!” – the kid quietly said from the doorway.
We grabbed the blankets in shame to cover ourselves.
„It's okay, darling! You know, sometimes adults play a little before bed too, just like children do” – I tried to calm him.
My husband wrapped the blanket around himself and walked out with a grave expression.

Now he sleeps in the guest bedroom.
I put my son next to me in bed and I whispered in his ears until he finally fell asleep, then I sneaked out here to write this.
I'm terribly scared. What will happen to us after this?

Finally she found the shirt and the home-worn shorts. Anita sat down to the computer and typed in the blog portal's address. Even though she has written a bunch of things since then, still she got the most responses to that night's story. Again she read through those ones first. Some people offered their sympathy, but there were also always the badmouth statements of what they would do with the blog owner if they could have a little time in two. She carefully deleted those latter ones. A commenter named Sangel alerted her. He wrote nothing ugly, but his entry was still scary:

In deathly nuptials, ore meets ore, and life acquits in mourning galore…

Anita tried to find some sense in the words, then she shrugged and deleted this comment too. She quickly read over the comments to all the other entries, then she started to write about the day's happenings.

*

He was waiting patiently at the edge of the woods. Sometimes he got out of the car and walked around to check there's no one else around. He was avoiding the area of the factory grounds so the security guard won't see him and start asking questions. When it gets dark he'll anyways move into the small office container and watch TV until midnight, until the next shift arrives. He will have plenty of time to do his thing.

He sat back into the van and turned the radio on. He knew exactly that the man's missing won't be in the news yet – most likely not even his woman is guessing that her husband won't come home anymore –, but still he was switching around the channels curiously. After he listened to the weather news too, he looked for some music, but then he decided against it and switched the radio off.

It would've been so much better to toss the body out in some park. There the dogs would've found it in just a few hours and he could already watch it in the evening news, listening to it with a pleased excitement, what crap they talk about him, whilst they have not a single idea of the great game. Now for this he will have to wait for days, because every single little detail has a greater meaning. He's hiding the corpse into the currently unused warehouse because of the message. It will take a day or two until the start to seriously look for the victim, until then he can comfortably get rid of any and every evidence so then he can manipulate the flow of things throughout the internet just as he wishes.

He took another walk around. When he was sure there's nobody around, he sneaked to the factory fence. It wasn't completely dark yet, but it was getting harder and harder to outline things.

The office container's window was blinking in a blue-ish color. He took the pliers from his pocket and started on the fence. The rusty cable netting gave up immediately. After two or three cuts he kicked into it, and that made it collapse on a good five feet.

He put the corpse bag on his shoulder and with heavy steps he stumbled to the hole. Should his victim had paid more attention to his figure, now he wouldn't have to spit his lungs out. He went around the warehouse next to the security office and headed towards the other building hiding in the dark. That's where they kept the dangerous waste materials, locked into rusty barrels.

He was surprised how the factory skipped the eye of the environmentalists. Maybe at some point he will write an anonymous letter to some green group, then the press will be all over them for weeks, and he can just make a wager with himself when they find his little hidden gift.

He found the rusty iron gates open, just as when he came to survey the place.
He recalled where he can find that barrel that got a hole in its side so the corrosive matter slowly leaked out from it. He had to stop a few steps away from the door because he couldn't see anything. He clicked on his flashlight. He shaded the light with his hand so it would only shine to right under his feet.

The barrel was at the very same spot as last time. He dropped his baggage to the floor and put on some acid-safe gloves. With the pliers he forced off the lid of the container. He grabbed the corpse and shoved it in, then leaned against the next container and marveled over his work.

Death Matrix – that's how he called the rhombus stood on its corner, where he split two neighboring sides in four. Four by four is sixteen. That's how many little rhomboids he got. He marked both sides with the Four Elements in a way that the bottom corner would become Earth-Earth and the top corner would be Fire-Fire. Whatever makes up life is the matter of death too. One box can be checked now. Slowly, slowly each little box will get filled. Right now, the order doesn't matter, the only thing sure is the end: the last box will be the Fire-Fire: step sixteen, the finish of the great labor, the Great Meeting.

As always when thinking of the TV woman, his crotch started tingling.

to be continued next Thursday

Nightmares

Her husband expected her to have the perfect body, and what did she get in exchange? A beer-belly, humiliation and a less and less performing manhood.

What would YOU do if you had to choose between the life of your untrue lover and the life of a complete stranger, and your choice was watched by millions of your fans LIVE?

NUPTIALS OF DEATH

If you didn't read the previous part, click here.

She's laying on a marble table in a giant hall. Her naked body is only covered in a white sheet. She may be burning from fever, still she couldn't warm the cold stone up under herself, her teeth are hurting from the constant chattering. She tries to move, but her arms and legs are tied. A male choir is humming in the distance. The ceiling is covered in a giant fresco in which the painter composed day and night, planets and stars into a single picture. That makes her feel like if she was in space.

Some quiet noises are heard. She lifts her head. Figures in white hoods arrive, their faces covered by scary masks. The singing gets louder, but the lyrics seem to be a nonsense jabber.
Suddenly all becomes dead silent.

One of the figures steps up to her. Under his mask a pair of eyes flares up with hatred. He's just staring at her, won't say a word. He's holding a golden bowl.
She starts to toss herself around, the rope biting into her flesh.
She feels a sharp pain in her wrist, her hot blood drizzles into the ice cold bowl.
– You can sacrifice me, it won't be a salvation for your sins, for I am a sinner too – she yells.

The man leans to her face as if he wanted to whisper her something, but he remains silent.
She already knows, he won't speak because she knows him. The scent of his deodorant suddenly hits her nose.
It's him!
She screams.
With a sudden move she knocks over the bowl half-filled with blood, it hits the ground with a loud thump.

The sound of the phone dropping to the floor was still echoing as Orsolya Manner came back from her dream. She was laying on the floor of the study, still in her clothes, the phone cord somehow got twisted onto her wrist. Her back was cold and her whole body was shivering, even though the sun shone through the window. She rubbed her eyes and looked on the clock. It was just past one. She feverishly tried to remember what happened last night - to no avail. She got up and looked around in her apartment. She was alone, the door carefully locked from the inside, with all three deadbolts. At least this time she didn't carry an unknown man with her.

It's been a year since the hostess of the tabloid magazine show Snapshots was kidnapped by her own boss and kept in inhuman conditions in an underground hole. János Márkus, the programming director of Channel Three, tried to take revenge on the unsuccessful television career and suicide of his only daughter in this way. His mind, falling to pieces after the loss of his child, made him think that the other show hosts, especially Orsolya Manner were responsible for barring her daughter of realizing her life-long dream of becoming the star of one of the most watched TV shows, Snapshots. But Melinda Márkus was just simply too tight for a show host. She may have known all she needed to know about the trade, she may have been radiantly intelligent and beautiful, it just didn't come through on screen. Orsi couldn't reach up to her in many means, but still, if her face turned up anywhere, she could glue millions of viewers to the screens.

Márkus has killed other women too before he could catch Orsi. Luckily the police and one of the editors from Channel Three traced her down so he didn't have enough time to finish off the kidnapped hostess. Máté Farkas lured him into a trap, and police sharpshooters killed him. In a few hours they found the lair where the hostess was hidden and she was freed.

Since then, Manner has had constant nightmares, reliving and reliving the time kidnapped. She has even tried drugs before it all happened, and after her rescue she got totally hooked. She knew she would need help, but a star can't show weakness, so she rather just locked herself into her home and every night she drank and stuffed pills into herself, but she would also shoot, sniff, smoke anything else possible if she could find a source that she thought to be untraceable. She wasn't afraid of harming herself, but she was panicked from being discovered.

She quickly took off the previous day's clothes and stood under the shower. She let the cold water run on her until the icy pain shook even the last frames of the nightmare away from her brain. Then she turned the water hot, and she laid down in the tub.

After her kidnapping, she moved the 1pm topic meeting to 3pm, claiming that she wasn't able to fall asleep until early in the morning, so she still had time to get herself together. From seven till seven-thirty she has to look like it's expected from the best known star of the country. And she met these expectations day by day, even though she felt it more and more often that the bottom of the hole is nearing, and from there she won't have a way back anymore.

She tried to put the phone together when she noticed that her computer was left on. So she again dozed off whilst surfing on the web. She didn't even dare to think whom she chatted with, and of what. She took a peek into her outbox, maybe there was a trace of what she did. She was relieved to see she didn't write any emails. That's when she pointed out a new message. The first part of the sender's email - mate.farkas – hid the name of the editor who saved her life at that time, and who became the editor-in-chief for Snapshots, but its second half was from a free email server that he has never used before.

She clicked the icon to read the message.

I need you, I want to meet tonight at midnight by the City Park Lake. You get me in deep trouble if you talk about it to anybody.
Máté.

Her stomach got tight. Máté Farkas knows it exactly that she's terrified by lonely places ever since she was kidnapped. Why would he still invite her to a night meeting behind the back of God? And in addition, the editor-in-chief has taken a week off and traveled out of the country. How did he get home?

She grabbed her cell phone and looked up Máté's secret number in her directory.
The number you dialed is currently unavailable.
She expected nothing else.

She quickly answered the email:

Why do you do this to me, you know how scared I am ever since...
She sent the letter without a signature. She glanced on her clock. She will be late again. She quickly turned off the computer, locked the door carefully and ran off.

*

Anita kicked off her heels right in the doorway and ran to the study barefoot to turn her computer on. After she filed the report, she excused herself by saying she had a debilitating headache. She felt she would go crazy if she couldn't check her blog. Whilst the antivirus was loading, she peeled off her uncomfortable business suit too. She stopped in front of the mirror for a second. Her thirty-five-year-old body was perfectly toned, her tummy flat as if she never had a child, her skin tanned. That's what her husband expected from her, and she did everything to live up to these expectations. She tormented herself every other day in the gym, in the weekends she was biking and rollerblading with the kid, she spent fortunes in salons and spas. And what did she get in exchange? A fattening body, a beer-belly of the size of pregnancy, constant alcohol-breath, a less and less performing manhood.

The bra was too tight, so she dropped that too. Her breasts, careful work of surgeons, were standing up nice and firm as in her teenage years, but now she was sorry for letting herself be talked into the painful procedure. True, her breasts sagged a bit from breastfeeding, but they remained full, round and smoothly swinging, and now they are like if they weren't hers, living their own life like two huge watermelons. Not even to mention the scars that remained. And she hated how the silicone pressed the veins to the surface of her skin.
Whilst she was looking for her worn T-shirt saying Be Cool that she wore for home, she remembered the minutes of rebellion.

At that point she has been blogging for weeks. It was the blog that changed her life. Even though she didn't even know what the word meant when on a girl party one of her girlfriends was explaining how awesome it is to keep a diary online.
– Hiding behind your anonymity, you can tell about even those things that you would never tell to those living near you – she was convincing the company. – Unlike a regular, old-fashioned diary, this one your partner will never find, so you can even share your sidetracks with others. And also, your readers will tell you what they think about you, and you can ask for advices too. Even though it's all unknown folks, you'll never be alone again.

Anita was nodding as if she liked the idea, but then she thought she would never be able to admit her secret desires, she would be ashamed to open up for complete strangers.

Then one night when she was really upset about an unfinished presentation, she snuck out of the matrimonial bedroom and into the study and turned on the computer. Work didn't want to flow, so she started to surf around for no particular reason until she somehow bumped into a blogging portal. She started reading others' diaries with growing interest. Around 2am she took the courage to put a few lines of a comment to one of them. She was surprised to see that within ten minutes there was an answer. They started a long discussion. It was dawning when they finished. The person convinced Anita to send them her email address in a private message. They have been mailing for days until the blogger finally convinced her to open her own blog.

At first nothing has changed, it was only the online friend commenting on her entries, but as she started to open up the miseries of her marital life with a more and more cruel honesty, more and more readers found her blog. In less than a month she had a pretty little community built up. Others told too how they suffer from their husbands, lovers, and Anita learned how to drop her taboos.

A blogger called Psychofairy was the first to encourage her not just to write about her pain but to do something against it.

That's when she revolted.
On a hot Sunday they went to take a bath at the lido. After they got bored of laying in the sun they went for a walk on the lakeside. First their son, then her, her husband last, smoking as he walked. She wanted to put on a dress, but Sanyi told her not to, just stay in her bikini bottoms and put on her little white top for it, and for his sake, wear her high heel sandals instead of the flip-flops.

She was wavering on the 4-inch heels as if she was on the catwalk. The men, of course, stared after her as if their heads were all connected on a line. She turned her eyes down and cursed herself for letting her husband get her into such a humiliating spot again. Her eight-year-old son was running to and fro happily. He didn't notice the hungry gazes or her mother's discomfort.

– Don't run around like that, you retard! – the father yelled at him. – You will end up trotting over some meathead's junk and I can go having a fight because of you.
– Now what is your problem? Why do you hurt Rómeó? – Anita turned back angrily.

That was the last drop in the glass.
Whilst she was marching around, putting her body into the shop window, her husband pulled his khaki muscle shirt over his beer-belly as if he wanted to show off all his fat. His jersey shorts slipped down to his hips, lit cigarette in one hand and opened beer in the other, he was trotting behind her in his worn-down cheapie flip-flops.

She felt like spitting on him.
Men weren't quite staring at her body, they were more mystified by how can such a beaten bum have a woman like her.
– You should just pull that shirt down on your belly rather than fucking with the kid! – she groaned at her husband who in turn slapped the back of her head. He called this maneuver a bitchslap, he learned it at the Army and found it amazingly funny.

Her hand was shaking from humiliation and anger as she rose it for a hit, but Sándor stopped it with an easy motion.
– Don't make an act here, baby, or you get another one! – he said with a stupid grin.
She started crying. She was just about to rise her knee in a desperate kick when the child said something.
– Are you playing now? Everybody is watching us!
Sándor held her arm even tighter.
– Yeah, retard, we're playing mom-and-dad – he answered Romi.

She just wanted to disappear in shame. She yanked her arm out and rushed ahead. The whole afternoon she didn't say a word to her husband who compensated himself with more and more beer.

On the way home Sándor cunningly started to mention what all he wants to buy for the kid. She answered with not much willingness. She didn't want Romi to be the one suffering from the parents' fight.

At night she could barely wait to sit down to write her blog, but first her husband had to go to bed. She just kept opening the beers for him so he would pass out faster, but Sándor sobered up completely from the dinner, and got all perked up. He was trying to be funny, treated her to cocktails, he seemed to be trying to make up for the afternoon slap. After the kid went to bed, he immediately tried to get his reward for all the kindness and started to pushily court her.