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

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

Aren't You Scared Of Revenge?

She can deal with most men single-handedly, but some make her more scared than an oppressed little girl
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 decision was watched by millions of your fans LIVE?

NUPTIALS OF DEATH

She couldn't check her blog for hours because her boss kept giving newer and newer tasks by the minute. She felt like as if the pile of papers on her desk would slowly bury her under. Luckily the director - as every single day - locked his door exactly at noon so he can eat his special lunch menu, prepared by his wife, protected from any curious eyes. All employees were guessing what may he be eating, but nobody ever dared to ask.
Anita knew it, but she never told the others. She used the breather to quickly type in her blog address. Before she would've actually pressed Enter, she looked around. She sadly realized that her team leader was heading right towards her. She closed the browser. The man stood behind her, not saying a word, but staring at her screen unconcealed. Anita faked indifference as she turned around:
– Géza, no offence, but the boss asked me to take this report confidentially.
– Really? – he yelped. The employees all rose their heads to the loud word, so he continued somewhat softer: – István never mentioned that you two got into some project together…
Anita typed on silently.
– Should I know about something? – the team lead squatted next to her, as if to win her confidence.
Anita looked over herself then she carefully rearranged her skirt, so he definitely won't see more than what he should.
– If you want to know more, ask him! But if it would concern you the least, he would've already let you know – she turned to him with a mysterious look on her face. He jumped up in anger:
– It can't hurt to remember that I'm your superior.
– Just as István is yours - Anita answered quickly. – And now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to continue…
The team lead hung around her desk for a few more seconds. He was visibly trying to think as hard as possible to find a riposte, but most likely nothing came to his mind, as he finally left with a long face.

As the man stepped out of the office, Anita's neighbor rolled her task chair around her desk to her.
– Now you really stepped into his soul – she said with honest admiration. – Aren't you scared of revenge?
– He's too much of a coward for that. You know how scared he is from the boss… – Anita pointed at the director's office.
– But he can do something behind István's back…
– Dare he try! – smiled Anita, and clawed the air with her carefully manicured artificial nails. – I'll scratch his eyes out!
– Anita, is the report ready? – the director asked from his doorway.
The women parted. Anita's stomach got an immediate cramp.
– Sure, I'll take it in in just a sec! – she whispered barely audible.
– Now that's top priority, don't let anyone hold you off!
So he was watching Géza interrogating her from behind his blinds.
– Ten minutes and it's there!
– I'll be waiting! – said the man and slammed the door behind himself.
Whilst her fingers ran over the keyboard faster than the wind, she kept thinking what may be the reason that whilst she can deal with most men single-handedly, some make her more scared than an oppressed little girl. And her husband literally hypnotizes her. He forces his will on her with such a strength, she serves him without asking as if she was not his wife but his chambermaid.
She got a sudden headache, just like every other time when she thought of her marriage.

He killed without a soul. He felt no joy, no sympathy, nothing. He imagined himself as an executioner who kills as a profession.
The victim stared at him with fear in his eyes in his last minutes, and tried to jump further away on the chair to which he was tied.
– If you get a new incarnation, in which I don't believe, treat those better who treat you good!
His words sounded like a verdict.
The man finally grasped that that was it. From his taped mouth, a scared gargle came up. Maybe he tried to ask something, or stand up for himself. It didn't matter anymore.
The executioner placed his metallic briefcase on the dirty table and opened the lid with a pleasing slowness. The victim couldn't see the tools inside, but the theatricality of the motion was even scarier than the sight of the torture tools. Just as lace lingerie is a lot more exciting than a naked body.
Suddenly the woman's picture rose in front of the executioner. Her wavy brown hair, her white teeth, her slightly slanting, cat-like green eyes.
The whore doesn't know it's all about her – this filled him with a sense of feel-good.
He hasn't killed in a year, and hasn't been with a woman for so long.
At that time, the TV slut almost cost him, so he retreated. He disappeared from sight, just to be able to plan the Big Meeting, where the hatefully adored woman will die, but from the union a higher level of existence will be born.
Just before they will play a little.
Then he underestimated his opponents, now he knows whom he's facing.
Their suspense grows weaker by the day, whilst every single minute, every one of his thoughts is preparations to the Big Meeting.
Sixteen steps. That's how far ahead he is. And when the time comes, he will tell everything to her, from the very day he has seen her picture online.
He will tell her how he found out everything about her with his computer, how he stalked her, how close she was to death when they met in her stairway.
Then he will tell also how he disappeared for a whole year after that bitch almost lead him into a trap, almost lead him into the hands of the downtown cops

By then she will be bleeding from a thousand wounds, and he will be telling about how he was planning the Big Meeting step by step, for over three hundred days.
Suddenly the man stopped whining.
They looked at each other.
His eyes betrayed the victim's intentions. His instincts lead his gaze onto his freshly freed right hand before he lunged over his captor with the chair. In his fall, his left hand also slid out of the loosened noose.
He managed to pull his executioner to the ground, but he couldn't stop him in grabbing an exacto knife from his metallic case.
The first cut slit the victim's stomach. The executioner jumped back in disgust from the blood. Whilst women's blood heightened the pleasure, men's blood just made him sick.
With the next move, he cut through the victim's throat. The man grabbed the wound and held his neck startled. His eyes popped out more and more, his face went blue. Then he stumbled back and didn't move any longer.
The executioner felt no victory, no sympathy, nothing. This was just the first step.