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