The Revenge

He is 34 years old and does not give signs of being a creepy character yet. He’s overweight, but often when he thinks of himself, especially when walking down the street, he thinks of himself as disgustingly fat. Fat and bald, although the lack of hair around his temples only highlights his big forehead, just as an accountant should look. Name?  Caesar. Like Gaius Julius Caesar the roman general and emperor.

 

Now half a year ago he had the misfortune of seeing how his wife was cheating on him. She does not know that he knows because he, for a while, has decided not to collect on the revenge yet or insult her with phrases like "bitch!", "slut!", or “whore!"  He continued his  accounting, adding   penny after penny  to his salary , honored  his  obligations to the treasury, and thus to the country while she, his wife,  came  home late every evening  giggling full of  what could only be the post coital glee ,

 

Just over three-four months after witnessing his cheating wife with her lover he came out of his shock. More specifically that was the day when he decided how to pursue his revenge. All he had to do was lure her and her lover in the basement , lock the door behind them and then conveniently loose the key .Nobody would know they were there , buried alive in the back yard of the villa , only 500 yards away from the house   but far away from any other evidence of civilization . He thought about this plan for some time now and every time he did, a freakish smile blossomed on his puffy, sweaty face.

 

He needed a reason to bring her in the basement so he thought about building a bar down there. The cellar was never used before and he went to work and installed a counter mounted on the wall with three thick glass shelves amid a mirror and surrounded by a string of little Christmas lights he found in the attic, left over from last winter for sure . In the front of the counter he installed two spindled chairs, as high as the bar shelf. And so that the cellar bar would show like a real bar, he lined up a first round of bottles, elegant, expensive and mean. Caesar knew this way she would come down and bring her lover anytime he was away.

 

Now Caesar sits perched with his massive body on one of the two seats. He holds his tinny glass between his chubby fingers and thinks of how many more things he’d have to put into place for the plan to pan out. He swirls a few drops of cognac around his gums and shivers with pleasure. He starts counting the Christmas lights. Bored he moves on to counting the bottles. Are eight bottles on the shelves? Plus eight of the mirror: sixteen. Bottles of different configurations, sizes and colors. Suddenly he frowns: What Eight? A! With the one on the counter - nine! But where is the tenth? Could it be that he drank it? No way, he allowed himself only one bottle. Yes, he has a glass every Saturday when he stops by, and counting his every indulgent sip is also an accountant way of life. Last combination he remembered setting up looked like this: three bottles on the top shelf, three on the middle shelf, and three on the bottom shelf seated at a normal distance from one another. Now on the shelf are only two bottles. Missing just one in the middle. How about this? He thinks of all sorts of nonsense - ghosts, leprechauns, octopus starting to feel his spine behave like a bent antenna. He suddenly feels very alone in the cellar. Too quiet, too much cold comes from the two niches in the back, too deep the silence beneath the counter. And the gap between the two bottles on the shelf at the bottom now seems huge. After several minutes of awareness he decides to leave.

His body feels more massive and more solid climbing the stairs back up, then pushing the heavy metal door , breathing heavy  more out of panic than the  supra effort of climbing those sixteen steps to the door upstairs. The door remains immobile however as cold sweat beads appear on his brow. He tries pushing it again but the heavy metal door is sealed shut, just like the entrance to a crypt.

 

Peeking through the tinny window next to the door and aimed towards the villa he sees his wife and her lover walking away from the basement and approaching the cottage. She’s wearing jeans and a coat coming down to her knees, with a black hat on her head and a yellow handkerchief around her neck. Her lover seems agitated, dressed in a thin jacket; they approach the back door where he’s holding the door open now for her . They disappear inside without even a look towards the back yard.

 

Cesar walks back down to the bottom of the stairs, looks around the cellar and a sinister feeling comes over him...

 



Comments:
 
StarPoet   StarPoet wrote
on 11/4/2008 3:54:22 AM
Great short read! You show here that revenge is sometimes cruel to the victim AND the planner of it. Though in this case, it came back and kicked him in the a**! Great work here!

atlantis
Short Story
Mystery
writing atlantis
Sometimes it feels good not having to explain
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