Suspense Magazine November 2012

to be kidding me! Jason is nine-years-old! Does he even
understand that Who gets down on the floor and plays with
legos with him Who reads him stories”
“I do,” Rhonda said. “But Jason tries to understand. He
will sit still for hours and listen to Ian talk.”
“Because that’s the only time he has with him. Children
take what they can get.”
Just then, Jason came up, arms full of the ever patient
Terry, who let him lug her around the yard without a protest.
He put her down, and pointed at some dried leaves in a box
on the table where his mother and Regell were sitting.
“Those look weird. What are they”
Regell laughed, “That, little love, is Phyfoxia. An
interesting little herb. The ancients said that it was good for
curing bad dreams, and that it is strong enough to call forth
the dead from their graves.”
“Wow!” Jason exclaimed. “Would they be all gross and
slimy like in movies”
“I don’t know,” Regell said, smiling indulgently. “It’s just
an ancient story. I wouldn’t think so, though. Phyfoxia is such
a beautiful herb. I think it could only bring forth beauty.”
Jason looked confused. She smiled and tousled his hair.
“It’s also good for tummy aches and colds. I can see that
you’re getting a bit of a cold. Put it in your pocket and tell me
if it helps.”
Jason was pocketing the herb when Ian drove up. He
got out of his Lexus, and seeing the trio on Regell’s patio,
seemed to become immediately incensed. He marched over,
and yanked Rhonda out of the chair, his grip so hard that it
felt like his fingers were cutting into her flesh.
“Get my son away from that witch!” he snarled. “What
did I tell you”
“Jason, go in the house. Now,” Rhonda said, her voice
trembling with anger. Jason, looking frightened, quickly
obeyed.
“Get your hands off her,” Regell said, her voice steely. “Or
I will call the police.”
“You can’t do that, you crazy hippie, she’s my wife!” Ian
insisted.
“I can do what I like in my own yard, Ian. From the way
you just grabbed her, she’ll likely have a bruise. In this state,
that’s assault. How would that look to the university”
Foul language began to spew out of Ian’s mouth, but he
let go of his hold on Rhonda’s arm.
“Your kind disgust me!” he snarled.
“No more than your kind disgust me,” Regell said.
Rhonda watched the exchange in shock and anger. She
had known Ian didn’t like Regell, but had never known it to
be this virulent.
“You think you can fill my wife with your lesbian, manhating
ways” Ian charged, “Well, you won’t! She knows
better.”
Again, Regell laughed, “She knows…enough.” Her eyes
fell upon Rhonda, and the gaze was not contemptuous, but
kind. “Don’t you, my dear”
Then the gaze hardened as it returned to Ian, who looked
more than irate, furiously angry. Angry enough to kill.
“And now, you little man, are on my property, and even
the soil protests it. Take your hypocrisy elsewhere.”
“Hypocrisy I don’t grow weed and God knows what else
for my drugged-out friends…” Ian started.
“No, but you did, in the first two months I lived here,
pester me constantly to have sex with you. Oh, has your
memory failed I don’t hate men, Ian. I just hate men like
you.”
“Rhonda! Now!” Ian roared.
Rhonda shook her head, “Ian…did you My God, she’s
our neighbor…how could you”
“Don’t tell me you believe her!”
Ian’s face was bright red, any handsome or charming part
of it mottled by his fury.
“Yes,” Rhonda said, her heart feeling dull and dead. “Yes,
Ian. I do.”
Three days later, they hadn’t spoken except for the most
necessary comments. She’d gone to the guest bedroom. The
silence was cutting. She’d gone out to the library to get some
books for herself and Jason. She found nothing she liked and
decided against shopping for school clothes for him. She told
Ian she’d be back at five that evening. She got home at three.
She wasn’t surprised, really, to find him at home. In his study,
with his latest mistress, a sophomore from the university.
He didn’t look surprised when she saw them. He looked
defiant. The girl got hurriedly dressed and left the house.
Rhonda waited until she was gone and told him that she and
Jason would be leaving as soon as school got out. One week.
And this time, it would be permanent.
The sleepiness again threatened to overwhelm her, the dark
like an old friend. Rhonda started to give into it. But then, she
heard a voice. Someone calling her.
Jason.
She tried to speak, but no words with come out. She
struggled to call back to him, and tried to sit up. Her head
bumped the top of the place where she was, and she lay back
down. She reached out to the sides of the place, and wasn’t
surprised when her hands touched the sides. Then, she knew.
This wasn’t a room. Not even a place. She was in a casket.
Somehow, she was in a casket. Had she been buried alive
One last memory flowed in front of her. It was the last
one she’d had. This morning or some morning, recently.
She’d been sitting at the table, drinking out of one of a pair
of matching mugs that she and Ian had gotten for a wedding
gift. They liked to drink hot tea out of them, because the mugs
kept the tea’s temperature well. In twelve years of marriage, it
was the only thing that they still shared.
Ian was coming into the kitchen. Rhonda watched. He’d
brought his mug to the table and sat across from her.
64 Suspense Magazine November 2012 / Vol. 040