53 comments/ 73152 views/ 32 favorites I Took The Long Way Home By: chilleywilley Of course I am writing all of this after the fact so I am skipping that which I deem mundane, and focusing on what, in hindsight, was especially critical. So forgive me if I don't babble on about my childhood, pleasant suppers, lover's spats, my wife's sexual attributes, or languid lovemaking. Our marriage has settled into the long run phase, where we were both working to build a nest egg, and children were in the planning stage. The first inkling I had of trouble was just enough to set me worrying. It was a Thursday afternoon, and I had spent the week rebuilding an incinerator drive at a wastewater plant in North Jersey. I was coming home right on time. The wife had called me a little after three to see when I expected to be home. This was a normal thing; often I can't leave the job site promptly, or traffic is a problem. Unfortunately I had a horrible connection, so I called her back using hands free voice dialing which was her work number. She had left for the afternoon! Meanwhile she was calling me back, so I picked up. "Chris, are you all right?" "Ahh, this is a better line. I'm fine. I just left the job site and I'm about two and a half hours out. Can you think of anything I need to bring home?" "No, just yourself, love...well pick up some corn and tomatoes at the produce stand.. See you when you get here, and have dinner ready." I was spot on, arriving within a couple of minutes of the ETA, walked in the door, and hung my wind breaker in the hall closet. Wife called to me from up stairs, and I hollered hello back. Now I don't mean to come off as a crank, but there are only a few wooden coat hangers in that closet, and I always use one of them for my coat. At the moment it was occupied by a very expensive wool sport coat. I tried it on, and it fit fine, perhaps a little short in the sleeves, but certainly OK if I wore cuff links. Patting it down, the pockets were filled with stuff, business cards, receipts, and such. Apparently someone named Robert Campbell bought something at the Rite Aid drugstore here in the city, at 3:12 that afternoon. I hung it back on the hanger and closed the door. Oh well, I would soon know what's what. Wifey came tripping down the stairs wearing nothing but a house dress, barefoot, her unfettered breasts jiggling, still damp from a shower; we kissed hello. If you think she meant to be erotic, you're not married. Woman's underwear is not especially comfortable, and my wife doesn't wear any in the house unless she expects company, or plans on going out, so she meant nothing by dressing down. I thought she looked erotic, but then I think she's hot whatever she wears. "So, have you been home long?" "Nope, beat you in by ten minutes. I had a rough day, and I'm glad to be sitting in my own living room. Let me put the corn away, well have it tomorros,,,I know I said I was going to cook, but I didn't shop, so I ordered Chinese...it should be here in a half an hour. You don't mind, do you?" If I wanted to be a pain, I would have asked her who else's living room had she been sitting in, but it irritates people when you listen to what they say, as opposed to what they mean. I flopped in a chair: "No, Chinese is fine. So you slaved at your office all afternoon right up to closing?" She waved a hand as she said. "Yeah, I told you. I was working on the new advertising copy for a line of bath accessories. Frankly they're total crap, but they're China cheap, and look good at a glance. Nothing I'd give house room to." I ignored the possible/probable lie about her whereabouts in late afternoon. We chatted a bit, until the food arrived. I paid off the lad, and we sat down to seafood fried rice without the soy sauce which overwhelms the sea food taste, steamed dumplings, crispy Singapore noodles, and crispy shrimp and scallops. I poured some more tea, and announced; "Well, I probably should call the police, and tell them we've been broken into. I even think I know who did it." She looked startled. "What! My God! What do you mean!" "Well its simple, Karen. The thief got careless, most of them aren't too bright, you know. He left his sport coat in the closet. His name is Campbell. I suppose the police will have no trouble finding him." "Oh, that sport coat. It belongs to Bob Campbell. I brought it home from the office. I have to take it back tomorrow." I said nothing for a while, which usually makes people nervous, and gets them babbling. It didn't work on Karen this time, so I broke the silence: "Oh! I assumed he was here. So why are you carrying his coat back and forth?" She was getting irritated, "Well, he left it in my office." "So... you expected some one on the cleaning staff would steal it rather then a laptop, or something that they could resell for a reasonable amount of money?" "Chris, why are you grilling me on this!?" "Sorry. It's just that while your explanation is possible, it's a bit...odd. Why would you bring someone's sport coat home for...for what, safe keeping? Only to return it the next morning? Really! Do you recall Ockham's razor? That the simplest explanation that fits the observations is likely the true one? There's a much simpler explanation, but as you are my wife, I choose to accept your word that you were at the office all afternoon until 5 PM, so we can forget the simple explanation." "I told you the truth, except I wasn't getting anything done in the office, so Jen, Howard and I snuck out to a coffee shop, and worked there for the balance of the afternoon. So all right, I'll bite. What's the simple explanation?" "You and Mr. Campbell left work about 2:50 and came here. As he planned to stay a while, he hung his coat in the closet. You called me to check that I was well away from here...that the coast was clear, so to speak. He left sometime later, forgetting the coat. I suppose you were collaborating on Sudoku puzzles, or some such." Her face was drawn. "You're accusing me of cheating, aren't you!" "No, I'm accusing you of not telling the truth. I don't know the truth, but I think I know lying when I hear it. How do you think a receipt time stamped 3:12 from Rite aid got in the coat pocket?" "Let me see it." I handed it to her. "On the date stamp, for the month it's an eight, not a nine, so it was last month's receipt. So apologize!" Handing the receipt back. I looked again. "Well it's ambiguous, either an 8 or a 9. Sorry for that. As to your explanation, I said I accepted your word for what happened, and I meant it. You asked me to tell you the simple, least ridiculous explanation, and the one I mentioned would occur to anyone who didn't trust you as I do. That's all." I got a loving smile "I'm glad. I love you, I'm not cheating. What I told you is the truth." That night, I got a reassurance fuck, which didn't serve her purpose of reassuring me. A better story would be he left it at the coffee shop where they were working, but she couldn't say that as she had said previously said he left it in her office. I can guess what might have happened, but I don't really know what happened, and if I did, I'd have had to act on that knowledge. And let's face it; I don't want it to be true. That night, out of the dozing darkness: Wife: Damn that was fucking close. That idiot Campbell would forget his father's name...Ha! Assuming he ever knew it to begin with. He does his best work with the little head...in an affair, carelessness is dangerous, and he's careless. Why keep that fucking receipt in the first place. Hmmh good thing it didn't say condoms...I bet he never looked at it, just stuffed it in his pocket. It was fun, but I think it's pretty much over. Chris nailed it. I got lucky and lied my way out, so I got the benefit of the doubt. Can't play that card again." "Chris, I am not having an affair with Bob, I want you to know that, but it's nice to know that you get jealous." "Some things, like you, I don't share well at all well..." I lay there bringing my thoughts together. "Karen, I married you for life. I expect you to have my children and to grow old with you. I believe that's what you want, too. But, if you should ever change your mind...decide I'm not the one for you, do us both a favor, get a divorce ASAP. It would hurt me, but no doubt I will eventually find someone else, and get on with my life. I'm OK with that. We all make mistakes. It's just a matter of admitting that we have irreconcilable differences. But please, please, don't have an affair and expect to stay married to me, or have an affair as a trial run for your post divorce freedom. I don't think I could handle that very well, nor feel kindly toward the boy friend. Am I clear on that?" "Chris, I feel the same way." "Good. Then consider the matter closed. I love you, my dear, go to sleep." Husband: Other than the sport coat, our life seemed normal, so far as I could recall, nothing jumped out and I was looking, now. My business was doing really well, I kept two crews busy, but It meant I had to work with them much of the time, so I was traveling more than I did in our salad days (to use a phrase by which my mom meant too poor to put meat on the table.) Life seemed much the same as before, maybe a bit better in the sex department. It was a month or so later, I was supervising both of my crews, rebuilding some equipment at a paper mill in up state New York. The whole place was shut down for the annual turn around, and we had a bonus coming for early completion, so we worked through second shift two nights running. We gave them the OK to start heating the furnace at 11 PM. It took a while to clean and pack our tools, take a quick shower in the change room and left the plant about 1 AM, a day early. I crashed at the motel for 6 hours of sleep, overslept a bit, and by 9:30 was on the way home. I was looking forward to a leisurely drive from Wellsville New York, down to Philadelphia. The route would take me through some of the prettiest countryside the USA has to offer. Some people play golf to relax, some listen to music, I like to drive on country roads. Upstate New York had two boom periods. The first occurred after the revolution when indian farms were taken by whites and continued through the time the Erie canal was built and lasted until the Civil War. This was a farming boom and it coincided with the Greek revival period in American life, and towns founded during this period had names such as Homer, Marathon, Ithaca, Syracuse, all ancient Greek names, and the farm houses were updated with square columns on the corner, and such to match. The crash came when the railroads went through, and could bring mid west produce to the east coast cheaper than it could be grown in central New York. The second boom came in the early 1900's, this time industrial. It started when Niagara Falls began to produce unheard of amounts of cheap electricity. The cities blossomed with Beau arts and art Nouveau styles mostly in civic buildings. That lasted through the 1950's. Now the area molders, with Greek revival buildings slowly rotting away, and 1890 buildings proudly with the name The Corn Bank, or Farmers Bank in terracotta, sitting vacant. Still the land is gorgeous. Most of the time I have to drive on interstates, which is work. But... to take back roads, where you never know what's around the bend, mellows me out. I followed the Susquehanna on State Route 706 which paved over the footprints left by Indian trails, gorgeous! Below Towanda, I stopped to see French Azilum, where the supporters of the French monarchy built a small village in 1793 for Marie Antoinette and other royals to take shelter in when she escaped the French Revolution. Unfortunately, she didn't escape the revolution, the guillotine got her first, and time got most of what the French Loyalists built. I drove in, and paid the token fee, and pocketed the receipt from the very bored lad at the entrance. Unfortunately it contained pretty much nothing. A nice walk along the Susquehanna River, to view a foundation or two of the 1790 buildings, and some nice Greek Revival buildings built 25-50 years later, but the day was a little cold, so was glad to get back to my car to finish the drove through the park until I found a track that took me back to the road, I continued on my way to home. I got in about 2 PM, and had to drive past my apartment and around the corner, to find a parking space. No parking places in front of the house, which is a bit unusual on a Thursday afternoon. I was dog tired, and left my stuff in the trunk, went into the house, peed, got a drink of water, and decided to take a nap, so as to be able to be a manly man when Wifey came home about 5PM. I didn't even take my shoes off, just laid on my back, on top of the bedspread, hands folded like a corpse. I awoke with a start some time later, when I heard noises in the living room. All was quiet, but something had woken me, I had been asleep for about an hour. There, the murmur of voices. Who the hell was in the living room? Too early for Wifey. I walked quietly down the carpeted hall, past the front door, and looked in the living room, expecting to see a crack head, and instead saw some punter fucking my wife! Missionary position, him sucking her face. Now I'm not normally a violent person. I have never hit anyone since I was 15 years old, but this, this pissed me off. I picked up a walnut foot stool my uncle made, flipped it over, and, just as the fucker picked his head up, eyes closed, thrusting his pelvis into my wife's and muttered "Ahh love your cunt!" I brought it down on his head with all my might. There was a hollow 'ploonk' sound, followed by a squishy crunch, as his head was driven violently downward, head butting Wifey's nose and cheek. She screamed, he went limp and his head slid towards the inside of the sofa, I saw with horror her nose crushed, a torrent of blood started to pour out of her nose, he was draped over her, still as the dead. What the fuck have I done! I was horrified at what I had done, call me a wuss, a coward, but I was scared. Oh shit, I think I killed the bastard! And Wifey's nose was gone, plastered flat, with blood pouring all over the white sofa, she was struggling and hollering trying to get out from under the bastard's dead weight. I set the footstool down, and panicked. I ran! He's dead! I've killed him! Consensual sex does not merit the death penalty! I quietly headed out the door, down the steps glancing around to see if anyone was looking. Around the corner, willing myself to walk casually half a block down the street to where I parked my car. Shit, I'd best hide my tracks, and pretend to come back at 5:00, closer to my usual time. Sitting in the car for a moment, think, now, let's not be hasty. I am reasonably sure no one saw me come or go. Good. Chances are the cops won't look too hard, and if they do, chances are no one will remember if they did see me. Jesus, I need an alibi for about two hours. I drove back up to Lansdale, about an hour out of the city, and sat in Seattle's Finest coffee shop. I told the girl behind the counter a joke, hoping she might remember me, and noted he name was Zoe. Unusual enough to be legitimately memorable. I thought that I probably would be justified in killing him...a crime of passion and all, but I'm no lawyer, so it's better if I stay out of the violent bit. I enjoyed a coffee and a 430 calorie scone, putting the $4.86 receipt in my wallet, thus documenting that I was there at 3:45PM and probably for some time there after. When the coffee was cold, I dumped the dregs, took a piss, and headed home. Wife: I've been pissed at hubby for a long time, you know? Spending so much time on the road. Three nights out of five, I'm home alone. Him taking me for granted. I have to tell him we're going out for dinner, I have to drag him to a concert. He never volunteers or suggests we do anything. I sometimes wonder if he wants to be seen with me. We've been married for three years, and it seems like, you know, thirty? I married for companionship, and Robert Campbell, who is a nice guy, a traffic manager at work, is good company. We were joking and flirting harmlessly for a few months, and then, maybe not so harmlessly. Anyway, we started an affair about two months ago. The second time we did it in our place, he fucking leaves his coat in my house, with the fucking receipt for the condoms! That was a close one! Fucking him's been fun, but now the bloom is off the roses. I'm starting to notice more and more things he does that annoy me. For the last few weeks Robert bitched about the cost of a motel. I wouldn't do it in the office, you know, too many people about at all hours. Can't use his house, His wife is home with the kids, plus it's ways outside the city, so like a fool, we've been using my apartment, I'm very careful, but it's dangerous. I knew Hubbie would be out of town this week, and like I say, I'm having second thoughts about fucking Robert. My husband's suspicious, and the thrill of the sex with Robert is mostly gone, I mean it's OK, but the earth doesn't move, or anything. I put Rob off last week, but agreed to do it this week, as part of my plan to ease out of this affair. We snuck out of work early again about mid afternoon. We each took our own cars, and arrived together. I don't like to do that, it's too obvious, too dangerous, and we have a noisy neighbor in Mrs. Abdul, next door. Robert and I started stripping before the door closed, and headed for the couch, god I was hot as a pistol! My period's due in a day or two, so that must be it. I folded the afghan in thirds, and laid it in the middle of my new white couch. I didn't want to explain pecker tracks and pussy drops to Hubbie, or anyone else, for that matter. Yeah we use condoms, but afterwards, when we're snuggling, sometimes they fall off, you know. Of course, I really needn't have bothered, he doesn't see the dirt around the place, but I do. Robert was starting to do the foreplay shit, but I had been thinking about fucking him since last week, and you know? I was twiddling my twat while I drove home from the office. I was ready! He was licking me from ass to clit, and with each swipe, I shuddered with pleasure. Higher and higher I got. I felt his tongue poking into my ass, and that was such a nasty thing to do. When he reached up and pinched my nipples at the same time he rubbed my clit with his nose, and tongue fucking my cunt, can you believe it? His breath on my clit setoff a lovely orgasm emmm mhh. I pulled his head up from my cunt, and said: "Fuck me now, and do it rough, my Studley friend!" I pulled my legs up to give him maximum penetration, and lifted to help him hit my g spot, and he slid in between them. It felt magnificent, his cock plowing in, bottoming out, I squeezed as he withdrew, my cunt milking his cock, and oh god, the plunge! There's nothing like a cock driving in to just knock the womb! "Oh fuck me, fuck me hard!" Just as I was soaring up to a second, really grand orgasm, with no warning, the bastard smashed me in the face, and such pain as filled my consciousness, you can't believe! I screamed at the shock and at the fucking pain! Blood poured out. All over everything. Jesus! "Get off me you crazy fucker, son of a bitch, cock sucking Asshole! Oh Christ it hurts! Off. Christ fucking Jesus what kind of nut job are you?" I finally twisted my hips while I pushed at his head, and the sack of shit slid off of me and with a clump hit the floor. I staggered to my feet, and grabbed his shirt to catch the blood as it poured out of my face. In a panic I looked around to see if he had been, like, shot or something, but all was quiet. What the Fuck happened? I stumbled into the bathroom, and wiped some of the gore off, but blood just poured out of what was left of my nose. Shit look at my nose! It was crushed flat! I started to feel sick to my stomach, I gagged once or twice, from blood running down my throat. I realized I couldn't stay here. I wrapped a towel around my neck and face, to catch the blood, went back into the living room and got dressed as best I could. Robert was starting to get up. Through the fucking veil of agony, I hollered: I Took The Long Way Home "Crazy Fucking Bastard, look at the Fucking Mess! Dude, what the fuck did you think you were doing?" He looked stupid, like a god damn cow, not comprehending what he did, so I kicked him in the crotch, twice and he fell back down. "Clean this mess up, you sick bastard! I'm going to the hospital, and I'll deal with you later! If my husband catches you here he'll kill your sorry ass." He wouldn't be home till tomorrow, late tonight at the very earliest, but anything to hurry the bastard along. I should have called an ambulance, I really should have. Like, I could barely see straight? I got into my car, and headed out. The pain was not so bad now, but I was thirsty, feeling queezy, going in and out of shock, I so fucking should not be driving. What am I going to tell the hospital? Fuck the hospital, what am I going to tell Hubbie? I walked into a door? I don't think so. God I feel like I'm going to the sick. I parked in the lot nearest the emergency room, and staggered towards the doors. Some black guy coming out saw me, grabbed a wheel chair and ran to get me before I collapsed. I had some difficulty telling the nurse at the desk that I had been assaulted, which I was by that sick bastard. But no, lady, not by this nice man! He met me staggering towards the emergence room door. God how was I to know Bob was a psychopath? I just wanted to have a little fun and companionship, you know? Christ, my face will be ruined! I was bleeding on the floor, and everywhere else as they shifted me to a gurney and wheeled me into the working area. They quickly checked for broken bones, as nurses stripped me naked in a in a very professional way, right there on the gurney, got me into a gown, while I heard them paging some doctor. A woman about 15 years older than me leaned over "You'll be OK, Hon, You're lucky! Dr. Sullivan is on duty today. He's the best plastic surgeon in the State." "Definitely my lucky goddamn day, and to think I didn't know it...until just now." I murmered. I didn't even think of calling people to tell anyone where I was....These hospital people kept asking me questions, Shit, shit, shit. I was answering questions, and had no Idea what I was saying. Like, was I really saying? Shit, shit, shit?...Needles in my hand and arm, and it was all a blur, this one and that one coming around, asking me this and that... and then nothing. Nothing at all. Had I been conscious, I might have thought this was death, but I wasn't aware of a thing. Husband After a few minutes at the coffee shop, they got really busy, and I unobtrusively got into the car, and headed back to the house. I lucked out and got a space right in front. Gracie Abdul, my neighbor greeted me, as she raked her postage stamp lawn, and I told her how lovely New York state had been (practicing lying abut my whereabouts I suppose), and went into the apartment. It was an abattoir! My stomach heaved, but I caught it and swallowed, the stomach acid burning my throat, and made it to the kitchen sink and barfed there. No dead body about, so I must not have killed Campbell. Blood was all over the couch, the rug, the bathroom floor, footprints here and there, I wiped the two legs of the footstool that I had touched, and turned it around so the clean legs faced the wall, and called 911 on my cell. I told the police I just got home, and there was blood all over the apartment, and I had no idea where my wife was. They told me to wait outside, so I did. Mrs. Abdul was still there, I had only been in the house a couple of minutes, so I told her what I saw in there. She was horrified, "My gosh, I never heard a thing! Some crazy person, must be that methtronome stuff you read about that's moving into the neighborhoods. Gotta look out for one another, like in the old days! You and me will make the evening news. We'll be on channel 6!" "You tell 'em for me, Gracie, I don't mind if you say something, but me, I'm not going to say a word." It would be all over the neighborhood in an hour or so, and probably Philadelphia in two hours. It was gratifying how fast the cops came. Our taxes in action. And still more cops came, until there were four cars in the street. I told this one and that one what I knew, until a rather beefy black detective, with hands the size of meat platters asked me to come to the station and give a formal statement. He spoke with a pure South Philly accent. "Whatever will help, officer, but at this point I have to call my mother. She'll hear about this on the grapevine, and kill me for not telling her first. "OK pal, do whacha gotta do. Get inta the car, an' talk to her on the way." Not a request. It wasn't at all like the movies. Wouldn't you know, mother wasn't home, I just left a message saying I called with important news, and would call a bit later that evening. These cops talked like bad news journalists, obviously reading from a memorized script, careful to say exactly what procedure dictated they should say. We went into an office where they read me my rights. Yes, I waved my right to an attorney, and the questions started. Nothing much I could tell them, I had been gone all week. Where was I that afternoon? Well, I had most of my receipts in my brief case in my car, some in my wallet, among others, I had a lunch receipt from a mom and pop restaurant in New York state, the French Azilum admission receipt, where I told them I spent about a hour and a half walking along the river, and the Seattle Coffee receipt at 4 PM, where I sat and checked my e mail for 15-20 minutes, mentioning the barista Zoe, and then drove about an hour to home, and made my call to the cops. If you've never heard of French Azilum, you're in good company, they never heard of the place either, I had to spell it for them despite the fact that it was on the receipt. Finally they photographed and fingerprinted me and let me go, telling me my apartment was a crime scene, so I couldn't go in. And oh, by the way, Wifey had been assaulted, not in mortal danger, and was at Jefferson Hospital! I was really delighted that she was sort of OK, really I was. Like I said, the penalty in civilized countries for what she'd been doing is divorce, not death. I bitched to them that they had kept me there when the wife was in real trouble and needed me, and got a ride back to the house with some patrol woman to pick up my car. The excitement was nearly over, only one police car; the other three had been replaced by a white police van. The police woman told me that I could probably go in the house by 10 or 11PM. I told her I had a spare key, so would they lock up when they were done and drop it in the mail slot? I headed over to the hospital, returning the numerous calls that her mother, sister and some aunts left on my cell. Pandemonium among thes, I must say. I'm surprised I didn't hear them pealing rubber over on Pearl Street where they all live, as they rushed to the hospital. I did call my mom at that point to give her such details as I could, but as she lives 500 miles away, she could be cool and objective. Plus I really didn't know anything about her condition, other than it wasn't fatal. Well, I thought I probably didn't kill the Punter either, as Wifey couldn't have moved the body far, and as the police had no idea who he was. I felt a little better. When I got to the waiting room I held thes off until I checked in with the desk. The elderly volunteer told me Wifey was still in surgery, beyond that, nobody knew nothing! The in-laws were sitting around watching TV with their usual empty minds, and I told them the lurid details of the apartment filled with blood, with bloody footprints of a man's and woman's bare feet. My sister in law's husband Dannie came in waiting room the middle of all this, heard the end of the story, and demanded to know: "Where were you during this time, Huh? I mean you got'ta have some sort of alibi, don't 'chew?" I wondered for an instant if the dumb shit was implying I might have done this, but remembered never to ascribe to malice, what could as well be stupidity. I wouldn't really call him stupid, but there's a reason he's never driven a car with a standard transmission. I told him the police had asked me that same question, and gave him the short answer. He seemed satisfied. Mother shook me awake at 11 PM, to say wife was out intensive care, and we could take turns staying with her in the post operation recovery room. I went in first, and sat down to think, had no coherent thoughts. She was out of it, more or less incoherent. After a bit, mother-in-law barged ignoring the nurses rules Wife The pain came for me from out of the darkness, but then drifted some distance away, almost as if it belonged to someone else. My mind was floating with it, and as the world began to assert itself in my consciousness, the pain came closer. There were people there, strangers and my Mom, and they were asking me questions I couldn't quite understand. The nurse said, "She's fine. She's coming out of the anesthetic, but it'll be an hour or two until she's really with it." "Horrible, just horrible", mom was muttering. "Why did you let a crazy stranger in the door? Or did you leave the door open? She should have known not to open her door to some crazy stranger." Husband I heard what Mother was muttering, and I said with confidence: "No doubt he left lots of DNA evidence about, so he will eventually be caught." I was thinking that the wife's injuries, and the suspicion that Campbell was the willing cause would salve the wounds she gave me. Wifey groaned half awake and said everything hurt, and sent her mother to get the nurse to give her some pain medication. She needed water, so I gave her a sponge lollypop with ice water, which was all she was allowed. The nurse said she was still under the anesthetic and wouldn't remember any of it. They would give her painkillers when they could, and politely suggested we leave. I accepted Mother's offer of a bed in her spare room as I wasn't sure the cops would let me in my house. I was taking a piss, while on the other side of the wall, She started loading Wifey's clothes, towel and what not into the washer. She called me when she observed that the blood was on the inside of her underwear, not just on the outside. I, of course already knew that, but now could acknowledge that Wifey probably had her clothes off when the blood began to flow. I telephoned the duty nurse on her floor to tell her Wifey should be considered a rape victim, but they must have seen the same thing and already collected evidence. We got to the hospital the next morning, as the police were leaving. They told me Wifey gave them a statement, and I could go back to the apartment anytime. I told them about the underwear, and one of them wrote it down. Wifey looked a mess. Two black eyes, huge bruises on her cheeks reaching back to her ears and down her neck, and gauze everywhere, I think as much for cosmetic reasons as wound dressing. I never realized that bruising, bleeding under the skin could flow like that. And it really bothered me that I did it to her. I really wish I had just pitched a verbal fit or something, this was just wrong, and I couldn't fess up now. Emmh! She really looked awful, she really did. I stopped to talk with the nurses, while her mother bee-lined in there past me, and started in with the thousand question routine, what happened, did she know who did this? Wifey claimed an unknown assailant attacked her, raped her, and hit her in the face, stunning her. Presumably he then ran away. That changed my public attitude. If she had admitted to having a lover, I could give her the cold shoulder, but rape made her the victim, and so I needed to be seen as supportive. For all I knew, while it didn't look like rape, maybe it was, I just saw them at it for a few seconds. I assumed it was Robert Campbell, but I had never met him, so I really didn't know who it was. I called her sister's husband, Dannie the Dumb (No, I didn't call him that to his face) to see if he could help me clean the place up that afternoon. We agreed to meet at 4PM. I wanted thes to see the apartment bloody footprints and all. I called Wifey's employer, and talked to her boss's secretary Kathryn, who I knew, not really well, but certainly better than anyone else in the place. We had chatted a bit at a couple of the company parties. I told her Wifey was assaulted, and took a big blow to the face, and was under going reconstructive surgery. As a guess would probably be out for at least a week or two. I then asked when she left work yesterday. "Gee, I don't know as I noticed, really." "Get real, Kath, you can see her desk without lifting your lovely bum from the chair." "Well maybe about 2 PM or a little after." "Did anyone else leave around then?" A long pause. "It's a criminal matter, the police will be asking as well. Her nose cartilage and cheek bone are broken. They say most assaults are by someone known to the victim." Kathryn offered: "Well I can't imagine it is related, but Bob Campbell did leave about the same time, but surely he wouldn't do such a thing. I mean he and your wife are friends... co workers. You know! I've known him for years, too!" Oh yes, friends. I told her I would keep her informed. I know most of Wifey's co workers names, but haven't met a lot of them. I knew his name because he belonged to the sport coat, but couldn't recall if I had met him. Other than the coat incident. I don't think she ever mentioned him to me. So I guess the first time I saw him was yesterday. A Dr. Sullivan came by, told Mother in Law, and me that Jennifer would be out in a day or two, that all had gone well, and in a few weeks, she would have to undergo one, or maybe two operations to set her nose to rights. He set his clipboard down while he examined her, and I fanned some of the pages, scanning it to see what I could see. Under STD tests, Gonorrhea was checked positive! I stopped by our family doctor's to be tested for STDs, and to tell her what happened. She offered to stop by the Hospital and see that Jennifer was getting all the care she required (Hmph! I rarely think of Wifey's given name, unless I'm pissed at her). I told the Doc, I would like as rapid an answer on STD's as possible, and was promised 48 hour service. Danny brought his sister, Ann with him to help us clean. They were suitably appalled at the place, and figured out most of what happened. She was cleaning the blood out of the bathroom, while Dannie and I were dragging the sofa down to the curb when the big detective from last night, Leon Washington showed up. The guy was really impressively huge, a brick on legs. Did I recall anything else, or was anything missing? Then it dawned on me, "I know! I'm missing a white shirt! I was in the closet getting some clothes for Jennifer, and noticed two of my dress shirts fell on the floor. I picked them up, and a noticed a'white shirt was gone!" "Come now Mr. Harlow, how would you know if you were missing one of your white shirts?" "Detective Washington, let me show you," and I went into the bedroom, and opened the closet. "How many white shirts do you see?" His eyebrows went up and he said with a smile, "Oh, so you only had one white shirt? Right!" "Only one, and it's gone. I was at a paper mill this week, didn't take any dress shirts with me. Did you find a bloody shirt in the trash by any chance? I mean apparently the bum got his messed up, and took one of mine." He wrote down what I said, and gave nothing away. "I assume you are treating this as a rape and assault?" Officer Washington replied, "That's one possibility, but we're still investigating it." We ended up pulling the carpet out, and to my surprise, found a nice hardwood floor under it. I was thinking no great loss without some small gain. I rented a floor polisher on the way in to the hospital. After I saw Wifey at 7 PM, We did the formal meeting of the inlaws stuff, and fled the press of inlaws after about 15 minutes. By ten I had cleaned and waxed the floor. It really came up nice. I half expected a call from Jennifer, but the only time the phone rang was a few friends of hers, and mine. The next day Kathryn called to say that Campbell was arrested right in their office, and hauled away in handcuffs. It was the talk of the building. That afternoon, the police came to see me at work. They were wondering about the timing again, and wanted me to go over it again. Apparently I drove very slowly. "Well no detective, I did not drive especially slowly. Frankly I was in no hurry to get home. I took a series of scenic roads where 55 miles an hour was about the best one could do. And I drove right along with such traffic as I encountered. It was a lovely day, upstate NY, and central Pennsylvania is really beautiful, I was in no big hurry. I stopped at a couple of antique shops because our wedding anniversary is coming up." Names? "Yes well, off hand, I only recall one by name and location" (which I really had stopped at), "and I also stopped at another, smallish one that I can't recall, it was after the first shop, just a small barn with mostly total junk. I had no particular reason to get home much before suppertime. I was taking the long way home." I gave him the route that I took, in detail, with commentary on where to turn and so forth. I traced it on the map, ripping the map out of the atlas for them to take with them. With GPS I don't use it any more. They made copies of the receipts, and were a little more forth coming on mostly the more public aspects of the matter. They admitted Campbell was implicated, his fingerprints were found in blood in the apartment, and apparently, he said he had been seeing Wifey for some time. Wifey denied it, and was still claiming rape. Besides that, they were puzzled about the injuries. "Whose injuries? My wife obviously, but did he have any injuries?" asks I. "Well, your wife's could be explained by him giving her a head butt, but then why do you think he would do that?" "I have no idea. Slipped off his elbows? Hit her with something? Some sort of fit? How would I know. I don't think I've ever met him. You didn't say, does he have any injuries?" "Well the back of his head has quite a nasty bruise, but not too bad, and there is some bruising to forehead and his testicles." "Well, then she probably kicked him. She does have a temper." "Mr. Harlow, what would you have done if you had come upon that scene?" "Detective Washington: I don't really know. I mean we've all heard of people killing their spouse and lover, or taking pictures of them fucking, and sending them to everybody that knows them, you know, the punishment of public shame and all. Let me think a minute about what I would and wouldn't have done. Well, for starters, I have never hit a woman, and cannot imagine ever doing so. A bounder is another matter. When we cleared out this room to remove the carpet, right there beside the couch, was an empty 1.5 liter wine bottle. If I came upon them fucking on the couch,I think I would have grabbed that, and hit him on the side of the head as hard as I could, and mashed his ear. If that didn't knock him off the wife, I would have grabbed his hair, and drug him off. I was at a paper mill this week, and was still wearing steel toed boots that afternoon. I have never been in a real fight, but if I was, I would have no interest in it being a fair fight. When he hit the ground, I would have kicked him several times in the ribs and in the balls, in which ever order was accessible. His balls would not have been bruised, they would have been crushed, and he would have had several broken ribs. Broken front and back." I Took The Long Way Home My voice was rising "I'd have grabbed his ankles, and dragged him bare ass naked face down the front steps. If his face and genitals got cut up, fine by me. I might have felt some pity, and thrown his clothes down the steps after him, but I cant tell you fore sure that, I Would Not Have Been ENOUGH OF A GOD DAMN CHRISTIAN TO GIVE HIM A CLEAN FUCKING SHIRT OUT OF MY OWN FUCKING CLOSET!" Officer Leon had no further questions. I ducked out of work early, and looked at a couple of apartments on Craigslist, and arranged to rent one on a month to month. Wife What a fucking piss pot I'm sitting in. They won't let me out of here until tomorrow at the earliest, and I am gong to need follow up surgery. If I admit to an affair, my marriage is done. If I press rape or assault charges, Robert'll pull out the motel receipts, and he has probably saved some of the e mails. On top of it all, the doctor tells me I have Gonorrhea, that slimy bastard! Shit, shit, shit. The good news is that the antibiotics I'm taking to suppress an infection in my nose will also clear up the gonorrhea, the bad news is it won't do anything for Chris if he's infected. And it's probably gonna give me a yeast infection. The other good news is I can pick my new nose out of a catalog. Wonnerful, wonnerful! It doesn't get much better than that! I simply can't think of a plausible story to tell Chris. Fuck, fuck fuck. I really don't know what happened, I mean besides the sex. I'm going to have to call Robert, and tell him. I'll have to tell the truth...the cops too. Chris I spent the morning packing what I needed to live in the apartment, and got out the stuff that belonged to me. I took the bed because it had been my mothers, but left the mattress assuming it had been desecrated by others. That afternoon, I got over to the Hospital, because the living mummy who at the moment still my wife was to be discharged. Pretty much her whole face was black was all one massive bruise, extending in streaks into her neck as far as her color bones, but thankfully you could only see brown eyes, surrounded with black, without a mask of gauze, she'd scare small children! "Well love, have you gone Moslem on me? We can get something that covers the rest of you as well." No sense of humor. She was quiet on the ride to the house. We still had not talked about IT. She had no trouble walking. When she sat in the only comfortable chair in the living room, and had a cup of coffee in hand, she said: "I guess you want to know what happened?" "That's a fair guess, isn't it. I also want to know beyond what happened just that day, and I want the truth. Forget damage control. Your Mom, Sister, Boss, co-workers, Police all know you've been fucking around. Can't get more public that that than, short of being on TV. This has been a big time breach of trust. If you can't tell it straight without a bunch of lies, then say nothing until you can." She sighed and grimaced. "Well, you know Robert Campbell, from work," "No, I don't think I have ever met him. Wait, isn't he the traffic manager in shipping " "No that's Eddie Campbell, no relation actually, Robert's in inside sales, and I was assigned to help him put together a presentation. Well, we stopped by the apartment the day before yesterday, to get some stuff I forgot to bring to work, and one thing led to another." A long pause here while I was thinking 'led to the couch, did it?' When she didn't start, "And?" "Unfortunately, I don't know what came over me." The fucking naked body of Robert Campbell is what came over you, I thought, but said; "And?" "Well, we started kissing and, you know the rest." "No I don't know, because this ends up with the apartment looking like a slaughter house, and our new couch, rugs and my fucking trust in you in the trash. That's a long way from kissing Robert, don't you think? Why did you start kissing Robert, and where did you think you were going with it?" "Well, Robert's a nice guy, and you've been gone an awful lot, and I guess I really needed someone, so in a weak moment, I was receptive." "Well you were receptive, all right, a willing receptacle for his plug, willing to fuck him bare back, but had the forethought to neatly fold the afghan throw under your ass, so you weren't completely gaga, were you? You're telling me this was a one time event?" "Damn right, and it hurts like hell. Get me another percocet, will you" "Sure, Well, I know what you mean, although my hurt is not in the front of my face. A one time lapse isn't so bad, but I know it wasn't a one time thing. Were there others before Robert? Men or women?" "No, of course not, not since before I met you. And never a woman, I'm not like that!" "Well, Jennifer, I'm not sure anymore what you're like. God's honest truth is this all?" "God's honest truth!" "Hah! He fucked you the day he forgot his coat, didn't he, and that sure wasn't the first time either. Do you even know who's cock gave you the clap? For what's its worth, I'm clean." Thunderstruck, I guess she hadn't thought of that. "Well, are there a lot of names going through your head? Remember any of their dicks dripping sooner than you were expecting? Who were the others you were presenting your ass to?" "Stop it Chris, there's no need to be crude." "Oh, so it was 'Please Mr. Campbell, how is your little Willie this afternoon? Oh how nice, Mr. Campbell, look! He's happy to see me, standing up right proper he is. Do let the nice Mrs. Harlow give the little man a kiss.' You and he were very proper and polite to each other, I'm sure. But back to the clap and dripping dicks. What're the talking points on that?" "I don't know!" "Well at least you don't claim you got it from a toilet seat." "Give your cover story some thought, because it is literally incredible! It takes a number of weeks for gonorrhea to show up in a blood test. I'll be by after work tomorrow to see if you need anything. We can talk some more when you're inclined to stop bullshitting me. I'll leave my cell phone on in the mean while, but do reserve it for emergencies, if you don't mind." I walked to the door, and had it open. "Wait, where are you going?" "Home. I rented an apartment in a not so great area of Chestnut Hill. I'll be staying there. I called the property managers here to give my notice that I would not be renewing the lease, but that you might, and would let them know." "But I can't..." I didn't hear the rest of what she said because I closed the door and trotted down the steps. She was facing an uncomfortable night or two, sleeping on a bare mattress, because I had taken our bed and bureau, and most of the lamps as these were family antiques." It took a long time to work out of her what had happened and why. After several revisions, of the story, the first time may have been the afternoon he left the coat. They fucked twice more counting the time she got battered. Getting herself battered, and caught scared her badly, so she ended it. No shit Sherlock. Well it was so fucking public an affair it would have been embarrassing to anyone with a sense of shame. I did decide to stay with her through the surgeries, as a friend. I also planted a tracker in her car, the old trust and verify as insurance. The why she had an affair was difficult to get to. My travel meant loneliness and the boredom for her at home, and add to that boredom at work all depressed her. I did cut back on my travel, to the extent that I could, which reduced the business's profits a bit, but still cheaper than a divorce. We did some counseling which did me some good, learning to speak honestly to one another, which was actually very difficult for me, but I don't think she was as open to it as I was. I also realized I had made her up in my head to be a very strong, independent woman who wanted to be treated like an equal, which meant I was treating her like another guy. Actually she liked to be pushed into sex stuff, so I shouldn't take the first no to be no. I never admitted being the one who messed up her face, but I have to say, it is probably one reason I stuck with her during the surgeries...and I wanted to save our marriage, having about five years of my life invested in it. And I did love her. She agreed to throw out the rules for the bedroom, whether she meant to make so many, or just thought that I wouldn't respect her if she didn't act 'respectable' in bed, I don't know. So now instead of refusing anal sex, she agreed to do it but clearly made it obvious she was just enduring it. Not her idea of erotic, but as I was still angry at her, I fucked her ass about once a week, and I think she got to like it. Four weeks after she went back to work, I saw on the tracking program that her car left the parking garage she used at 3PM, and was parked a couple of miles away. Google earth showed it to be a Quality Inn. I drove over there, and was rewarded to see her and Campbell come out a little after 5:30. I drove home and got out the divorce papers I had drawn up earlier. The next day I signed a one year lease for the rental of the apartment I was living in, saving me 20% on the rent. I was sitting on the steps when she came home from work. I had her sit down, and just told her flat out: "I've been thinking about us a lot, and I've concluded that in my heart, I think you are a lying piece of shit, and I am not wasting any more of my time on you. Having said that, go with god, don't bother me again, I wish to forget you." "No! That's the wrong thing to do. We're on track rebuilding our relationship! Don't give up on us." "You say that when you spent yesterday afternoon with Campbell in a motel room? Fuck you and the horse you road in on! I rue the day I ever set eyes on you, you lying sack of shit!" I was done with her. I handed her the divorce papers and would have given her my wedding ring, but the gold was worth $800. As to her nose reconstruction, she thought about a smaller, fashionable upturned nose, but opted for something very close to her old one. She had a good size nose, which I thought looked fine, and the new one is just a touch smaller but the same general shape. Old friends know something's different but can't tell what it is. I haven't spoken to mys or my ex wife since then, I could give a shit about them. Somebody said Campbell was her fuck buddy for a while after I left. Good for him, they can trade STD's. It's been six months and I finally feel good about myself, well maybe not bashing them with the foot stool, that was over the top. The rage and pain of her infidelity, and my guilt at injuring them, the police involvement, all took a big chunk out of my life. I think it would have been better for me, and of course her too (may she rot in hell) if I just had the infidelity to deal with. I gave myself a hell of a guilt trip having disfigured her, and months helping her over her injuries, seeing the pain she was going through physically with the surgeries, and mentally atoning for the affair, and it gave me time to accept it as a brief mistake on her part, but as I soon realized, history would repeat itself in the future. Had I not assaulted them, but confronted them, I probably would have had a righteous wind at my back divorced her on the spot and be done with her cheating cunt. Instead I went through the pain in the ass of nursing her, supporting her, because I had the damn cover story to maintain. And I worked through the pain of betrayal, to the point of accepting her sincerity and her word. Stupid me! So when she went back to the guy, I got it right the second time and kicked her to the curb and it was over in a few minutes. Much easier. That afternoon seems a long time ago, when I had thought I was taking the long way home...only to find out, in Thomas Wolf's words, "You Can't Go Home Again."