Infidelity

By: Dark Matter
April 2, 2008

What does one do when faced with undeniable evidence of an unthinkable dichotomy: madness, or chaos?

Either I am mad, or the world is mad—all of us.

Science on the one hand. Chaos on the other. God laughs somewhere inbetween.

Science is inadequate, unable to quantify this or explain it, unless we grasp onto the more ethereal interpretations of quantum theory, then logic becomes moot, cause and effect mere illusions, and reality a construct of our consciousness. We constantly look at our world through the eyes of classical science, imagining that we can explain everything given enough effort and study. We treat cause and effect as immutable laws, and perhaps we are correct in our assumptions…perhaps not. I’m rambling though; let me start at the beginning and tell you how I died.

***

It was a cold winter day as evidenced by the ice inside the windows of my house; the ice spread out fanlike with fingers almost three inches from the edges of the double paned sealed, and guaranteed windows. Though frigid outside, the warm interior of the house was no sanctuary for me. And I should really use the phrase “our house” to be perfectly legally correct; however, though married, there was no love, on my part. I hated my wife, and I hated my wife’s snake—Oscar.

Oscar’s home was in the main hallway. His thick scaled body inhabited a heated tank in the center of the house; thus I was subjected to the beast every time I entered, or left. Oscar was a croatalus viridis—to the ordinary American that would be a western rattlesnake. Not something that was usually kept as a pet, but when your wife was herpetologist, all bets were off. That morning Oscar’s beaded eyes glared at me coolly. A forked pink tongue flicked in my directions. I hated the beast, and it seemed that he returned the sentiment.

“Jake” Carol called out.

I threw one more disgusted look at Oscar and headed for the front door. I hated Oscar more than my wife’s doting, but it was a close call. The most egregious insult of the entire marriage was her salary: she made more money than me—barely. In addition, she loved me much more than I loved her. She had the temerity to get old and frumpy almost, it seems, the day after we were married. Me, on the other hand, fit and attractive as always. Finally, the last straw: she always kept an abundance of damn snakes in the house which we argued about constantly. Correction—I argued, she listened passively. I wanted the snakes out. She agreed—she always agreed—except for fucking Oscar, her personal pet.

I bundled myself against the cold and shuddered as I opened the front door hoping to avoid seeing Carol. As I stepped out, the hungry wind plucked at me with icy fingers. The door clicked closed behind me sealing my agony inside, with hope ahead of me, even given the weather. Saying that day was bitter cold was like describing George Bush as a bit intellectually awkward. The snow was at least fifteen inches deep and covered with an icy crust. The front yard had become an arctic wasteland. The roads looked equally treacherous—white and frozen. I should have skipped work that day, but Denise was at work, sweet Denise—my salvation from my idiot wife and her damnable snakes. I took two steps into the snow; my footsteps crinkled as if I were walking over thin glass, then the door opened behind me. The words she spoke cut rather than comforted.

“Don’t forget your lunch dear.”

Carol held out a carefully prepared brown paper bag, two folds to keep it fresh for her lover, she always said with a laugh. I knew the contents by heart: a deli roast beef sandwich, with pickle and mayo, a bag of chips, and a cookie. All foods that I enjoyed, but how was a man in my position to stay fit with food like this? I usually threw the damn lunch away, especially since Denise and I spent all of our lunches together.

“Thanks” I said with haste hoping that she wouldn’t torture me with…

“I love you. Have a nice day.”

“I love you too” I smiled, with extreme effort. The Herculean smile melted into a bitter grimace as I turned into the wind.

The usual morning wave of wife hate mixed with the cocaine-like rush of my newfound affair left me feeling a little off balance, but distance seemed to attenuate my rage along with improving my mood. I hurried toward work, imagining the warmth that would greet me when I arrived.

***

I clocked in and slipped my daily time card into my upper left shirt pocket. At Darnell and Walker, we billed the client in five-minute increments, and we were expected to run over 95% of our time as billable. I was usually at the top of the group of CPAs running a 10-year average of 97.98% billable time. Of course I cheated a bit, and forced others to do a bit more than was defined in their duties, but billable time wasn’t on my mind…at least too much. My hands were itching to feel the curve of Denise’s ass after work.

I cruised by her desk with a wink and a nod.

“Hello Baby” She said with a small wicked smile.

Her words were very close to my wife’s in structure, but comparatively speaking Denise had no peer. It was like comparing Shakespeare and Mad Magazine. Denise. She filled my thoughts, fantasies and dreams. It would have been easy to slip away for a quickie in the my office, but as exciting as that prospect was, I couldn’t take the chance of losing my job. I could still dream though. I lusted after Denise during half of the day; the other half I spent hating Carol—two threads, lust and hate, that twisted in my brain like snakes fighting over a chunk of meat.

Despite the battle, I considered myself master of my fate. The illusion had become real for me. Why should I settle for anything less than everything I wanted? The feeling of shaping my own destiny, my morality, even my wife and mistress—everything it seemed—was intoxicating.

As that day drew into evening I pondered for the millionth time, why I actually hated my wife so strongly. Carol did love me, I had no doubt about that, but her meekness and unending love were painful. To cope, I found Denise, or she found me, either way, without her distractions, I would have probably killed Carol, or gone mad—before this happened.

Speaking of “this”, there was something different about that weekend. Carol was out of town at the National Herpetologist Conference. It was a Friday night that started well, very well; fire and passion, both things that I demanded as master of my fate, were available in abundance, yet passion was interrupted. Interrupted by my wife’s damnable snake—by my wife herself because she was the guardian of the snake.

You see, Denise and I had been drinking, and well…. you know, screwing in every imaginable place possible. After one sustained “session” I stumbled down the hallway meaning to refill my drink. I tripped on the hallway rug, the one next to Oscar’s cage. The problem was that I tried to save my almost empty drink, instead of myself. Greed caught me that time, had I not…perhaps this would have never happened; however, it did. I tripped, and fell, trying to protect my drink, into the hallway table and my elbow smashed into Oscar’s habitat. Glass shattered and sand poured onto my arm.

I screamed. A venomous snake was only inches away from me; however, my fear was wasted. Oscar, thick and bloated, moved to the other side of his tank—a gouge next to his rattle wept blood. Like my wife, Oscar was too timid to even think about attacking. After a moment of thought, as supposed master of my fate, I decided that the evening could still be salvaged—still. I stacked several books against the tank to keep Oscar captive. Once the integrity of the cage was restored by a collection of unused leather bound Shakespeare volumes, I turned to the next task: my arm was bleeding like a stuck pig. And my drink was still empty. To top it off, I was ready for another stab at Denise.

We bandaged my arm, checked Oscar’s habitat again to make sure he couldn’t escape and took a drunken drive to Denise’s house—at my suggestion. My arm throbbed. The rage throbbed as well. Why was I cursed with such a repulsive bitch of a wife?

My thoughts took another turn—murder. Murder was an oft visited thread in my mind as well. In fact, Denise and I had talked half seriously about the details: we could knock Carol out and force Oscar to bite her. The only thing that held me back was actually handling the damn thing… Oscar. Would it actually bite her, how do you get a snake to bite someone? The thought of killing gave me much needed comfort on the drive to destiny. Rage was always close, but rage could be postponed.

The heated sex began again at Denise’s house. The acts held the rage at bay for a time, fed it, kept it occupied. I climaxed with a scream and then lay back spent. That’s when everything really went to hell--Denise started talking about our relationship again.

“Hey baby, when do you think we can spend more time together. I really like you, but I want something more. You know. A commitment.” She ran a finger up my sternum.

I stiffened in a manner that wouldn’t help with my fifth sexual act of the night. The rage…again.

“Denise,” I said smiling, “you know how I feel about you, but you need to shut your fucking mouth on occasion.”

Her supple smile dissolved and she stomped out of the room. Her exit, no top with black silk panties aroused me slightly. The clock ticked to 1:30 AM—I should be home now. This didn’t concern me even though Carol was due home several hours ago. Her flight was supposed to arrive at 9:00 PM, even given flight delays she would be home by now, probably worried about me.

“Let her call the cops”, I mumbled feeling my rage rise again.

I fell asleep, for the last time, on Denise’s white satin sheets—alone. I dreamed of snakes, the cold, but most of all darkness. Then there was nothing.

Some time later, I woke. A mass of wet warmth was beneath my leg. In the darkness, I could see Denise next to me, a dark shape hulking under the blue glow of the digital clock. Then the stench of urine hit me like a wave—from me? No, not me. I pushed away from Denise, waking fully and angry that the bitch had pissed the bed. I reached to the right and turned on the light. The click brought alien light splashing into the bedroom. Reality had fled, but I wasn’t aware of the fact—not yet.

Anger swelled. I could get no peace…if it wasn’t one bitch it was another. Denise had obviously drunk herself stupid, returned after I was asleep, and then decided to piss in the fucking bed—it all made sense. My hands clenched, rage came alive like a florescent light. But something was wrong, very wrong. I froze. The sheets were moving, but I wasn’t. Something was under the sheets with me, and it wasn’t Denise. I could feel it next to me, warm, pulsing, and waiting. I stopped breathing. Maybe Denise didn’t piss the bed. Maybe….

I was lying on my back. It moved again. Not next to me. On my stomach.

“Fuck me” I whispered.

I carefully peeled back the sheet and looked. The sight filled my soul with dread; I shook slightly. My worst nightmare was in front of me, forked tongue darting in and out, staring at me with glassy black eyes. My skin crawled. I was so frightened that I lashed out, a rash act that should have killed me, but I think chaos wanted me alive for the time being. Instead of leaping out of the bed screaming, I shot both hands under the sheets and grabbed the snake behind the head. It struggled and hissed at me, but I held it firmly. The sheets were higher, and I could see it clearly now. The snake was white with irregular speckled bands, broad, and muscular.

“Denise!” I screamed. “Wake up god damn it!”

I looked to the right and almost let go of the beast as ice filled my veins and my skin crawled. Denise was dead. Her skin was gray and mottled. The strength fled from my arms, but I didn’t let go. Stuck in bed next to a dead body. I shuddered again.

How had a snake, a poisonous snake--

I knew before I completed the thought. My fucking bitch of a wife had discovered the affair and put one of her pets in Denise’s house while we were…engaged.

Rage replaced fear.

“CAROL!!!!!”

Silence answered me.

”CAROL YOU BITCH!!!” I raged.

But as I said rage serves a purpose. Fear took a backseat to reality; I realized that I couldn’t spend eternity holding on to the damn thing. For starters, it was a lot stronger than I imagined—like a pit bull without legs. I could see the beast’s flat eyes mocking me and wet tongue sampling the air—looking for a way to get at me. Action was needed. I knew I had to stand up, carefully, walk to the bathroom, throw the fucker in there and close the door, then put something against the crack under the door. The beast was too big to slide underneath a door, but I would take no chances. A rug or towel would do.

I smiled, “You lose Carol. You are going to jail, and I am going to finally be FREE. DO YOU HEAR ME YOU BITCH!!!!”

I laughed and threw both feet out and rocked into a sitting position. The sheets parted to the side. Then I finally realized that chaos was in control, science had no explanation for what was happening. Madness emerged, a newborn, hungry and wicked. Reality, my reality, was dead.

I was holding a snake. It was large with big fangs, pissed off, and dangerous, probably very dangerous. These various facts were immutable. It was also merged with my body right above my nuts. The dick that I had prided myself on, that had pleasured Denise was nowhere to be found. I sat mute, immobile while the beast continued to squirm in my hands seeking an escape. The rage served again by not allowing me to let go in shock. I pondered the development. Carol couldn’t have arranged this. No logical train of thought sufficed.

It is amazing how clear the mind can be when the world is dissolving into madness around you. I turned and looked at Denise and noted that in addition to gray, mottled skin, she had a marvelous set of snakebites on her back, five sets of them to be exact. And she had indeed pissed the bed. Whatever the type of snake that I held, it was highly poisonous, otherwise Denise would have struggled before she died. Fast poison.

I breathed carefully. Scan the room. Find an answer. I found nothing on the first pass. I looked again, more carefully and spied my salvation. At first I was looking for a solution without blood. The second look was a realistic assessment of what would be required if I wanted to live. A pair of scissors lay gleaming on the desk at the other end of the room, next to a white phone. Could I call 911? As I contemplated the snake bucked and twisted. It would take twenty to twenty five minutes for an ambulance to get here—beautiful Denise lived off the beaten path. Should I call an ambulance, the cops, or animal control? Then it hit me, I couldn’t hold the beast that long—it was too strong. My time was measured in seconds, not minutes. My hands were already cramping under the strain. At that moment, I understood the strange world of the cancer patient: better to be rid of the diseased prostate, or breast, than dead, even if it meant impotence, or disfigurement.

“Hell, maybe a stump is fun?” I heard myself laugh. It was a tight, insane sounding laugh.

I still imagined that I could master the situation then. I gingerly stood up and managed to meander my way to the other end of the room; my “friend” watched me through black, hate filled eyes. It twisted, bucked and hissed throwing me to my knees with only three steps left to my goal.

“Shit.” I muttered and managed to obtain my feet again. I staggering against the dresser and breathed heavily. My biceps were cramping and my fingers were on the verge of numbness. I couldn’t hold on much longer.

I realized that I would have to release the snake with one hand to reach for the scissors. I tightened my grip with my left hand and slowly released my right hand. I snatched the scissors off of the dresser. I am, as always, a man of action. I put the scissors at the base of the snake and squeezed. There was a loud hiss, and blood gushed. Hot electric pain shot up my arm. I almost lost my grip. I screamed and dropped the scissors.

I knew immediately that I couldn’t complete the action and hold the snake, the pain was too intense.

“Think god dammit.” I said as sweat ran into my eyes blurring my vision.

The snake was a part of me. A part of me. Perhaps this meant I was safe. Sex would be a dicey future prospect, but with modern medicine, perhaps something could be done—surgery, chemo, or radiation therapy. I just needed to survive twenty minutes, long enough for an ambulance. If the snake and me were one and the same… It had to be. There really wasn’t any other choice. Blood pattered on the floor. Whether the snake’s or mine really didn’t matter anymore. I reviewed all of the options.

There was only one.

Either I was stark raving mad. Or the world was mad. Don’t you see? And so the choice was obvious.

I let go.

The snake struck.

Oblivion was quick and painful.

***

The police found our bodies two days later. My case was reported by a hysterical Carol; the authorities were alerted about Denise’s disappearance by her mother and sister. The police were surprised to find us together—at first. And once the medical examiner identified the cause of death as a highly poisonous, yet unidentified snake, finding the killer was easy, especially considering the ‘passionate’ nature of the crime—meaning the killer had also tried to cut my dick off.

“He sure as hell didn’t do that himself.” A portly detective said while standing over my body.

The flow of wisdom from the officials involved in the investigation was staggering—staggering in its presumptions, and incorrect conclusions.

Of course my perspective is available only from the vantage point of death—from the unified perspective of chaos.

The police weren’t baffled by the crime—not at all. Their reality was clouded by belief in logic, cause and effect, and justice. They solved the mystery quickly. The ‘killer’ was arrested, and convicted of first degree murder with special circumstances. I’m sure you remember the news coverage; it was rather sensational for a while.

Twelve years later, the murderer was marched down that long stretch of hallway, to a table where a cadre of society’s guardians watched while my supposed murderer delivered a short final statement, was strapped to a metal table, and a cocktail of poisons injected to balance the scales of justice. Life was extinguished to provide comfort to those in attendance, an innocent was killed to perpetuate belief in logic and goodness.

Carol’s last words: “This is crazy.”

Indeed it is Carol, indeed it is.