Yet another grim day started with the alarm clock blaring maddeningly.
Beep, beep, beep!
The day itself wasn't the issue, or even the morning alarm. More specifically, Cathy dreaded facing her husband, Marty. Their marriage, once brilliant with the colors of life, now dwindled into greys.
Fourteen long years of marriage to this man has been like a stent in purgatory. Marty's consistency and predictability, once a source of comfort, now pained Cathy. His haircut – the same haircut that he has had since he was sixteen – irked her.
You are a man; get a grownup's haircut, idiot.
Of course, she never spoke this aloud, but her internal dialogue provided the soundtrack. Every morning was filled with the same tired jokes.
"Is this coffee, or is this mud? It looks like...blah blah blah." Even his boyish smile, wide and toothy, infuriated her.
What the hell are you so happy about?
She wore a porcelain smile, choking back the urge to strangle him. He never complained or argued. Even when she tried to goad him in to an argument, he kept the same calm demeanor.
Show some emotion, you robot! She screamed in her head.
Marty worked as an accountant. He was smart. Jeopardy smart. While they watched evening game shows, Marty would answer questions a split second before the contestants. He wasn't always correct, but he usually was.
"Why don't you go on one of these shows, and win us some money?" Cathy often asked. He always brushed the notion aside, saying he wasn't that smart, stating "Anyone could answer these questions." Cathy couldn't. She found his modesty dishonest.
He knows he is smart, she complained internally. He's just fishing for compliments.
At this point in her life, Cathy couldn't stomach anything about her husband. Even the way he drank his coffee grinded on her nerves. She was sick of how he talked. Sick of how he smelled. Cathy was sick of him all together.
Her only morning rest came after Marty left for work. Cathy would have sixty minutes of alone time, before she had to leave for work herself.
The front door shut as Marty left, and Cathy exhaled deeply in relief.
This morning, she decided to catch up on some light reading, while enjoying some green tea. Well, she tried to enjoy it. Cathy didn't care for tea, but she read it was the only healthy thing to drink besides water.
Ding-dong!
The doorbell rang out.
Oh no. That idiot came back. He must have forgotten his house key again. Why he insists on keeping it separate from his car keys, I will never know.
She slumped out of the puffy recliner and lumbered to the front door, expecting her dull husband. However, on the other side of the door stood a thin man in a dark blue suit and matching Fedora.
He looked like he had come straight out of a Humphrey Bogart movie or something. His pencil thin mustache danced on his upper lip as he spoke.
"Hello, madam. I am hoping you can spare a moment to hear my proposition." Normally the door would be closed before a door-to-door salesman's first sentence was out, but Cathy was caught off guard.
Cathy composed herself for a moment.
"I am not sure what you want, but I am not buying anything," she spoke her well-rehearsed line. Besides the sales people and religious zealots, she typically had to fend off charity workers and girl scouts. Those damn cookies go straight to her thighs.
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"My good madam, I have no intentions of selling you anything!" He smiled at her with a wink. The man brushed her aside as he strolled into their living room. "Now, I will be quick, as I know you have to get to work."
"Wait, who said you could... Hey, how did you know I had to..." Cathy stopped talking. She couldn't finish her sentence. Flabbergasted. Yes, she was flabbergasted at the gall of this man.
The man sat in her recliner and sipped her tea. "Nasty stuff, this tea. Is health really worth it?" He laughed. "Please, sit, Mrs. Miller. We have much to discuss."
"Who do you think you are?" Cathy dashed over to her kitchen counter to pick up her cell phone to call the police. Where did her phone go? She left it charging this morning on the kitchen counter. A whistle rang out from the living room, where her uninvited guest waved her cell phone back and forth, between his thumb and index finger.
"Mrs. Miller, please. I would like to get down to business."
"How...?" Confusion caused her head to hurt. Could this really be happening?
"How? That is easy. 'Tis but a little sleight of hand – a little hocus pocus." The man shook his hand, and the phone disappeared. "Mrs. Miller, if you would like me to leave, just ask."
"Please leave," she scowled, as she pointed to the front door, "and give me back my phone!"
He let out a sigh. "Alright. Although, it is a shame we didn't talk about your husband's unfortunate accident." He rose from the puffy chair and turned to the door.
"W...wait." Cathy didn't realize she said the words until they slipped by her lips. Did she really want to talk to this man? She then noticed his eyes. Something was wrong about them. He had no irises; just pupils, swimming on white globes. And she could swear for a brief moment his teeth were all filed to points. So many things seemed wrong with this man. Although, she doubted "man" was the right term. Every fiber of her being told her this creature was no man, and to run. But deep down, she knew she had to hear what it had to say. She just had to know.
He grinned, as if hearing her inner most thoughts, and spun on his heels to face her. "Now we're being civilized! Shall we sit?" He gestured towards the couch. "Oh, and your phone is in your front pocket." He gave a non-chalet wave towards Cathy.
She felt the outside of her pocket, and her fingers slid over the outline of her phone. It hadn't been there a moment before.
Cathy sat on the edge of the couch, her hands cupped on her lap. Relaxing was not an option.
"You may call me Mr. Stix." He reached over to the end table and picked up a framed picture of Marty and Cathy. "What a fine-looking couple you make." His grin widened.
Cathy could feel the warmth of her cheeks as her anger arose. "What is it you want, Mr. Stix?"
"It is not what I want, but what you want." He set the picture back on the end table and straightened it a couple of times, until it was exactly where he first found it. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped off his hands, as if he had just touched something distasteful. "You have a relationship problem; I am offering a cure. I am offering to end your marriage without any messy divorce or splitting of the assets. In fact, with the insurance policy you already have on your husband, you can live comfortably for the rest of your life." He leaned forward with his hands together. "Sound interesting to you, Mrs. Miller?"
She regarded his face for a moment. His face was narrow, with high cheekbones and a pointy nose. He seemed almost cartoonish. "How do you know I have relationship issues?"
"Good madam, knowing things is my business. Like when you were eight and let the neighbor boy see up your skirt. Quite the exhibitionist." He winked at her from across the room.
