There is a saying that writers of crime fiction are usually mild-mannered (and sane) people. Usually. I guess that is because they have a very useful and effective outlet to vent. The story below was written about five years ago. It was indeed a great outlet for me. I hope you will like it.
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The Unexpected Visit
by
Lee Su Ann
(Copyrights 2008 reserved)
The clock strikes six when he reaches home. His girlfriend will be here in an hour’s time. He is just about to take off his tie when the doorbell rings. He raises his brows. She can’t possibly be here already?
He opens the door and stares at the person standing outside.
She smiles. And before he can say a word, she steps in, gently brushing past him into the living room. He is a little surprised to see her. Okay, maybe more than a little – he is overly shocked.
She smiles again ever so sweetly as she hands him a bouquet of flowers.
He blinks with incredulity. Flowers? How unusual for her to be bringing him flowers. But he, ever the gentleman, thanks her and takes the flowers.
He faces her. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his forehead creasing earnestly. His eyes shoot a quick look at his clock. His girlfriend will be there in an hour.
She saunters around the living room with a satisfied look. She has a glint of the wild cat in her eyes that he has never seen before. She says bitterly, “Of course, now that we are no longer lovers doesn’t mean I have no right to come visit you here?”
He chuckles slightly despite himself. He can feel it. Something about her is different today. She just does not seem herself at all. Her voice has a sparkly laughing tune to it, her eyes brighter than usual, her steps light and graceful. And the flowers… it doesn’t make any sense at all.
They have hardly been keeping in touch after the break-up, and now here she is, at his apartment, dressed in sexy little red dress that cling snugly over her curves and the hem flows flirtingly at her thighs. And he has never seen her wear dresses before.
Suddenly she comes forward to him and touches his face. He jolts. Her touch is cold, but gentle and there is something about it that is soothing. Calming. And that makes him uncomfortable. He tries to take his eyes away from her face. Her brick red lips came within inches from his own before she takes her hand away. She laughs enigmatically and pulls away.
She disappears into the bedroom. He walks slowly, cautiously there.
Whatever that is left of the daylight peeps in through the window and dances on her flowing black hair. She almost looks like an angel as she swirls around to look at him.
She takes the flowers from him and puts it in an empty vase. It is the very vase she bought for him a few months ago. It is then that he notices the dark green bottle in her hand.
“Wine?” he asks and instinctively moves to the kitchen and produces two glasses.
She bit her lip lightly and smiles. She doesn’t even make a move to open the bottle. She places it gingerly on the table. “So,” she says as came towards him, “how’s Shirley?”
He hardens. So it is about this. He should have known. He takes off his tie uneasily. “She’s fine,” he says.
She laughs suddenly. “Don’t worry. I’m not mad at you two anymore, honest. How can I possibly be angry forever with my best friend and the man I used to love?”
He looks sheepishly at the floor. He remembers vividly the incident where she walks into the apartment without knocking and found him kissing her friend. He would have regretted his actions had it not been that their relationship was already cracking at the seams. He has always known she was not the right one for him. Shirley, on the other hand, is all he has always wanted and more.
“Come,” she says with a beguiling smile. “Let us be friends again. I miss you. Tell me what you have been doing the last few months.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Well, nothing much. Been extremely busy at work.”
“Been working late again? What does Shirley say to that?”
“She’s been quite supportive.”
“I’m sure,” she says.
He looks sharply at her. She walks to the window where she has placed the flowers. She fingers the petals of the precious white wildflowers.
“They’re Brazillian,” she says in near whisper. “Aren’t they beautiful? I bought them when I was in Brazil for a month. They’re amazing, don’t you think? They survived the trip back here and even the customs.”
“What were you doing there in Brazil?”
“I thought I needed some time away from all these.” Her gaze falls slightly. “I went cruising down Amazon River and stayed with some of the tribesmen. There’s just so much I’ve learnt there. It was a magical place.”
“You didn’t even tell me you were going away. But then again, I hardly know what you’ve been up to these days.” He moves towards the wine bottle.
A grin comes to her face. “The flowers aren’t the only things I brought back from my trip,” she says as she reached for the bottle. Her cold fingers graze his slightly. He holds his breath.
He watches silently as she opens the bottle and pours the white liquid into the glasses. He reaches for one but she stops him. “Do you know,” she says, “that some of the jungle tribes mix curare in their wine for special ceremonies?”
“Curare?” He stares at her and then at the wine.
She steps up to him. “Yes, that’s what they use to tip their arrows to kill wild animals in the jungle.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of it.”
“And yet,” she continues, her voice dropping into a whisper, “they drink it in their wine.” Her steely eyes looks steadily into his, as if challenging him. Seducing him. “Would you dare to drink it if you knew that curare could kill you in an instant?”
She dips her finger into the wine and brings it to her mouth. Slowly, deliberately, she licks her red lips. He feels faint. Her perfume drifts sensually to his nostrils, almost suffocating him.
He lifts a glass and without hesitation, he takes a sip. It tastes bitter. He finds himself holding his breath for a second.
A smile creeps to her face. He stares into her coal black eyes. God, he could drown in their darkness! She is hauntingly beautiful. She comes forward and kisses him in the mouth. Wildly. Uninhibitedly. The effect of the alcohol surges strongly in his blood as he kisses her back. The kiss feels familiar and yet there is a new sense of something reckless that he has never realized she possesses. It is a taste of something dangerous and forbidden.
He withdraws suddenly. He can feel the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. She had bit his lip. She flings back her head and laughs. Reaching for her own glass, she smiles at him and drinks her wine.
He lifts his to his lips and downs it. The wine burns his throat as it goes down. She pours him another glass, which he takes gratefully. He needs the drink to steel his nerves. The bitter taste of the wine bites into his tongue, waking him from his dreamlike state.
“What are you doing here anyway?” he asks. Reality hits him and he sits down at the edge of his bed. He glances vaguely at the clock beside his bed. Surely, if he remembered correctly, he has a prior engagement.
She sips her wine delicately. She sits down opposite him and crosses her long legs. “Why?” she purrs. “Do you have somewhere else to go?”
His eyelids feel heavy. He brings the glass to his mouth again. But it is already empty. He has drained its last dredges. He feels giddy and the room begins to swirl.
“What’s the matter?” she asks as she comes over to him and runs her long fingernails down his cheek.
His head seems light and he strains to look up at her. What is happening? Suddenly the glass falls from his hand. His chest feels tight, as if gripped by an invisible vice. He drops to the bed, breathing heavily.
He sees her looking at him with childlike curiosity. Then she kisses him on the forehead. “You know,” she whispers to his ears, “curare is a curious poison. You can’t die by swallowing it, but it kills instantaneously if it gets directly into your bloodstream.”
She kisses him lightly on his lips, his blood staining her already red lips.
Then she says with cold irony, “This should teach you not to kiss a girl who’s not your girlfriend.”
Then she walks to the door and turns back to look at the room for the last time. A little grin is playing on her face. She steps out and closes the door behind her.
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Copyrights (c) Lee Su Ann 2008
Along came Mr Right. A close friend, he was kind, and caring. And she thought perhaps he could like her and grow to love her. But he fell in love with someone else. It was all happening over and over again, her love unrequited. She cried herself to sleep. Why does this happen to her? Is it so hard for her to be loved in return?
