RUNDELANIA

by Tyshawn Primer

In the kitchen, no sound could be heard. The kitchen was peacefully serene and beautifully simplistic. Cream-colored walls and bright yellow window curtains hanged above the sink. Beyond the window is a beautifully crafted landscape yard with dahlias, roses, and orchids combined. The rays of the sun danced on the dining table and the counter tops. Oddly enough, the sunshine rays could sense an ominous cloud over a female figure and made sure not to touch the female present. The woman stood there in front of her sink, her eyes peering into the dirty dishes that were left over from dinner last night. Trisha could take a knife and cut through the chokingly silent air as it made its way through her kitchen, but air doesn’t have any blood to gush. How boring. Where’s the joy in that? After a deafening moment, she released a sigh before turning on the faucet. ‘Dishes. They always need to be washed. Why can’t they ever just stay clean?’

Trisha placed a stopper inside the sink so she could create a bubble bath for the dishes. Trisha turns the knob to turn on the water and squeezes the dish-washing contents in the sink. Her list of chores placed on the porcelain table didn’t bump edges with the white china silverware. Each eating utensil was located in their proper place around the dining table. The dinner knife laid with the soup spoon. The dinner fork rested with the soup spoon. The soup bowl sat on top of the dinner plate. The red wine glass adjacent to the water glass. The salt and pepper shakers happily joined together in the center, where the vase of flowers were. Everything was quiet and nothing was dropped. Every tablecloth folded inside-out, with little to no jarring creases. Trisha absolutely hated jarring lines in clothes. Clothes included. All angles in perfect symmetry. The perfect display for a beautiful night of entertainment. The only other thing, out of order was those damn dishes. Trisha waited for the water to fill up while she took another moment to recourse over the day that transpired.

Trisha and Lawrence had breakfast this morning. Pork sausage, maple bacon, chocolate chips pancakes, eggs and a fresh glass of orange juice. After breakfast, Lawrence got an emergency call from a detective over at the police department, and a sudden rush of panic emblazed the two. She recalled rushing out of the house alongside Lawrence to the FBI agency. She worked as an Agent there, but she was not required to stay after hours. No overtime for her. Lawrence made sure of that. The culprit had stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of jewelry, then killed two innocent blue-collared workers that earned their living in that shop. The exact dollar amount is still to be determined. Lawrence and the team currently has the guy in custody, laying down his infamous human psychology. The master of interrogation. The verbal breakdown of all brain cells. Lawrence had a certain way with clients. Criminals and victims combined. His way included attacking someone’s mind into order to gain their spirit. ‘See, committing a crime is like walking forward with your head backwards. You can’t look forward, but at the same time, you don’t want to go back. If you can get people to flip their stories, they will question their own logic. And the greatest reward is being freed from myths.’ Or something along those lines. Lawrence would say things like that. Hmph. A former military strategist, showing petty mercy. Ridiculous. At least the jewelry thief’s life remained intact, because honestly? If he had to deal with her instead of Lawrence? Pain was the most effective form of communication.

Lawrence can’t know it of course. He would never look at her the same way. Her method would not be…ethical anyways. Then again, it’s no fun constantly hiding who you are to your spouse. Not showing him the other side of you. At least people waiver enough in their stances to give him information. His intelligence knew no bounds. As a matter of fact, that was the real reason why Trisha allowed Lawrence to take the position of Chief of Police instead of her. Trisha cannot do what men like Lawrence does. Trisha will not do what men like Lawrence can do. Those men probably cannot stomach what she will do. But yet, she does not have the balls to reveal her true face. The side she really is but have so desperately concealed through their marriage life. As the sink water continued to run, Trisha leaned against the edge of her tabletop in blissful patience. Trisha’s mind could not help itself, for she suddenly found herself slipped into a state of mental tranquility, away from her own world.

Trisha imagined herself right in the interrogations room. Her victim so ghastly coiled up in his seat. His arms bounded by two metal bondages on each of his wrists. His feet clammed together with more metal bond. Inside of his mouth, a medium-size potato rests between the roof of his mouth, and his tongue. His entire mouth completely wrapped with a red bandana and a string of barbed wire. Try to ripe the wire off, and you will cut yourself. His throat capable of swallowing it, but not loose enough for the potato to slip. Just a little push here and there, and he’d be damn near close to choking. Oiled with gasoline and his own body perspiration. The euphoric dream-state she’s in, not having any clue or any care about what’s going on right now in her reality. This reality, alternated or not, is the only thing that concerned her at the moment.

Trisha could sense, and even smell the lingering fear on his face upon her harrowing intentions. Her nostrils curled in impending arousal of the fear that bounces off of his person. Like a dog in heat for a juicy bone. Didn’t matter what his name was when he is pretty much dead. Looking over the culprit in his chair, black veins growing up his arms. An invisible, grayish dread colored his once audaciously arrogant skin. His eyes shined with the colors of fear. The sweat trembling down his neck and on his face. His neurological system trying to process something that is beyond his own comprehension. Even though the culprit tried his best, his brain simply came up with one conclusion – You’re Screwed. All philosophical thinking completely shut itself down and abandoned all hope of retribution. No hope of less pain. No hope of rest. Only everlasting suffering.

Trisha smiled with excitement. Her own body quivered with the lust that took over her, as she looks forward upon her captive. Between herself and the jewelry-embezzling captive, there is a surge of energy that can be felt throughout the atmosphere. Fear and pleasure. Lust and horror. Passion and despair. Her body fluttered with every new daunting idea that could be tested. She slowly walked towards her victim. As she moved one foot in front of the other, her excitement built in anticipation while the other guy’s body trembled in ongoing terror. This guy who once aspired to be a thief, suddenly wishes for repentance. Hold on, now. Just a moment. Trisha finally gets close enough to him and begins to speak.

‘Hi, little pig.’

The red bandana and wire, with the potato in his mouth, made any words he tried to utter as a response to her greeting, pointless.

‘I see you like to play dirty. Real dirty…’, Trisha continued.

Silence on the other end. Just jittery and tied knuckles and racing sweat.

‘It’s okay. What’s done is done.’

She paused for another moment as she approached him slowly, then decided to retract her statement.

‘Actually, no. It’s not okay.’ Trisha got close enough to him, then took her left hand and gently grabbed his face and supported his chin. Her nails just begging to puncture his rough skin.

‘Stealing is bad.’

‘Stealing is wrong.’

‘Stealing deserve consequences.’

‘Do you agree, little pig?’, Trisha said, completely taking over the conversation. When one has their mouth jammed shut with a potato, one doesn’t have much to say, do they? She looked at him closely in his eyes. If only one had a screwdriver to put those autumn-colored, brown eyes out of their misery. The room was plain solid, and deathly grey. Closed in on all four sides. Nothing but him in a chair and a faucet of water in case she graciously decided to bless him with a cup of water. That faucet of water, on the far-right side of them, was the only drop of kindness that inhabited this room. Trisha stared at him for just a few more moments, then continued.

‘You stole hundreds of thousands dollars’ worth of jewelry. Why? Why did you do it?’

Only muffed silence could be heard from the other end.

‘If I freed your mouth and remove the potato, will you tell me the truth?’

Trisha arched her polished nails into his skin, but not enough to cut through him.

‘Will you be honest, or should I deep fry that potato in your mouth for you?’

Trisha giggled then continued.

‘I love how criminals find the audacity to commit heinous acts out of some stupid sense of pride. A false narrative about how they will get away with it but crack down like a little duck’s egg when they get caught in a spider’s web. Your poor thing…’

‘I would very much enjoy breaking you down, one body part at a time. Do you know where you’re at? Hmm?’

The male hermit gave a curt nod. Every second he sits in that seat claws away at his life. Trisha stood to straighten herself up again after removing her hand from his face. Look at him. The fear on his face. He’s a criminal. What does a criminal fear if he had no concern about consequences prior to his premeditated mischief? Hmph. What a pity. Trisha approached the man and took off the wrapped wired and removed the bandana. She moved a small bowl close to his mouth to spit the potato out.

‘Little pig. What kind of criminal did you think you were?’

There was no response. Trisha asked another question.

‘Why did you do it? Why did you steal the jewelry instead of paying for it like any other regular, hardworking citizen? They were not yours to have.’

He stares at her in silence. Trisha raised an eyebrow. Her guess is, he plans to hold out and decided not to answer any more questions than that. What happened to his fear? Did he lose it? Did he already shit it out of himself? It couldn’t be that, as there is no ominous smell other than sweat. He shifted in his seat some, feeling the uncomfortable pressure of his bottom and his tied limbs. Trisha licked her lips and approached him once more. She took out a short but a dangerously sharp dagger, one of her favorite toys. She got close enough to him and leaned forward with the dagger in her hand.

’Little pig. I asked you a question. You are facing the grim reaper’s wife…yet you do not respond. Do you not fear death? Maybe you do, but you won’t show it in front of a woman. Come on, now. You can open up to me. I promise.’

Trisha speaks gently while letting the dagger trail down the side of his cheek, the blade caressing its sharp edge against his warm skin. Only one motion of command, and the blade would sinisterly puncture its warm victim. Daggers are meant to be dressed up in beautiful, luscious shades of red. Red looks good on anything. Even knives.

‘Little pig. I understand your sudden ”enthusiasm” of this session here. I just want some answers. The first question was an icebreaker, and it’s not that cold in here. You did not answer my other two. I will ask you another question. Every time you don’t give me an answer, I will cut something off. And they will be things you will miss…’

The fear is still there, but there was another emotion that also made its announcement. Courage, perhaps? Fear mixed with courage. What an interesting combination. Trisha wonders which side she can drive him towards. Just the thought of him struggling to choose between disembowelment, or disclosure alone brings exhilaration. Trisha gleefully smiled and caressed her own face. Now she stood directly in front of him, merely towering over his figure.

‘Little pig,’ Trisha climbs onto him, putting both slender legs on each side of his body. She took his face in her hands in an embracement, and both pairs of brown orbs gazed at each other. One with fear, and the other with hunger.

‘You killed two people in your escape from my husband’s authority. You had no right to do that. I want to devour you, but at the same time, you deserve a chance to be heard. Tell me about your thought process. What was going on through that head of yours?

Silence. No word was uttered from the victim. She snickered at his tantalizing boldness. Where is all of this coming from? No matter, this time will be well spent between the two of them. She intends to enjoy every moment. Apparently, she felt an emotion of her own creeping upon her body. Impatience. Mixed with her lust. This could send her into overdrive, quickly. Not that she minds. Trisha loves it. Suddenly, the dagger quickly poked into his cheek.

‘Talk, little pig. My hunger grows from your stubbornness.’ Still, he uttered no word. Even in the face of danger. He must be used to it. Good, because she is too. Trisha wanted to gush his cheeks, but those eyes though. Those defiant orbs did not deserve any more vision. How dare he looks at her in that way. Why does his fear not convince him to talk? She raised her dagger with a tight grip. The sharp tip in perfect position. Trisha began to ascend the dagger down to him. Suddenly, a noise started to rumble, and it was coming from the corner of the room. Out of nowhere, the faucet in the far corner of the room abruptly exploded in a burst of spouting water.

“Trisha!”

Her eyes quickly snapped open. Her fantasy completely drained from her body. Her mind that was once clouded in a gaze of happy surrealism, suddenly snapped back into the real world of artificial dutifulness by a concerned but militant voice. Who called her name? Trisha then found herself in a somewhat disheveled position. Her collar was loose, and a few holes unbuttoned here and there. Yellow gloves were off and laid on the ground, and her skirt slightly disgruntled. The space on the tabletop where one of her elegant silverware display was, suddenly found itself nesting between the table edge and on the chair. Just out of order. Like, who did it and why? Trisha began to straighten out her outfit. Smoothed all the edges, buttoned her shirt back up and fixed her collar. Apparently, Lawrence entered the house without announcing his presence. The bouquet of flowers and a red box with a satin bow was tossed on the nearest couch.

Trisha blinked in confusion as Lawrence called out and looked to her. The floor was extra slippery. The sink valve was turned off, and the water from the sink had overflown and decided to make itself comfortable on their marble floor. Her slippers had gotten drenched in the small river that cried from the sink. Some of the dirty dishes made it way to the floor. Other dishes found refuge on the countertops. The soap bubbles made a foamy blanket over the muffins that were baked. Eck! Completely soggy and undelectable. Trisha meant to move her muffins to the dining table so she could wash her dishes, but her  Luckily though, she made a batch of double-chocolate chip cookies for herself and her military chief husband that were saved within the warmth embrace of the oven. One can see the chocolate chips peering out of the oven’s window at Trisha’s unfortunate oblivion. But still, Lawrence didn’t announce his presence. Bad boy.

“Oh honey! You’re home. How are you Lawrence?”

“Girl—no. You left the sink water on and it actually made a mess!”

“Ohh I did? Wow how clumsy of me! I should be more careful!”

Lawrence took his coat off and set his keys down. Together, both of them Lawrence walked up to Trisha a places both hands on each side of her face. He gently caresses her. One close look in his eyes, and Trisha was constantly reminded of the reason she fell in love with him. She could feel his enchanting brown orbs, looking through the glass window for her spirit. She simply can’t bare it, least she reveal a decades long secret she never believed she had.

“Trisha. You were standing here with your outfit disheveled. Like, you seen a ghost and got caught up in a new life. What’s going on?”

“I’m fine. Just…tired is all.”

“Well, it didn’t seem like it on my end. You looked excited about something. Excited and disconcerted.”

“Lawrence, I —-”

“Trisha, if you need to go to the hospital, I will take you there. Because what I just saw, is not normal. You started to wash dishes….then forgot you had the sink water on.”

“Lawrence —”

“I saw you. You looked high off your mind about something. Please allow me to help you. You’ve done enough for me and so I want to return the favor.”

“You already went above and beyond for me. With this home, the romantic nights, and just your unconditional love. You are enough.”

“Trisha, I’m serious. I’ve caught you before doing abnormal things like this. Now I want you to allow yourself to be vulnerable enough to tell me. Because if I have to, I will probe into your mind —”

“And I will puncture your stomach, Lawrence.”

“Really?” Lawrence knew that was a bad question to ask. Chief of police or not, don’t underestimate a woman who make threats such as this one. This statement definitely threw him off guard a little bit. She wouldn’t do that though, would she? One could only speculate. Because the way she turned that knife into the cutting board even though all the veggies were chopped, there’s a pretty good chance, she might actually do good on her word. He did not want to risk it. This situation was just one of the few instances where he saw Trisha act in a way that was strange. Another. What is truly peculiar about all of this, is that he would catch her when she thinks no one is watching. Just not enough evidence to pinpoint exactly what’s going on with his wife Trisha.

“Lawrence, listen to me. I love you. There is nothing you need to do for me…” As Trisha said this, she warmly smiles at Lawrence’s adamant concern. There is nothing truly wrong with her. There shouldn’t be. Besides, did you find out any information from the little pi— I mean the…the culprit?

Lawrence happened to catch the slight stumble of her words but decided not to probe any further. He is tired and simply wants to rest and be with his wife.

“Well, his name is Jason Cartwell. He had no money and a sick child. He needed to pawn something for money so he could buy medicine and food. I managed to get that out of him.”

“Oh. Is that all?”

“I mean…were you expecting something else, Trisha?”

“If that’s all you have for now, then I guess not.” How disappointing.

“Yep, but the investigation is not done. There is still more to do. He’s quite a stubborn guy, but that’s okay. I like the challenge of provoking someone into speaking.

“I know you do honey. You always do an amazing job.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. You know…” Lawrence approached her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “If we had kids one day, you would be an amazing mother. Not to pressure you or anything. I want us both to be on the same page. Just…if you ever reconsider, I would really love to have little Lawrence Jrs. and Minnie Trishas’ running around here.”

Trisha wrapped her arms around Lawrence’s neck.

“I know honey, but I am just not ready yet. My fear is not living up to expectations…”

Lawrence nodded. He does not believe that, but he also doesn’t want to push the issue any further. He dreams of being a father, but he also enjoys being with his wife. Their schedules can be quite busy. Hectic and inconsiderate of children. They embraced each other and their shared a heartfelt kiss. Nothing but genuine love.

Trisha went back into the kitchen while Lawrence went upstairs to get himself situated. She decided to finish her cleaning before preparing dinner tonight. Fried chicken, green beans, mashed potatoes and corn was on the menu. At least she can occupy her mind for the time being. Something to suppress this….spoiled agenda. Morally obligated as a wife to a strategic Chief of Police and yet, driven by a strange, unsatiated desire. One could say she was guilty by existence. No longer defined by a code name and yet, ambiguously identified. Revels in bloody satisfaction only contained by the responsibilities of home and marriage.

‘Motherhood?  Ha. What is that exactly?’  The adrenaline rush that can be felt from being caught up in fatal matches or racing in front of a speeding train gives her an extreme orgasmic high. The swipes of a blade, carving out architectural designs in each body part brings upon her such euphoric corruption. The type of overwhelming, yet forbidden elation she doesn’t often feel anywhere else, except maybe sex. She would experience ecstasy in no other way. No baby should marinate inside that kind of womb. The exultation from a completed yet satisfying duel that Trisha feels she is not allowed to enjoy. Instead, Trisha must master proper etiquette in many aspects of her life, including devotion to Lawrence. The devotion part, she managed pretty well. As for other etiquettes? Not so sure. What exactly should a good wife be?

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Tyshawn Primer is a writer who loves to create magic. In his words, “My love for reading books, novels, journals, and anything that can feed my mind knows no bounds. I treasure such a passion that, for every book I read, my ambition simply intensifies. As a professional writer and a dedicated day dreamer, my thoughts are constantly convoluted with new stories, complex characters, and driven plotlines. I am simply one hell of a writer.“