Fiction

An Old Rival Returns

This story is a response to The Kraken Lore’s Monday Mash-Up #32 Challenge. Thank you to Jonathon Sawyer for the fun prompt and constraints.

The meeting with the team from Winkleman’s has fallen through, and Sam is on his way home an hour earlier than usual.

He turns the corner of the avenue where he and Evie live to find a vehicle in his driveway.

You’re fucking with me, right!

The White Range Rover SV is a statement, a fuck-you-Sam he can do without just now.

Those 2023 plates. And of all the paint jobs, Lantau Bronze — exactly the finish he would have chosen.

He has never seen the car before but instantly knows who its owner is. It could only belong to one person.

He hates the thought of Jordon Smithers in his home, talking to Evie as he must be now, even if talking is all it is, X-husband or not. The things Evie has told Sam, how Jordon treated her back then, how desperately she had continued to love him even after he had left her for that slip of a girl, as Melissa was back then.

Sam’s greatest fear is that Evie still loves her ex-husband.

No, stop that, Sam. Evie wouldn’t. You do know that, don’t you?

He sits behind the wheel, his seatbelt still fastened, the engine idling. He is contemplating his next move.

There’s a baseball bat stashed in his boot. Maybe it’s time to show Jordon-fucking-Smithers who the man in Evie’s life really is.

He turns off the engine and steps out of the car, the world around him an abstraction as he walks to the rear. Then, the creak of the boot lifting and him rummaging among the detritus of his business life, searching for the salvation of his manhood.

The chill of the bat’s leather grip as palm and fingers enfold it. The weight and balance are gratifying, “reassuring”, he thinks, remembering that old song about a boy, a riverboat, and a father’s rifle.

He walks towards the house while taking practice swings. How many times has he imagined the crack of the bat’s barrel against the blonde mop of Jordon’s head?

The house is deadly silent. The unthinkable possibilities of the present moment are the realisation of his historical imaginings.

He does not call out as he usually does, his hammed-up, “Hi! Darling, I’m home!” No, this is a stealth operation, slinking quickly from room to room.

The two large red Xs in marker pen on the calendar in the kitchen catch his eye. They are a reminder he put there so as not to forget this coming Saturday and Sunday, the trip to the venue, Jordon and Melissa’s wedding this weekend.

There is no sign of Evie and Jordon downstairs. Oh, God. Please don’t let them be . . .

How light he is on his feet as he takes the stairs two at a time, pausing on the landing to listen, hearing nothing before bursting theatrically into the master bedroom, bat held high.

The bed is its usual Sunday supplement perfection, with its scattering of ridiculous cushions that he has to move when it’s time to sleep. He peels back the duvet and places a palm flat on the sheet while his eyes scan for the subtle discolouration of spent passion. The coolness of the cotton is a relief that deflates his apprehension, his fear of the vestiges of bodily heat.

At the window, he looks down at Jordon’s car, its presence confirming he is still in the house.

The guestroom is little used, and there is a hint of dampness. He walks directly to the window, opens it, scans the space below, and sees the unoccupied patio furniture.

He sits on the edge of the bed while his thoughts trawl for answers. Evie must have taken him down to the basement. It’s the only place he has not thought to look.

The basement is spacious and isolated, recently appropriated by Evie for her exclusive use. A place to run the Wedding Planner business she started three months ago.

Only now does he remember why Jordon is here. “To pick up a few special things,” Evie had said this morning. How could he have forgotten her project — the “exciting new line” she’s been banging on about for the last two weeks? Jordon and Melissa’s wedding will be the opening performance.

It is another world down there, down in the bowels of the house.

He gingerly descends the narrow basement staircase, halting and standing silently in the stairwell before the single closed door. Muffled laughter reaches him from beyond the stout woodwork, snatches of conversation, silence and then footsteps — followed by the sound of indeterminate hard and heavy objects dragged from one place to another.

He turns off the stairs light before opening the basement door, momentarily standing in a darkness he can hardly bear.

He gently eases open the door and slinks into the room of half-darkness, becoming a shadow among shadows.

At the other end of the room, twenty-five feet away under a stronger light, Jordon holds an oversized box. He has his arms outstretched before him as if to present it to Evie, who is tweaking the decorative bow of the pink leather ribbon, the final kitsch flourish that tops off the large white inlaid box.

“It’s getting heavy,” Jordon says.

“Nearly done, now,” she replies, standing back from her work, final touches completed. She eyes her creation from arm’s length.

Pleased with what she sees, she smiles and says, “I do wish you and Melissa all the best for the wedding and your life together.”

“The offer is still open,” he replies.

“Please, Jordon . . . Don’t.”

“Why not? Once for old-time’s sake.”

“Sam will be home soon.” Her tone is more intimate now, hinting at everything Sam has always feared

“I’ll be going, then,” Jordon says.

“Wait!” She goes to him and kisses his cheek.

When Jordon turns his head, his lips catch Evie’s, and Sam knows their kiss will become everything he has feared. It is too much for him to bear. With the bat raised above his head, he dashes from the secrecy of shadows, unleashing the hatred he has harboured for Jordon these last five years, screaming his rage.

Jordon turns and raises the box to ward off the blow. An instant of detonation follows the dull thud of impact as millions of scintillating fragments of rice and glitter erupt into the air.

The angle at which Jordon held the confetti box directs the full force of the explosion into Sam’s face, minuscule shards of glitter entering both eyes.

Sam drops the bat, instinctively rubbing his eyes with both hands to clear the explosion.

As he rubs his eyes to clear them of glitter, he stumbles backwards, trips on boxes and falls onto his back, disoriented and partially blinded. As he focuses, scared he has lost his sight, he can hear the giggles of Evie and Jordon.

Sam opens his eyes to a blur of colours, tears streaming down his face, thinking:

I’ve long been blind to the truth, and now I’m blind to the world.

Points:

Prompt #2 An old enemy returns. 2 points

Constraints:

A baseball bat, 1pt

Tons of confetti, 1pt

A calendar with days ‘X’ ed, 1pt

A leather object, 1 pt

Hardcore Constraint:

An innocuous box that explodes, 2pts

“Outline a classic “Hero’s Journey” that may or may not get complete.”

Sam’s story has a number of features of the hero’s journey:

Crossing the Threshold

Tests, Allies, and Enemies:

Approaching the Inmost Cave

The Ordeal:

5pts

Obviously, the awarding of extra points is at the publisher’s discretion.

Tally of points: 1pt.

Total 14/14

Thank you to all the team at The Kraken Lore.