I - Mr and Mrs Mismatched
8:47 pm, June 13, 1956
Is there such a thing as a killer sofa?
Maybe if it’s really comfortable, it gets you to sleep... permanently?
Stop it, Tal, you’re being stupid. Someone killed Mark. He couldn’t have just died there for no reason. That doesn’t happen to 60-year-olds.
But... Mark? No, he had too firm a grip in life to die. When we were married, I was 21 and he was 50. I’m 31 now, and he would actually be 61 next week. Would. I didn’t marry him out of love, but rather. Money. He was a rich businessman and I needed cash, not to mention the fact that he was an amazing friend of mine. We agreed that we weren’t really married, just, erm, conveniently engaged.
I can still remember when I found him dead.
1:20 pm, June 13, 1956
“Maaaark!” I yelled at the top of my lungs like a lunatic.
I pounded on the door maniacally while laughing uncontrollably.
I’m senile in that way.
“What do you want, Tal?” He said through the door. “I’m busy.”
“Whaddyamean?” I asked. Something seemed off. “I’m coming in.”
I pushed the door open (despite his efforts) and made my way into his private salon. This ornate jade-green room consisted of a mahogany coffee table surrounded by three black leather couches. The walls held pictures of him doing anything from drinking tea to driving cars.
Even the Queen of Hearts seemed humble compared to him - and she had a hall of mirrors.
The oak floor was partly covered with a massive oriental rug.
But it wasn’t the rug that made me gasp.
It was Ms. Hathing.
She stood up immediately from her position on the couch and brushed off her outfit.
Evelyn Hathing was a slender woman in her mid-thirties. She had gorgeous red hair up to her waist - the color of a flame. Of course, I knew that she had dyed it, but it went so well with her olive skin and her blue eyes that I couldn’t even imagine another color on her. I also admired her for her fashion sense.
Today she was wearing a blue summer dress to match her eyes with a white handbag, followed by white high heels. She was already taller than me, about 6’3 to my 5’6, but the heels made her tower over me.
Presently, she tied her hair up in a bun. Neat and perfect, just like her.
“Excuse me,” she said elegantly. She strode out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
“What was that?” I demanded. He rolled his eyes at me.
Rolled his eyes. At me.
I almost exploded. But I was too focused on what he was doing before I came inside.
“Listen, Tal, you said we weren’t really married and could date other people...” He started.
“YEAH BUT SHE’S NOT A PERSON HAVE YOU EVER SEEN SOMETHING SO... SO...” I caught my breath, trying to find the word.
“..flawless?” He grinned.
My mind went into rage mode.
It’s Tal Semora in the ring facing Mark Semora... OH! it’s getting ugly! Is that a black eye I see? Wow, she’s really killing him in there. I wouldn’t want to get near her after this. We’ve already scheduled his funeral, don’t worry. Oh god! He’s losing a third kidney! Wait. Wha-
“Tal? You’ve literally been standing there frozen with a smile on your face... That mean you forgive me?” He asked.
I snapped out of my thoughts and glared at him. Then, my composture straightened and I smiled.
He backed away.
“You still mad at me?” He repeated.
I took a step forward.
“Nonsense, sweetheart. I just came to tell you that lunch is ready...”