Excerpt from "Magick & Misery" by Lincoln Crisler

From the short story “Devotion” -Except from the story collection Magick & Misery by Lincoln Crisler, coming Mid-summer, 2009 from Black Bed Sheet Books

Richard gripped Melanie tightly and pressed her against the rough brick wall. He hadn’t seen as much fire in his wife Diane’s eyes since they were newlyweds. Twenty years they had been together, so far, and the fire had gone out long ago. But he recognized that look, even after so long; more intense by far than the looks Melanie had been throwing his way for the past month. The two of them were always in public, though, at the office, and now they were alone.

Her hot loins ground against his as she moved against him, and he grew more excited. It bothered Richard and he knew it was wrong, but he was, after all, a man. How else could he react? Diane was beautiful and gentle and smart, but they’d grown apart over the years. It wasn’t her fault, but it wasn’t his, either. Life had just gotten in the way. Melanie’s nails raked against his back, hurting him a bit even through his shirt and he cried softly under his breath. He grabbed her by the wrists and forced her hands to her sides. She pushed against him more insistently and his erection strained against his slacks.

They’d flirted for weeks at work, in the hallway, the elevator, at each other’s desks; he’d always thought their witty banter a harmless distraction from the daily grind, but she’d started talking dirtier and coming by his desk more frequently to continue their verbal sparring. Still, he’d stayed faithful to Diane, had held her close every night and whispered his love to her, even though she was always too tired to hold him back, to whisper back, to love him back. He’d known from the start it was only a matter of time before he and Melanie made plans, made excuses, made love the way they talked about jokingly day by day.

She rocked against him harder, pushed him back and grabbed furiously at his crotch. He brought his hand up and smashed the heel of it into her jaw. Her teeth clicked together and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. She looked surprised even as he pulled her head down, bent her double and slammed a knee into her stomach. Threw her back into the dingy, chipped, red brick, reached into the sheath at the small of his back and came up with a knife.

“It has to be this way,” he whispered. “I love Diane too much.” He shoved the knife between her fourth and fifth rib, at an angle. More blood bubbled from her mouth as she slumped forward in his arms, impaling herself further on the blade.

“What the--” she gasped. “I thought you wanted it too.”

“I did. That’s the problem.” He laid her gently on the wet, trash-strewn pavement, knelt beside her and took her hand.

“I’m sorry.” She took one last breath, and closed her eyes. Before she did he saw the same electricity as before, even then.

“All for you, Diane,” he whispered as he left the alley and headed for home. He smelled Melanie’s perfume on his dark, but no doubt bloodstained, shirt. He’d wash it when he got home. It’d be a shame if Diane found it first and got the wrong idea.