His Return
Another twenty minutes later, keys finally scraped in the lock. Click. The door opened. Mark brought in a gust of cold night air. In the dim light, his face held a strange… exhilaration? Poorly masked, but the lingering spark betrayed him. "What took so long?" My voice rasped, startling even me. He flinched, then donned the familiar mask of weary irritation. "Don't ask! Cab took a detour, downtown gridlock! Hotel security grilled me forever, wouldn't let me up! Had to call Jenna to clear it." He spoke rapidly, shedding his coat. "Got the dress to her, she bitched about me ruining her makeup! Unbelievable!"
The Sounds Behind the Door
After the midnight dress run, everything curdled. Jenna still summoned Mark frequently. Sometimes work-related, often just a call or a beckoning glance. He'd enter, the heavy frosted glass door sealing shut behind him—a barrier between worlds. Before, prolonged stays meant muffled work talk. Now… silence. Thick, unsettling silence. Hollow and dead. Once, carrying files past her office, needing Mark for data, I paused. A sudden, sharp laugh—Jenna's, slightly unhinged—burst out. Followed by Mark’s low murmur. Indistinct words, but the tone… alien, tinged with flirtatious ingratiation.
My Sleuthing
I became a pitiful detective. Forcing calm, hunting evidence. One day, Mark was in there thirty-five minutes. Detouring past his desk towards the break room, I saw his dark monitor, notebook open—only meaningless scribbles. No urgent work. Another time, Jenna’s door wasn’t fully closed. Loitering nearby with a file, pretending to consult a colleague, I listened. Jenna's voice, languidly drawn out: "…Just leave it there." Then Mark’s voice, unnaturally husky: "…Is this angle okay?" The faint rustle of paper. Then… a soft, satisfied sigh. Jenna’s. My knuckles whitened around the file. Blood rushed to my head, then drained away.
NEXT >>
Another twenty minutes later, keys finally scraped in the lock. Click. The door opened. Mark brought in a gust of cold night air. In the dim light, his face held a strange… exhilaration? Poorly masked, but the lingering spark betrayed him. "What took so long?" My voice rasped, startling even me. He flinched, then donned the familiar mask of weary irritation. "Don't ask! Cab took a detour, downtown gridlock! Hotel security grilled me forever, wouldn't let me up! Had to call Jenna to clear it." He spoke rapidly, shedding his coat. "Got the dress to her, she bitched about me ruining her makeup! Unbelievable!"
The Sounds Behind the Door
After the midnight dress run, everything curdled. Jenna still summoned Mark frequently. Sometimes work-related, often just a call or a beckoning glance. He'd enter, the heavy frosted glass door sealing shut behind him—a barrier between worlds. Before, prolonged stays meant muffled work talk. Now… silence. Thick, unsettling silence. Hollow and dead. Once, carrying files past her office, needing Mark for data, I paused. A sudden, sharp laugh—Jenna's, slightly unhinged—burst out. Followed by Mark’s low murmur. Indistinct words, but the tone… alien, tinged with flirtatious ingratiation.
My Sleuthing
I became a pitiful detective. Forcing calm, hunting evidence. One day, Mark was in there thirty-five minutes. Detouring past his desk towards the break room, I saw his dark monitor, notebook open—only meaningless scribbles. No urgent work. Another time, Jenna’s door wasn’t fully closed. Loitering nearby with a file, pretending to consult a colleague, I listened. Jenna's voice, languidly drawn out: "…Just leave it there." Then Mark’s voice, unnaturally husky: "…Is this angle okay?" The faint rustle of paper. Then… a soft, satisfied sigh. Jenna’s. My knuckles whitened around the file. Blood rushed to my head, then drained away.
NEXT >>
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