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Dirty Rotten Lies
by Michael A. Kechula
Michael A. Kechula is a retired technical writer. His flash and micro-fiction tales have won first place in seven contests and second and third place in four others. His stories have appeared in ninety-seven online and print magazines and anthologies in Australia, Canada, England, and US. He’s authored a book of flash and micro-fiction stories: “A Full Deck of Zombies--61 Speculative Fiction Tales.” eBook available at www.BooksForABuck.com and www.fictionwise.com. Paperback available at www.amazon.com.
They sat at a table stained with remnants of past meals.
“We need to talk about Sarah,” Snow said,
“What about her?” asked Jim.
“Me and my wife—her older sister—are worried about Sarah. She says she’s in love with you.”
“What?”
“C’mon, don’t act like you don’t know. She talks about you all the time. Jim did this, Jim did that. She acts like she worships the ground you piss on.”
“We’re just friends,” Jim insisted. “I’m twice her age, for goodness sakes. She comes to my office some mornings, before everybody arrives, to talk. Tells me all about herself. She seems almost like a—”
“Daughter?”
Awkward silence.
“I’ll bet there’s plenty she hasn’t told you,” Snow said. Things she wouldn’t dare talk about.”
“Like what?”
“For one, you look a lot like her dad.”
“So, what do you want me to do—get plastic surgery?”
“We want you to stay away from her.”
“I can’t. We work in the same department.”
“Listen. Sarah’s relationship with her father was very disturbed.”
“I wouldn’t know one way or the other.”
“But I’m sure you’d wanna know, if something very heavy was involved.”
“Like what?” asked Jim.
Snow leaned closer. “Incest.”
Jim was stunned.
“Can you see the complications if Sarah transfers her feelings for her dad onto you? Incestuous feelings? Twisted emotions?”
Jim slammed his fist on the table. “I don’t believe you! She’s the most pleasant, well-adjusted twenty-year old woman I’ve ever met.”
“Well adjusted?” Snow snickered. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I’m not getting myself into anything. She’s just a casual friend.”
“Not according to her,” Snow said. “She says you’re buying her a ring.”
“This is nuts. There’s no ring, no romance, no nothing.”
“Yeah, sure. For your own good, stay away from her!”
“I don’t need anybody telling me what’s good for me and what ain’t!” Jim rose to leave.
Snow spoke quickly. “She was eleven, dad nude, porno flicks—”
“Dammit, Snow! Shut up!”
“Don’t you see? You must stay away from her! You’ll destroy her!”
Jim punched Snow in the mouth and ran to his car.
Jim couldn’t sleep. What if the thing about her dad is true? Am I his double? Will she somehow confuse me with her dad and go berserk at work?
Jim decided to end their early morning get-togethers. No sense being alone with a beautiful young woman in an empty office building before other employees arrived.
The next morning, Sarah popped into Jim’s office with coffee and donuts. She complimented his tie and picked a piece of lint from his vest. Things a daughter might do when fussing over her father. The thought increased his apprehension.
“You never mentioned your parents,” Jim said.
“Ain’t much to tell. They’re farmers. Up at 5:00, in bed by 9:00.”
“Can I see their pictures?”
“Sure. Here’s one from last summer. Who does my dad remind you of?” she asked with an impish grin.
Jim’s stomach knotted when Sarah pushed the picture toward him. He was almost afraid to look after what Snow had said.
Jim didn’t know what to make of it. “Your dad looks a lot like Tom Hanks, the movie star.”
“Ain’t it a scream?”
Jim didn’t look anything like Jim Hanks or Sarah’s father. What a relief. Why did her brother-in-law lie about my appearance?
“Can I see your sister’s picture?”
“What sister? I don’t have a sister.”
Astonished, he asked if she knew anybody named Snow.
“Nope. Why do you ask?”
“Because a guy named Snow, who said he was your brother-in-law, got in touch with me. We met yesterday.”
The donut fell from her hand. “What does he look like?”
“Tall, thin, graying brown hair, brown eyes, ponytail, marijuana tattoos.”
“Dammit! That’s Crazy Henry. What’d he tell you?”
“He doesn’t approve of our friendship.”
“That’s all he said? I’m surprised. He always tells men horrible lies about me. He told my last boyfriend that I’m schizophrenic. That I was in a mental institution. That I killed my father.”
“Geez. Why would he say such bizarre things?”
“Because he’s nuts. He thinks I’m his reincarnated wife. He’s jealous of every man I meet. Said if he can’t have me, nobody can. I had to get a restraining order, because he kept following me. Then I moved. But it looks like he found me.” Tears welled from her eyes.
What the hell’s going on? No sister. No brother-in-law. A weird guy she calls Crazy Henry, but who calls himself Snow.
Jim’s phone rang. “Jim Morgan,” he said crisply.
“This is Claudia Cole. Snow’s wife. Sarah’s sister.”
Straining to control rising fury, Jim grunted something unintelligible.
The caller screamed at him for almost breaking her husband’s jaw. She said Snow would press charges for assault, unless Jim agreed to stay away from Sarah. Speaking quickly, she summarized events from eight years ago. Their mom’s suicide. Their dad’s murder by poison. Sarah’s mental breakdown. Acute schizophrenia. Long hospitalization. Released to them, as Sarah’s only remaining relatives. Sarah’s rehabilitation over the past year. The temporary job, where Jim worked, had helped. But since meeting Jim, who looked so much like their dad, Sarah’s psyche was regressing, unraveling.
He wanted to shout that Sarah’s condition had nothing to do with him—that he looked like Brad Pitt, not Tom Hanks. Instead, he smiled at Sarah and said, “It’s my brother. I’ll be off in a minute.”
How much did Crazy Henry pay to get this nutty woman to call me? How stupid does he think I am? He’s using her to con me into believing Sarah’s parents died eight years ago. Hell, I just saw their pictures from last summer.
The caller urged caution: if Sarah had poisoned their father, Jim might be in grave danger.
When she hung up, Jim felt like kicking the desk, pounding the walls, strangling somebody.
“Is something wrong?” Sarah asked.
Gazing at her gorgeous angelic face, he said, “No. Everything’s…fine. Oh geez, it’s almost 7:30. I gotta get ready for a meeting. Thanks for the delicious coffee and donuts.”
She reached over and squeezed his arm. “My pleasure…Daddy.”
Dirty Rotten Lies is copyrighted 2008 by Michael A. Kechula and may not be reproduced under any circumstances without the author's permission.