Dominance in Despair
Chapter 4
Breakdown
Journal Entry 4: I did not realize that the thrill of the hunt, so to speak, would excite me so much.
These women react to me in ways that I desire, and they are set off on completely different directions. One reacts from the fear of her own truth, another reacts with an endearing curiosity.
If I become too forward, I risk rejection. I need to scale back my prods. I have to remember that it takes time to break someone's will.
My father said my brother was a master of manipulation...he frequently forgets that he obviously wasn't good enough to keep Valtana from putting a knife through his chest. Robert always said that I had a better understanding of what makes a person tick...and like a good clock, the most reliable one is the one made with the most time put into the most painstaking details.
But now to business. I have to isolate these women from their anchors. The boy may take care of himself, but the husband...this...Homer.
I have to make Marge reject him, to choose isolation over her married life...direct intervention may be needed...
Marge blinked as she opened her eyes. She glanced at her alarm clock. 6 PM. She sat up, shaking her head, her beehive waving like a ship's mast in a stormy sea. "Must have drifted off..." She remembered lying down in her bed to collect her thoughts, at some point she must have fallen asleep.
Standing up, Marge felt the fabric of her dress with her hands. Feeling a little dirty from sleeping in her clothes, Marge winced a little and opened her closet. Reaching behind her, she unzipped her green dress and let it fall to the floor.
The setting sun cast slanted rays of light across her silhouette through her drawn blinds as she leafed through her selection, settling on a white t-shirt and blue work out shorts. Selecting a plain white bra from her underwear drawer, Marge sat on the edge of her bed. Laying back and stretching a little, feeling the comforter crawl against her back, she sighed a little happily from the feeling of the warm rays of the sun splashing across her bare skin.
Sitting up, Marge dressed herself and headed into the hallway. "Lisa? Maggie?" Her calls went unanswered, their rooms empty. Even Paul's room was unoccupied, the only sign of life in there the blinking standby light on his laptop.
"Paul? Anyone here?" Marge's calls continued to go unanswered as she descended the stairs. Reaching the foyer, she noticed a note pinned on the door.
"Marge, Lisa took Maggie to park. I went out to look at town. Should be back after dark."
Marge sighed, her mind conflicted on whether or not she was disappointed Paul was not here. Crumpling the note in her hand, Marge went into the kitchen to begin preparing dinner, figuring the girls would be home soon.
Paul leaned against the wall, looking across the street at Moe's bar as the neon lights flickered to life as dusk enveloped the landscape. He propped a foot up against the wall, his hands jammed in his pockets. Next to the bar, he spotted a familiar pink sedan parked.
He had noticed the same pink sedan a half hour ago outside of a grungy downtown loft building, driving off after a familiar balding buffoon climbed in with a fat, drunken companion who appeared to have a gas problem.
"Probably spending a few days staying at his friend's place until he thinks Marge has calmed down," he thought to himself. Standing straight, Paul crossed the road and walked into the bar.
The acrid smell of men who believe bathing to be an outdated tradition filled the air. A quick glance revealed a tired-looking bartender, attending to four men hunched together at the bar. One of them, a black male, looked up to see who had come in, the other three still attending to their drinks.
One of them a familiar balding man in a white polo.
"Whaddya have, stranger?" The bartender's voice made Paul's voice crawl, like listening to a Sicilian do an insulting New York Italian impression.
Paul took a seat further down the bar from the group, folding his hands on the bar. "I'll have whatever they're having."
The bartender nodded and began pouring a mug of Duff. "Name's Moe. What's yours?"
Paul accepted the drink as Moe placed it in front of him, placing a 5-dollar bill next to it, which Moe snapped up and stuffed into his apron. "My name's Mike. I'm new here."
The group of drunks muttered their greetings. After a few minutes of silent drinking with the group murmuring amongst themselves, the gassy man in the stained pink polo finally spoke loud enough for Paul to listen in.
"Oh, come on Homer! She's your wife, she'll always be there! But we're your drinking buddies!" The man followed this up with a loud, nauseating belch as Paul quietly ordered himself another beer.
"I know Barney, but she seems really mad this time...the longer I stay away, the madder she usually gets," Homer whined. "Besides, m'out of money."
"Aww, that's no problem Homer," the black man piped up. "Let's get that new guy to buy. You know, the old new-guy-buys-the-booze routine."
The other three seemed to nod their approval to the idea. Paul saw his angle in.
The group shuffled down the bar, closer to Paul as he put on a false inquisitive look, holding his beer firmly. "Yes?"
Homer leaned on the bar, obviously in the early stages of inebriation. "Look...uhh..Mike, was it? We have a little rule for new guys at Moe's. You gotta buy the drinks tonight!"
Paul chuckled a little, feigning being flustered. "Well, if it's the tradition..."
The men's eyes lit up as he seemed to fall for it. They got even more excited as Paul pulled two 100-dollar bills from his pocket and slid it across the bar to Moe. "That should cover things for the night, right?"
Moe whistled as he pocketed the bills. "I think they do, Mike."
For the next four hours, the beer flowed liberally amongst the five. The regulars were so focused on the next round that nobody noticed Paul's considerably lighter pace.
As the 10 PM hour rolled around, the pink-shirt Paul now knew as Barney was passed out on the floor, along with the other two, and Homer was close to joining them.
"You...y'know Mike...she just doesn't trust me! No, she thinks I don't care about the little bastard..." Homer's head wavered as he drunkenly focused on Paul...or something past him, Paul wasn't sure. "But you know...it's Moe's! You know?"
"I know Homer, I know," Paul consoled as he quietly slipped a book of checks into Homer's pocket. "Tell you what. Finish through the tab, sleep it off, and in the morning, you'll have all the perspective you need."
"Y'know...that's a pretty good idea. You're a smart guy Mike." Paul patted Homer on the shoulder as Homer ordered another beer. Stepping over the passed-out patrons, Paul stepped into the warm night air.
It only took him a moment to find a suitable target. The attractive brunette walked towards him, dressed in almost nothing, a leopard-print bikini top, a tight leather miniskirt and fishnet stockings. Her black thigh boots clacked on the sidewalk as she walked up to Paul, her interest obvious as she took a drag on her cigarette.
"Hey there handsome. Name's Carol. You got the green, I got the dream."
Paul thought that line was so tired, he briefly thought she was a cop. "Well, sexy, I got the green...but the dream would be for a friend of mine." He pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket, tossing it to the prostitute. "There's a man in that bar, white shirt, balding, and he could use the attentions of someone like yourself. Think that's enough to get you and him in that pink car around back?"
Carol leafed through the bills, a grin spreading on her face. "Yeah...this should cover it. Don't worry handsome, your friend will get the ride of his life." She stuffed the wad into her purse and turned to enter the bar. "Too bad not all my johns have friends like you."
Paul muttered "Yeah, too bad" as she entered the bar, a grin of his own spreading on his face. As Carol disappeared behind the door, Paul moved across the street. Moving over by the railroad tracks, Paul crouched by a lone tree standing in a grassy lot across from Homer's car. Brushing away a pile of garbage and clippings, Paul pulled up a duffel bag. Opening it, he dug through the change of clothes and musk, pulling out a digital camera. Slinging it over his shoulder, Paul scaled the tree until he was firmly nestled in the foliage.
Drawing his camera and adjusting the zoom, he readied himself as the obviously drunk Homer stumbled from the bar, Carol supporting him as they made their way to the familiar pink sedan that Marge could pick out anywhere.
The car glowed under the light of the street lamp as Paul began taking pictures. He continued as both parties entered the backseat. He continued as Carol removed her top and climbed on top of the inebriated simpleton. He continued as the vehicle began rocking in the pale street light.
Each click of Paul's camera brought him one step closer to his ultimate goal.
When the encounter ended, Paul waited as Carol exited the car, adjusted her clothing and walked off, lighting a cigarette. Paul waited a little while longer until he was convinced Homer had fallen asleep before climbing out of the tree. Grabbing his bag at the base, Paul slinked into an alleyway behind the dumpster.
After changing clothes and covering himself with enough musk to cover the bar stink, Paul tossed his used clothes with the duffel bag in a dumpster. Walking out to the street, he hailed a taxi. Climbing in, he asked to be taken to an open pharmacy.
A few minutes at the digital photo booth and the purchase of a manila envelope later, Paul had exactly what he needed. Sealing the incriminating photo evidence in the envelope, he nonchalantly began his stroll back to Evergreen Terrace.
Arriving at the Simpson residence, Paul quietly let himself inside. The darkened lights betrayed that everyone inside was sleeping. Straining to not make a sound, Paul found a pen and scrawled Marge's name on the front, taking care to not make it look like his handwriting. Sneaking back outside, he placed the envelope in the mailbox.
As Paul went to sleep that night, he fell asleep with a smile on, knowing that all he needed to wait for was time.
When Marge awoke the next morning, the sun had just began peeking into her bedroom. She stretched lithely under her covers, getting used to not waking up with Homer next to her, smelling of alcohol. As she opened her eyes, she frowned a little as she stood up and stretched completely.
"...have to go find Homer today...we need to work this out...I owe him that much."
Marge stared at her ring finger, playing with her wedding band. She decided to take Ned up on his offer and ask him to watch Lisa and Maggie while she went to find Homer. Besides, Bart had a hearing tomorrow to set a court date, and Marge felt it was important for Homer to be there.
Clapping her hands together in determination, Marge smiled at herself in the mirror. Shedding herself of her night gown and night cap, she paused briefly to check her body over before sliding her panties down and hopping into the shower.
Her morning shower seemed more invigorating today, perhaps part of her resolve to save her marriage. Working up a good lather, she soaped herself over while humming a happy tune. Rinsing herself off, she was smiling brightly by the time she finished, drying herself off thoroughly and spending plenty of time making sure her beehive was up perfectly.
Pulling on her silken pink robe, she pulled it tight around her. It clung to her form, truly flattering her figure as she headed into the hallway. Heading downstairs, she briefly checked to see if Homer had come home last night.
No.
Marge was not deterred. Going into the kitchen, she started a pot of coffee as she got ready to start everyone's day. She hoped Paul took his coffee black, and made a mental note to pick up the creamer she had forgotten yesterday. She made sure Maggie's favorite cereal was on the table for her, and washed off a grapefruit for Lisa, assuming the girls would be awake before too long.
As Marge headed back towards the stairs to get dressed, she heard the newspaper slap against the door. Deciding to go ahead and grab it while she was there, she opened the door and kneeled down to pick it up. As she looked up while standing, she noticed the mail flag on her mail box was up in the pre-dawn light.
"Huh...I don't remember getting mail yesterday," Marge thought. Trotting out to the mailbox, she retrieved the package inside. She looked the manila envelope over thoroughly as she walked back inside with it, thinking it unusual that such a package with just her name scrawled on it, no mailing or return address, would just appear in her mailbox overnight.
Closing the door behind her, Marge set the newspaper on the side table as she paced in the foyer, curious as to the contents of the mysterious package. Breaking the seal, she reached in the envelop and pulled out a stack of photographs. On the top most one, she recognized her husband, Homer, walking with a woman she had never seen before. Confused, she looked at the next photograph, of Homer entering a familiar pink sedan with the woman, in a position that would allow neither of them to drive anywhere.
Marge looked at the next photo.
And the next.
And the next.
The world dropped from under Marge as she felt everything she knew and trusted, everything that she believed to be safe and eternal, shattered and faded into the wind.