Chapter 48

Dorothy chuckled to herself as she hastened along the street. Foolish Robert. Of course, she had known that his idiotic plan wouldn't work. Firstly Richard was too clever by half to be tricked into a fight and secondly, Richard was invulnerable. From the moment Robert had outlined his plan to her she had known it was doomed to failure. Goading Richard into a fight and killing him in front of a judiciary? Only someone percolating on mind-altering substances would find that wise. But Dorothy was more than happy to let him think it would work.

Dorothy encouraged Robert. Lied and said Richard's skin was delicate as tissue paper after the surgery and that Richard was quick to violence. And why? Because in her shameful exile as a guest of her tormentor, Dorothy had come to realize one inescapable truth – she hated everyone in Rapture. It extended beyond the nucleus of the whore; Dorothy hated Richard and Annette and Robert and Agnes and Janes and Muriel and the people who wrote about her dissolving marriage in the tabloids with glee and the readers who ate it up with a spoon and sugar and sided with the whore and bought frippery at her shop. She hated everyone who relied on her husband's turrets to protect their luxurious homes and successful businesses. She hated the patrons of the Ducks, who spent money like water on rigged games of chance and came back for more. She hated the jostling masses in the second-class train, the people who had jobs, the people who didn't – everyone.

But most of all she hated the whore, which was why it had been such an exquisite pleasure to kill her. Finally. Dorothy had gotten over the dilly-dallying and her only regret was that she didn't do it before.

Dorothy had advised Robert to go in first without her. Otherwise they'd be suspicious. She didn't know what exactly happened, but it didn't matter. The hold that Robert had on the door released suddenly. Richard had done his job and knocked Robert's block clean off. Whatever he had done was evidently gruesome enough to give his mother a heart attack, nicely distracting everyone from her entrance.

The Incinerate plasmid really was a kick in the pants. All it took was a snap of her fingers and the whore was screaming in well-earned agony. I should be the spokesmodel for Incinerate, Dorothy giggled to herself as she crossed a busy intersection. Problem whores? Wayward husbands? With a flick of your wrist all your cares will go up in smoke! She had never been so clever or creatively witty before. It was doubtless the ADAM that Robert had dosed her with that was unlocking her potential.

Finally she had the courage she needed. It had been so easy. Easier than a gun. And so much more satisfying. Richard had to watch. He had to watch her roast. Watch her skin sizzle and crack. Watch her very inappropriate white dress erupt into embers.

The whore's barbequed flesh smelled better to Dorothy's nose than any fine French perfume had. If only I could bottle it, it would be sunshine on the go. She switched the bundle to her other arm as it was getting heavy. Oh, and the look on his face! So scared! He looked like he was about to come apart at the seams! I bet he regrets his mistake. I bet he wishes with all his might he had stayed loyal to me. That he had stayed in his role. That he hadn't gotten his nose in a twist by that whore.

In any event, she was dead now. Surely she was, the flames had been mighty and hot. Dead but not cold! And Richard boo-hooing over her like a child. Dorothy laughed aloud again. Now they will hear my story! I shall be beloved! All women who've had dog husbands will understand me, they will sing my praises, and they will stop me in the street to congratulate me! My ship is finally coming in!

Dorothy strode into the Luckier Duck Casino. She didn't acknowledge the receptionist behind the counter who sarcastically greeted her upon entering. Soon. Soon you'll regret your mocking tone.

Annette's office was located at the end of the hall behind reception. It was mid-afternoon and the back rooms were buzzing with preparations for the evening rush. Dorothy brushed past a pit boss giving a blackjack dealer an earful about something or the other. They both ignored her as she went by. I'm not important enough to get a simple 'good afternoon', am I? You'll get yours for your rude behavior.

Without so much as a knock, Dorothy threw open the door to Annette's office. Annette was studying a thick ledger and sighed in irritation at the interruption. "I hope this is important, Dorothy."

"Oh, it is." Dorothy practically skipped into the office. "Have you seen Robert lately?"

Annette frowned slightly at the apparent non-sequitur and rolled her eyes. "Not since breakfast."

"Well you're seeing him now!" Dorothy tossed her coat-wrapped surprise onto Annette's desk.

The puzzled expression on Annette's face quickly transformed into shock when she noticed the blood leaking onto the pages of the ledger. "What have you done!" Annette shrieked and leapt out of her chair. "You monster!"

Annette is a clever one, I'll give her that. Very good at deduction. "You dare to call me a monster," Dorothy laughed at her while she stared at her husband's severed head in stunned horror. "You made sport of my weak marriage. You thought it would be a real gas to mock me to my face about the whore. You keep me around here like a living joke!"

Annette was rendered speechless. Clearly this was the first time her chickens had come home to roost. She went completely white in the face, however, leaving her bright red lipstick as a stark cut-out on her face.

"I didn't kill your husband. I killed the whore. Oh, I roasted her like I'm about to do to you. But it was my dear husband who separated his worthless head from his filthy body. I suspect he had good reason. But you'd know more about that than I would, wouldn't you?" Dorothy raised her hand and pointed at Annette. "Burn you bitch and then burn with your husband in Hell!"

Annette burst into flames just as the whore had. Her screams were not dissimilar either. But unlike Lupe she didn't accept her punishment with resignation. Annette made a dash for the door. Dorothy reacted just as quickly and grabbed the wooden hat rack and beaned Annette in the face.

The pit boss burst into the room, alerted to the situation by Annette's screams. With an annoyed flick of her hand the pit boss exploded in fire as well, as did the employee he had been reprimanded who was peeking over his shoulder. "Don't interrupt me!" Dorothy shouted over their agonized yells. "I'm finally being heard!"

Dorothy turned her back to Annette, who was writhing on the floor while flames swayed and twirled on her body. She was reeling from the blow to the face but still trying to get up. "Still think this is funny? Still having a laugh at me behind your smile?!"

The pit boss and employee had managed to run away. No matter. Time to clean up this place. Annette's yells of pain hadn't ceased. The shrieks were sweeter than the whore's even. The whore was her inferior, a jumped up maid with poor manners, but Annette had been her equal, and there was more satisfaction in besting her than outwitting a servant.

"I asked you a question! Are! You! STILL! LAUGHING?!" Dorothy screamed at Annette's burning body. "Answer me!"

There was no answer but screams. A sufficient answer. The flames began to wane but Annette started them up again with a flick. She had been reluctant to do that to the whore as she may have run out of ADAM, but with Annette she was eager to splurge. After about a minute and a half, and a few more dashes of Incinerate and whacks with the hat rack, Annette ceased shrieking and wriggling and lay curled up on the floor.

"Done and done!" Dorothy happily said aloud as the flames winded down. "Trash incineration!" She laughed at her joke and felt hands on her shoulders.

"Stop your-"

Whoever it was didn't manage to get out the rest of the sentence before Dorothy gave them the old one-two and they screamed as they got nice and toasty as well. With no particular destination in mind, Dorothy strode out of the office. People were beginning to shout from the lobby. I bet that pit boss got out there, I barely singed the brute. Anticipating the rush, Dorothy jabbed another syringe of ADAM into her arm. It was her last syringe so she'd best be judicious with it.

With her hand slightly extended she casually walked to the lobby. The receptionist fled before her, but she couldn't outrun a plasmid. She didn't stop running until she reached the street, however, causing startled gasps from passersby. The few gamblers stationed at slot machines got up to see what all the hubbub was about and got a fistful of flame for their trouble. All of you, all of you, Dorothy ruminated as she began to indiscriminately set everyone she saw ablaze. I hate all of you.

With each blast of the plasmid, she became more and more detached from the situation. Her satisfaction began to drain from her, as did her confidence and energy. Even the hate began to wane. The screams and warm glow from those she chastised gently transformed into soft background stimuli as the ADAM embraced Dorothy like an old friend. A true friend.

Everything was finally going to be okay, the ADAM told her. She didn't need to worry. Dorothy felt the dynamic power of the ADAM drain from her, the part of it that gave wings to the flame. But the part of it that comforted her lingered. She sat down on a sofa in the lobby, much more tired than she realized. And that was where the security agents found her and arrested her several minutes later.

Would You Kindly Imagine A Pagebreak here?

Richard desperately wished that he still had the ability to be weak. He would have loved to mentally crawl into himself the way he had when he got shot. But there was no escape. He was as sharp as an Italian barber's razor for the first appointment of the day. No muddled mind or protective shock. His slug wouldn't allow it.

Lupe had been alive when the medics arrived, mewling pitifully from the floor. Her thick, beautiful hair had been burnt off and the associated stench flooded the little chapel. Her skin was peeled and cracked. Richard watched helplessly – all he could do was helplessly watch – as the medic injected her with the all-too-familiar morphine solution. It did little to alleviate her suffering as every nerve in her body was crying out in pain.

Richard's mother regained consciousness before the medics arrived and thus all of the attention was focused on Lupe. She was bundled onto a stretcher and rushed off to the Medical Pavilion as quickly as possible. Richard was prevented from following, however, as security agents were hot on the heels of the medics. They took one look at the headless corpse and ordered everyone present to stay put.

No amount of pleading that his fiancé may very well be breathing her last in a hospital could convince them to release the lockdown. After questioning all present they promptly arrested Richard and escorted him to the nearest station, where he now sat, alone, in an interview room, debating the wisdom of breaking down the door and beating a path to the Medical Pavilion.

Best get this over with. I don't want to be a fugitive if…Lupe doesn't die. No time to call his lawyer. It was an open and shut case. Everyone saw what happened. He needed to get out of here as soon as possible.

"Yes, I'm ready to make a statement," Richard clearly said to Detective Lambert, who was sitting opposite him. Lambert had been the one to handle his and Robert's previous dust-up, so Richard wouldn't have to bring him up to speed.

Detective Lambert pressed the record button on the tape recorder. "State your full name and date of birth."

"Richard Cyrus Stone. July ninth, 1926."

"State your version of events that led to your arrest."

Richard paused. "Do you want the whole story or what happened today?"

"Just what happened today."

"Well, let's see. I went to go get married and that son-of-a-bitch Robert burst in the door and starts yelling. He's gone on ADAM, I could see it in his eyes. He's trying to get me to fight him. I don't want to, I know he's up to something. He's got, or, rather, had, some kind of mind power plasmid and next thing I know he's trying to pull me over to him. It doesn't work though, so he used this mind power to throw a big candelabra at me. It got me right in the chest, but I'm fine. He says he's going to throw the next one at Lupe. You know he and I have a history over her. I think he'll do it. So I knock his block off. End of story."

Detective Lambert didn't change his facial expression. "Keep going."

Richard blanched. "I don't want to talk about it. I didn't do anything else. Are you going to keep me here for another twenty-three hours or whatever the rule is? You know as well as I do what kind of shape she's in, you saw her."

"Your wife got arrested several minutes ago for plasmid assault. It's important that we have all the facts."

My wife. Of course. The river of guilt that had been held back by a dam of sickening worry finally burst through and flooded his thoughts. He should have known she'd try something like that. He thought he could just do whatever he wanted without repercussions. Richard couldn't respond. What can I say? I stood by and watched as my legal wife turned my lover into embers during a ceremony I undertook to spite her?

"Mr. Stone, please describe what happened," Detective Lambert pressed in a tone that was not a suggestion but a command.

With a deep sigh, Richard acquiesced. "I thought it was over. The whole day. That we'd leave and try to get married another day. Before I knew it, before I could say anything, Lupe…was screaming. She was on fire. And all I could do was watch. I tried to put it out but it wasn't normal fire. Something special about it. And she kept screaming, and screaming, and…begging me to make it stop. I couldn't. I tried. I failed." He sighed again. I promised her I'd keep her safe, especially from Dorothy. And I couldn't. I let her down. She gave herself to me completely, entirely, in a way that no one else ever could or ever can, and I didn't reciprocate because I couldn't stop wanting more. I couldn't be happy with what I had.

"What was the source of the flames?"

Swallowed up in his own recrimination, Richard could scarcely bring himself to admit the folly that he had brought upon his own house. "Dorothy," Richard answered, so ashamed his voice was barely above a whisper.

"Your ex-wife, correct?"

He shook his head. "No. She never agreed to a divorce."

"Let's get this straight. You tried to marry Lupe Cervantes without first obtaining a divorce from your current wife, Dorothy Stone?" There was a note of incredulity in Detective Lambert's voice.

"Yeah." Richard avoided eye-contact with Detective Lambert, who he just now realized was much older than he was.

"Considering that your bigamy is likely at the root of the assault, we need to establish some facts," Detective Lambert announced as he pulled out a notebook.

Each word was a blow to Richard's gut. "What sort of facts?"

"When did you marry Dorothy?"

"November 1944. I don't remember the exact date."

"And when did you move to Rapture?"

"1949. We were in the first wave," he answered cautiously, afraid that the next round of questions would expose his greedy shame in the public record.

"Can you describe your marriage?"

The truth wouldn't exonerate him for his bigamist actions, but perhaps they'd soften the blow. "It was an unhappy marriage for the both of us. I was crippled in the war and she resented that fact. We had nothing in common. We argued daily. I used morphine daily to cope with the pain in my leg. She refused marital relations on account of my leg. I was lonely. She, I imagine, was equally lonely."

"Did your wife ever have any intention of separation during the time you were married?"

"No. She liked my money. That was enough for her." Not enough for me. Nothing is enough for me.

"When did you meet Lupe?"

"1951."

"What were your intentions with her upon first meeting her?"

Richard painfully recalled her initial flirtation with him. The way she hitched up her skirt and revealed her garters. How she clumsily tried to solicit him. And how badly he had desired to empty his sexual frustrations onto her. "I met her while waiting for the train. She was down on her luck. We needed a new maid. I offered her the position and she accepted."

"What was your wife's reaction to this?"

Why lie? There was nothing he could say that would make him not at fault anyway. "Dorothy was unhappy. She was under the impression that I desired Lupe. In a sexual manner."

"And did you?"

"Yes." And she'd be better to have never met me. "But I love her. I loved her the first time I saw her. That's why I did what I did. Everything I've done in the past two years has been out of love."

"That's hardly a legal issue," Detective Lambert dismissed. "When did you first have intimate relations with Lupe Cervantes?"

Richard shied away from eye contact. In his recollection it was her first day, she had come in while he had been resting in bed. "A few weeks after she came to work for us," he bent the truth for as much good as it did him.

Detective Lambert continued on, although there was a hint of disapproval in his voice. "Was your wife aware of this affair?"

The word 'affair' stung more than it should. "Yes. Almost immediately. I didn't try to hide it. She tolerated it as long as it was inside our home only." And if I had been content with that, Lupe would be healthy and hale right now.

"What was the instigating incident that led to you and Lupe making your affair public?"

Richard chortled a bitter laugh. "You know. Look it up in my file."

"The casino incident?"

"Yeah. I told Dorothy I was done play-acting my role as husband." And I thought I had that right. I thought I could shrink away from my responsibility. This place went to my head. Without realizing it I became the poster boy for the hedonistic greed of Rapture. I abandoned my legal wife. I betrayed my father's trust for money. I ignored basic caution because I believe myself invulnerable, the Ubermensch above reproach, sanctified by my own success.

He may as well have lit Lupe ablaze himself.

Almost as clearly as when Helena had performed her tricks he was whisked back to the field hospital. A tank crew had been brought in and despite his haze Richard overheard the discussion between the junior nurse and the senior nurse late at night.

"It's not the burns that killed them exactly," she had said in a hushed tone at their station a few feet away from Richard's bed. "Their organs shrank. It didn't matter that they survived long enough to come to the hospital, they were dead the moment those goddamned Nazis set their tank on fire. There's nothing we could do for them."

What remained of Richard's hubris and pride collapsed like the rotten and false idol that it was. Their organs shrank. He started to sob and, out of shame for his display and his actions, put his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for this to happen," he choked out between gasps. "Please, you've got to let me out of here, she's going to die soon," he begged and wiped his eyes.

"You've killed a man. Took his head clean off less than two hours ago. You're a second-time offender," Detective Pierce informed him calmly. Evidently he'd seen grown men break down before. "The law is the law. You're under a hold, no exception."

Richard was too distraught to argue the point that he had not been the aggressor in either encounter with Robert. Logic, his life-long reliable standby, had deserted him, along with confidence and temperance, leaving only a sinking void of sharp despair.

"Please make it stop!" Her voice echoed in his memory, pleading for help he couldn't provide. Richard could do nothing but weep harder as the walls of this hell of his own manufacture began to close in on him.

Detective Lambert sighed, no doubt in disgust at the sad, sniveling mess Richard had devolved into. "I have more points of clarification, but they can wait until you've composed yourself. I'll return later."

Richard heard Detective Lambert rise to go and then the door shut behind him, leaving Richard to suffer his exquisite and well-deserved torture of self-recrimination.