Torment

by Leanne Wood

  Jill trudged out the front door and to her car. Bridget followed. Maintaining her distance, she parked up the street, on the opposite side of the road.

  In two hours Arthur would be home.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  S

  itting behind her steering wheel, Bridget kept an eye on the time. All had been quiet in the Fuller house. Arthur would soon come speeding up the road in his black Audi sports car. Bridget’s anticipation of what would unfold had resulted in her feeling both nauseated and excited. She shivered. The hairs on her arms stood to attention. Her brow was lathered in sweat. Her hands were so clammy she had to continually wipe them dry. Before she had a chance to think about anything else, she spotted Arthur’s car.

  Sliding down behind the steering wheel she peeked out the drivers’ window and watched as Arthur climbed from his car. His routine never changed. He checked his letterbox then proceeded to his front door. The sight of him made her sick to the stomach. He strutted to the door like a proud chicken. She could only hope he would soon be plucked. Leaping the stairs he stuck his key in the front door and before she knew it he had disappeared inside.

  Bridget sat still. She watched. She listened. She waited for the explosion. Time passed. All was quiet. She began to worry her plan had failed, and feared his wife might have been the forgiving type – weak and accepting of her husband’s indiscretions. This was not the response she’d expected. Half an hour went by. All remained silent. She wondered what was happening behind the closed doors. Venturing closer risked being seen. Leaving now could result in her missing the fireworks. She had to remain where she was. Another thirty minutes passed. A taxi pulled into the Fuller driveway and beeped its horn. Arthur dashed out the door, slamming it behind him. He jumped into the taxi. The taxi drove up the street and out of sight.

  Bridget was dumbfounded. She’d heard no yelling. Maybe his wife had shown him the evidence and he had killed her in a fit of rage. Maybe she was dead. How was it he could dash down to a taxi and jump in as if he hadn’t a care in the world? Bridget knew exactly where he was going. Within minutes he would be at the pub drinking with his mates, Samuel Easton and Pierre Rainer. It was time to leave. Her mission had failed. She felt sick to the stomach. Defeated. Arthur Fuller had won. She needed to reassess her plans.

  Placing her key into the ignition Bridget started her car. Looking over her shoulder she checked to make sure all was clear before she drove away. Arthur Fuller’s street was much busier than Samuel Easton’s. A yellow car approached from behind and so she waited. Glancing back towards Arthur’s house hope returned. She saw movement. The garage door was opening. Jill Fuller was alive.

  Bridget sighed in relief and pulled up to the kerb. Switching off the ignition, she watched and waited until Jill Fuller exited the garage with a large pile of clothes and dumped them in the centre of her front lawn before disappearing around the side of the house. Moments later she returned with a garden hose, which she dropped next to the pile of clothes. A quick trip to the garage, and Jill returned with a green petrol can.

  Bridget smiled. Her heart began to race as she clenched her steering wheel and silently cheered Jill on. This was a woman on a mission. The power behind Jill’s strides illustrated her determination. Opening the can Jill emptied its contents over the clothes. She lit a match. Dropped it onto the pile. Flames leapt, and she jumped back and grabbed the hose. Passing cars slowed to see what was happening. Jill Fuller waved them on, her face lit with smiles of delight.

  Within a couple of minutes all that remained was a pile of flickering embers and ashes. Jill Fuller doused the embers and cheered. She fist-punched the air and Bridget cheered along with her. She felt like dashing over and hugging the woman, but knew that was impossible.

  Jill Fuller returned into the garage with a spring in her step. Seconds later, she returned and this time she was carrying a large paint tin and paint brush. She plonked it down next to Arthur’s car then walked around inspecting all the panels. Returning to the back of the car she ran her fingers over the window. Paused. Finally she dipped the brush into the can, her hand moving quickly to the top left corner of the window as she began to paint…

  Arthur,

  Jill paused and stepped back to admire her work. Bridget watched on with bated breath. She could only imagine what Jill was going to do next – surely not just his name. Jill approached the car again, dipped her brush into the tin and continued. White paint dripped over the driveway as she worked. Her enthusiasm increased and her brush strokes became vigorous and passionate. By the time she was finished, Bridget wasn’t the only person watching. The woman’s masterpiece was done. A few people cheered. Others clapped. Jill stood back and took a bow before turning to admire her work.

  The whole world would know exactly what she thought. They would know what a lying cheating bastard her husband was.

  Arthur,

  This car belongs to me. Not to you

  and certainly not to your WHORE.

  Regards,

  Your soon to be ex-wife.

  Bridget could not contain her excitement. She roared with laughter. She clapped her hands as tears ran down her face. She was witnessing a woman who possessed power. Jill collected the paint tin from the drive and with one last rush of determination she tipped the remaining contents over the bonnet. It looked as if a large seagull had flown over and completed its business.

  Arthur Fuller wouldn’t know what hit him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  B

  ridget watched and waited. One hour passed. Darkness enveloped the sky. The night air carried coolness. Stars sparkled overhead. Arthur Fuller would soon be home. The streetlights blinked on. The fireworks would soon begin. Bridget wanted a Bourbon. She felt like a smoke – the kind you had after great sex. But this was better than any sex she’d experienced.

  The front door opened, and Jill Fuller stepped onto the verandah. In her hand she held a large board that she placed on the step. Bridget sat upright in her seat, trying to figure out what was going on.

  Jill disappeared back into the house, and returned moments later hammer in hand. She began to hammer the large board to the verandah’s front post. Bridget couldn’t believe her eyes; this woman wanted to be heard. She was no fool. She wouldn’t accept Arthur’s behaviour. Jill stood back and admired her masterpiece, nodded, then headed inside, slamming the door behind her.

  Jill’s words sung out loud and clear. Arthur Fuller wouldn’t know what hit him.

  The suit I purchased for you to wear with

  your whore is in that pile of ashes on my lawn.

  My car you used to drive is staying here.

  What was your home is now my house.

  Go screw someone else Arthur Fuller.

  You will be hearing from my solicitor.

  My pre-nup means you get nothing!

  Bridget burst into fits of laughter. Her plan couldn’t have worked any better if she’d tried. Without Arthur… So the waiting game continued. Bridget tapped her fingers on the steering wheel; she needed to pee. But she had to stay put. Arthur would soon be home – ten more minutes. It paid to know his routine. She hoped he was enjoying his last beer. Bridget was sure swallowing would be difficult when he arrived home.

  Headlights appeared at the end of the street. A taxi approached. She gripped her steering wheel tight, unable to drag her eyes from the vehicle. The taxi continued. Damn, false alarm. Surely he wouldn’t be far away. Bridget could well imagine him leaving the pub now, he and his buddies laughing. No doubt they would have been scheming and plotting. When they were together they acted as though they were untouchable.

  Headlights swung into the street again. Another taxi approached. This time it began to slow as Bridget’s heart began to race. The taxi stopped, and the internal light in the taxi flicked on. Bridget watched as Arthur paid for his fare. Watched as he got out of the taxi – oblivious. He staggered up the driveway, and the verandah’s fron
t sensor light blinked on. Arthur flinched, took a stumbling step back. He raised his hand to his forehead. Even from her position she could see him pale, turn as white as a ghost. He collapsed to his knees.

  “Jill! Please! It was a stupid mistake,” he bellowed. “A one-off! I was drunk… Jill! Please!”

  The front door remained closed. Arthur began to sob then looked around to see if anyone was watching. He struggled to his feet. Stared up at the sky. He walked over the lawn and kicked at the ashes. From the slump in his shoulders, it was clear he was beginning to understand the gravity of his situation. Jill wasn’t coming out. He staggered to his car, but it wouldn’t open. He desperately reefed on the door handles as he wailed.

  He made his way to the rear of the car.

  “No!” he shrieked. “This can’t be happening!”

  Lights from next door and across the road began to flick on – one after another. People crept outside, staring as Arthur staggered up the front steps and began pounding on his front door.

  “Let me in! Jill, let me in,” he barked. “I can explain. You don’t understand!”

  The door remained closed. The verandah light snapped off. No explanation was necessary. No words would suffice.

  Arthur collapsed on the front step. His sobbing echoed from the darkness. He was a man defeated. The door would never open for him.

  Bridget started her car, and drove off. Satisfied.

  CHAPTER TEN

  A

  t home Bridget celebrated her latest achievement with a drink, followed by another and another. Before she knew it, she had gulped away half a large bottle of Bourbon. She was drunk. Sitting on her lounge she heard a loud thud at the front door. The repeated banging that followed snapped her into the present. Staggering to her feet, she swayed. Steadying herself on the hallway wall, she let its smooth surface guide her to the front door. Who the hell is pounding on my door? Holy shit maybe it is Arthur Fuller.

  Fumbling with the lock she finally managed to get it open. She tugged on the door handle so hard the door flew back hitting her in the side of the head.

  “Oh it’s you,” she slurred. So caught up with her plan for Arthur, she had forgotten her arrangements with Zack.

  “You’re drunk,” he spat. “Was it you? Tell me, was it you?”

  “Was it me… what? What are you talking about?”

  “What am I talking about? I’m talking about the same thing everyone is talking about. Arthur Fuller, his wife has gone crazy. Painted his car. Kicked him out. The poor bastard rolled into the pub hysterical. He said she’s lost the plot.”

  Bridget laughed. “The bastard deserves everything he gets.”

  “It was you, wasn’t it? First Samuel Easton and now Arthur Fuller. Have you lost your mind? You told her didn’t you? I know it was you.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about! Told her what?”

  “Don’t lie to me Bridget. I’m not stupid. I had my suspicions with Samuel, but now with Arthur it’s too big of a coincidence. Tell me Bridget,” he demanded, thrusting his finger towards her face.

  “Tell you what? They got what they deserved. I’m here. I’ve been drinking with all my friends. Can’t you see I am having a party?” she said. “Remember me? Have you met all my friends?” she hissed, as she turned around and pointed down the hallway. She closed her eyes. Even behind the darkness of her eyelids the room continued to spin. She couldn’t bear to look at him. Who did he think he was to come into her house and make accusations?

  “Why don’t you get your things and just leave me in peace.”

  But he wouldn’t leave. “Sandra said she saw you.”

  “Saw me when?”

  “She saw you spying on them.”

  “On whom?”

  “You know who, stop playing games. She said she saw you spying on Samuel Easton, Arthur Fuller and Pierre Rainer… last Saturday.”

  “What about last Saturday?” Bridget said as she grabbed for the collar on her top. Things were heating up. The air became thick. She gulped in a large breath of air. Opened her eyes wide and stared at him. Her jaw clenched; he was starting to get on her nerves.

  “You know what? I don’t care what you think, and I sure as hell don’t care what Suckadick believes she saw. Get your things and leave!”

  “Bridget—”

  “I said get your things and leave my house.”

  Zack shook his head and stormed off down the hallway. Bridget sighed. At last he was out of her face. Holding onto the wall she battled to maintain her emotions. She felt tears. Not only had she forgotten Zack was coming over, she had also been spotted while spying. Stupid mistakes could have dire consequences. The sound of Zack bashing and crashing in the bedroom made her feel sick to the stomach. She remained silent. To speak could result in him staying longer. She wanted him gone. She wanted to be alone.

  Zack came thundering up the hallway. His arms were full of large sports bags overflowing with his clothes and shoes. Pushing past her he had one more thing to say. “I’ll be back for more another time but I am warning you…” he paused and turned back staring her in the eyes. She could feel his warm breath on her face. “You are going to end up with more trouble than you can handle. If Sandra and I suspect you are behind this, it’s not going to take long for the three amigos to work it out.”

  Bridget slammed the door in his face. She couldn’t be bothered to watch him leave. Her life was no longer his concern. Staggering back down to the lounge room, she flopped onto the couch and poured herself another drink. To hell with them, to hell with them all. Tonight was her night to celebrate. Tomorrow would be another day. She would worry then.

  As the coolness of her bourbon met her lips she inhaled the sweetness. She closed her eyes. Smiled. She thought of Arthur Fuller sobbing in his driveway.

  What goes around, comes around.

  She opened her eyes and gazed around her peaceful room. At least she had a roof over her head. She grinned and gulped down another mouthful of Bourbon.

  Tomorrow was another day.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  W

  aking with a thumping headache Bridget rolled out of bed and staggered up the hallway. A trail of clothes showed the path she had taken to bed the previous night. Her first stop of the morning would be her bathroom. Gazing into the mirror she studied her reflection. Her glassy eyes were rimmed with smudged black mascara. Streaky tear stains ran down her cheeks. Last night she had endured more haunting nightmares. If only she could have one undisturbed night of rest. Broken sleep only added to her frustration. She retrieved some headache tablets and slowly closed the medicine cabinet. Again, she stood studying her face. What would it take to forget? The mirror offered no answers and so she continued to the kitchen.

  She rubbed her eyes, as she struggled to focus on the stove clock. It was just after eight and her therapy with Daniel was at ten. Therapy was always scheduled for the same time. It was easier that way. If it had been an afternoon session, she would have spent all morning worried about how she would make it there without being spotted by the enemy. Morning sessions reduced dwelling time.

  ***

  Sitting in his waiting room her head continued to pound. The tablets did nothing to ease her pain. Next time maybe don’t drink so much. But she smiled as she recalled watching Arthur’s life fall apart.

  “Are you okay?” Hilary asked.

  Bridget nodded. “Had a rough night but I’m sure Daniel will help me.”

  Before Hilary had a chance to reply, Daniel opened his office door and greeted Bridget with a smile. “Good morning, shall we talk?”

  His welcoming smile was a sight for literally sore eyes. Bridget brushed past him inhaling the sweet scent of his aftershave. Flopping down in the familiar corner chair, she sighed. She was with Daniel; everything appeared better when she was with Daniel.

  They’d been talking for about twenty minutes when Bridget admitted to her revenge on Ar
thur Fuller. She smiled as she spoke of watching his life fall apart, how she watched him collapse to the ground. She was pleased with the success of her mission. Then she told him of her visit from Zack. She was concerned Zack or Sandra would tell others of their suspicions.

  Daniel lent over and placed his warm hand gently upon hers. Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Come away with me…” he blurted.

  “What?” Bridget replied, not sure she had heard him correctly.

  “Come away with me.”

  “Where to?”

  “I have a cabin in the country. It’s only just over an hour away from here. It’s secluded, in a quiet valley. My closest neighbour lives two valleys over. The break would do you wonders. There is fresh air. There is a small stream where you could do some fishing. Trails to wander. Maybe that’s what you need. The scenery is beautiful. Just some time away to relax.”

  Bridget looked at Daniel. She wanted to leap from her chair and say yes but she didn’t want to appear desperate.

  “When was the last time you took time out for yourself. You need to do things that create pleasure. Take me for example, I love my job but I need an outlet. I escape to my cabin. I have hobbies. I am also completing a course in massage. It’s healthy to have an outlet. Something to distract our minds from everyday life. Everyone needs a break.” He gave her another smile. “I’ll tell you what… no pressure, just think about it. I am going there this Saturday. If you want to come along, let me know and I will pick you up on the way. Just an overnight stay.”

  Bridget nodded. “I will, thanks. I will think about it. As you say maybe the break would do me good. Fresh country air might help clear my head.”