-What was he some kind of masochist?

-Maybe, but I don't think so.

-Huh, why? I mean look at the way - hey get the fuck outta here! You, Franklin, get this clown outta here and get the film from the camera. No press and no pictures damnit. God damn grunts, you'd think even a beat cop could tell the difference between forensics and a reporter.

-Yeah, but hey, manpower. Anyway take a look at the note. It explains why he did it this way.

- Lemme see it.

-Put a glove on first, its still wet.

-Damn that's nasty.

I would not swing forever from a tree in a lower circle of hell. Perdition I will bear; I admit my sins, but this is a release, a catharsis through pain - that I may find peace elsewhere, forgetting her name. Hopefully what I have here borne will redeem my soul.

He was a poet eh?

--No you idiot its Dante - suicides are doomed to forever be trapped in the trees with their bodies hanging from nooses by their own branches. I think it was the 6^th, no the 7^th circle of Hell. But whatever, at least the parents aren't alive to see this.

-I can't stand it anymore Jake. She has been out with this guy a couple of times. I have to know. I mean damn it we're just separated!

-This guy's hard boiled Chris, once you set him going its done. There is absolutely no calling him off - his reputation is based on that.

-Fine. I'm desperate.

-If you are sure, I'll e-mail you his info. There won't be any cloak and dagger nonsense, but he is serious and a pro. Don't let his style fool you.

--I'm sure and I won't.

-Listen Chris, I going to take that apartment in the R. Lee building. We can talk soon.

-Becca please, just a little more time. Just till the IPO then everything will cool off. I can even retire effectively, hand day to day operations over to Rob. He wants it, and I won't need the extra salary anymore. It'll be us in the Bahamas.

-No, I've been hearing that for three years now. Every time its about to happen something unavoidable happens that delays it.

-I couldn't control the market Becca, come on -

-No.

-Becca...

-I just want to see Mathews. Nothing else.

-I usually do more. The price will have to be the same otherwise I can't -

-Whatever, fine. The price is the price. Do only what I have told you. No more, no less.

--I never do less than the full job.

-I'm sorry to be the one to give this to you. It's always hard.

-Here's your fee Mathews, and don't feel bad, its not your fault.

-Will you need anything else?

-Not that I can think of, but I'll contact you if I do.

The door closed and he turned his back to it and leaned. He let himself drag down into a sitting position and then tried to open the envelope. His hands were shaking so badly that he could not get the brad open. This brought a strangely strangled chuckle; he hadn't had problems with these since kindergarten. Again he tried and had the same result. Frustrated, he flipped out his large butterfly knife and cut open the manila envelope. He found it strange that he could still handle his knife steadily, but when he reached for the VHS cassette inside, his hands again shook terribly. Finally, he managed to get the tape into the VCR, it took three tries, and sitting bolt straight on the edge of the bed, hit play on the remote.

There was no color or sound on the tape, but it was sharp and clear black and white. He fast forwarded a few minutes of the empty living room. He recognized the couch, it had been her favorite. He could still remember how his body groove felt on it - they had had it since college. But now, she entered the scene leading someone else. There was the bastard. Wrath overcame Chris, and even as he watched he fantasized ripping the mans throat out, or cutting of his penis and making him chew it.

What happened instead was that he was his Rebecca kissing this man, and enjoying it. They necked for a while and then Rebecca got up. Chris sighed with relief - was this all Mathews had for him? This wasn't so bad. But it was. She did not go towards the door, but to the kitchen, and returned with glasses and an open bottle of wine.

They talked, and then moved to kissing. Rebecca was responding, and he saw the signs he knew so well. A hand slipped under her blouse, and the garment was gone. There was no rage this time, only fear. Like a man watching his team fumble around as the clock ticked away, like a captain forced to watch his ship sink, so he watched now as a hand slipped under her skirt. Now she writhed, and worked back. The man's shirt was gone, and he helped with his own pants. He skirt was around her waist, and her panties pushed aside.

A sudden gag reflex overtook him and he tasted his own bile. But he mastered himself as he had done in so many other situations before; this too he would bear. The man's head lowered to her lap, and she called out. He could hear her, even though the tape was mute - he knew how she sounded. And then, the man pulled off, and she returned the favor.

Her dainty hands took his cock and stroked it, fondled it, and rubbed it on her face. She blew on it, and then her tongue came out and licked the tip. He almost threw up, almost, but control was something that never failed him. Then she took him into her mouth, and he could not continue. He looked away as he paused it and got up.

Rage such as he had never known filled him. He let it flow through him, it was easier than the pain, the hollowness, the knowledge that nothing could now reverse what had been done. He paced his bedroom thinking. He could get her back; give over control to Rob now. Sell his stake, they would be quite well off, he wouldn't have to work for several years, it would be great. He tried to think of time alone with her but unconsciously looked at the screen and the sickness returned. No, never again. But life would go on, there would be others. Really? Could he ever let go of the bitterness, the anger, the betrayal. Yes it was his fault too, but he had not brought in anybody else, he had not done this. Could anyone make him forget? No. It would always be stale, a substitute, or a balm perhaps, spread over forever festering wounds.