Hey folks-To all of the people who wrote to me about killing off piety and Mason in the conclusion of Burning the witches, I have to say that I'm sorry you're unhappy about it. I'm not however sorry that I did it. To put this plainly Mason and Piety were written and their entire storyline was created in an earlier story with the full intent tht they would die in Burning the witches. To me the entire Sisters of fate universe is Jason, Prudence, Penance and Patience. I couldn't kill off one of them, so I created other charaters that I could. Again, I'm sorry to the people who are sad that they're gone, but it wasn't done capriciously. Moving on-his week's story is back to the normal cheating wives story. I want to thank SirCharles5150 for going above the call of duty and editing this while he has the flu. Actually I want to thank all of the vounteer editors out there period. These guys and ladies do a truly thankless job and usually when they're done with it, their only reward is yet another story to edit. Here we go-SS06

This isn't a nice story. I really wish that it was, but sometimes real life just sucks. The only thing we can do when life throws shit at us I'd try to avoid as much of the shit as possible.

My name is Darren Montgomery Carlisle. For most of my life I've been called "Ren." My older brother's name is Darryl, so he was "Dare."

I'm thirty five years old and facing my greatest fear. My greatest fear isn't jumping off of a building or staring down the barrel of a gun. My greatest fear right now is the beautiful woman who just told me that she loves me.

I'm sure that everyone reading this is wondering exactly what is wrong with me. So let me tell you my story and you decide whether or not my fear is justified.

I'm not going to bore you with the details of my early life and how I met my wife. Let's just suffice it to say that by last year we'd been married for fourteen years and were still very much in love. My business had finally taken off and we were financially stable enough that we were looking into moving out of our condo and into a very large house. Our apartment was relatively expensive and had a beautiful view of the river, but we were also thinking that it was time to start a family. Anyway our decision to make babies and move out to the country isn't critical here, but the apartment is.

It was a Tuesday afternoon in June although I don't remember the exact date, when it happened. I had just left work. Actually I'd driven home early because my wife Kerrie had called to offer me some afternoon delight. So hell yeah, I dropped everything and went home.

I think that all of us have seen those videos and articles on how to avoid being mugged. You're supposed to look around you and be aware of your surroundings. You're supposed to look at the people you meet and make eye contact so they know that you've seen them and are aware of them.

I know all of that shit, but I seriously never thought it would happen to me. I mean seriously, I live in a luxury, high rise condo. We have a fucking doorman and a security squad twenty four hours a fucking day, eight days a fucking week. I never expected it.

When I got on the elevator a guy was already on it. He had several large boxes in his arms so I couldn't really see his face. I did notice the tattoo on his arm though because I was seriously thinking about getting one.

"Wow, that's a lot of boxes. Better you than me," I said trying to make small talk.

"Yeah, but they're not really heavy," he said. I remembered his voice afterwards because he had that Bostonian accent which I find hilarious. The way they pronounce "R's" always makes me think of Elmer Fudd.

When I got off of the elevator, he did too. I guess I thought that he was visiting someone on my floor or possibly moving in. That sounds good. But the actual truth was that I didn't give him a thought. My mind was on the treasure between my wife's legs.

I pulled my keys out and unlocked my door. That was the exact moment that he clubbed me over the head and pushed me into the apartment.

I guess I was dizzy after being hit over the head. He pulled out two pairs of handcuffs and cuffed my hands around one of the support beams in the apartment.

He started yelling at me and asking me where the safe was. My head was still spinning and I was half expecting Bugs Bunny to come and rescue me. In every God damned Looney Toons cartoon I've ever seen Bugs always came in to handle Elmer Fudd.

I think I half blacked out for a while and when I awoke I heard the springs in my bedroom squeaking. It was then that I thought about Kerrie. I started trying to pull my hands out of the cuffs so I could help her. I screamed loudly. He must've been afraid of my yells drawing a neighbor or the security team. So he ran out of my bedroom while pulling his pants on. He had his shirt in one hand along with his shoes. He didn't even look at me he just ripped the door open and ran out into the hall.

I yelled for Kerrie. There was no response to my yell. That was when I began to worry. I yelled again and again until finally she staggered into the living room.

She was crying and she looked like hell. Her clothes were torn. Her makeup was smeared all over her face.

"Kerrie, call the police," I yelled.

"Ren, we can't," she whined. "I don't want anyone to know what he..."

"Kerrie, you didn't do anything wrong, Honey," I told her. "If it takes me the rest of my God damned life I'll find that guy and make sure he pays for what he did. He's gonna..."

That was all I got out. I noticed that Kerrie's eyes got huge. "Ren, why are you bleeding? What did he... ?"

I have no idea how much time passed. When I woke again, I was in the hospital and Kerrie was next to me holding my hand and crying.

"Ren, are you alright?" she asked when saw my eyes open.

"What did the police say?" I asked.

"I didn't call them," she said.

"Why the hell not?" I screamed loudly. The screaming set my head off and waves of pain shot through me. All kinds of alarms on the machines that were monitoring me went off and a fat old nurse waddled into the room.

"My husband was on the floor bleeding from his head," she screamed back. "So excuse me but if I have to make a choice between getting an ambulance to save the life of the man I love and calling a cop who probably won't catch the guy anyway, I chose you Ren."

"Ma'am, he has a concussion and possibly swelling on the brain. If you excite him, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. We need to keep him calm until we determine the extent of the injuries," said the nurse.

Kerrie didn't say anything. She just nodded and glared at the woman.

"Can I get you anything sir?" Asked the nurse as she listened to my breathing and checked the bandage on my head.

"Could you call the police for me or get me my phone so I can?" I asked.

"I can do better than that Mr. Carlisle," she smiled. "Betty is downstairs in the emergency room. She's a detective. She's down there taking a statement from a drunk driver they brought in. He ram through a stop sign and T-boned a car with two old ladies in it. He claims his brakes failed. But his blood alcohol levels were three times the legal limit. I'll send her right up."

"Thanks," I said.

As soon as the nurse left the room, Kerrie started in on me.

"Ren we don't need the embarrassment of reporting this," she said. "I want that bastard caught for what he did to you as much as you do. But think about your business and our neighbors and our family. Do you really need people wondering if you're the right person to hire? Do we really need our parents and friends talking about us behind our backs? Let's just let this go. Sooner or later everyone who lives in a city gets hit. It was just our turn. It won't happen again. At least we have each other and..."

"Please forgive me, but that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." The woman who said it walked into the room then. She was nothing like the typical detective. She was a couple of years older than us. I pegged her at just under forty. And like everything that Goldilocks chose, she was just right. No she wasn't slim and svelte like Kerrie. She also didn't have one of those smart fashionable haircuts that all of the urban upwardly mobile women wore these days.

Her hair was curly and a rich chestnut brown that draped down her back like a curtain. She was a little on the short side. And while she wasn't as thin as Kerrie, she was nowhere near fat. She was very curvy though. She had a big butt and some honest to goodness boobs. I could them jiggle with every step she took. Her blue eyes glowed with intelligence and intensity. She wore a navy blue suit jacket over a white shirt and jeans. I was sure that the jacket was worn just as camouflage.

Without that jacket, every man she ran into would be trying to catch glimpses of her boobs and her ass.

"If everyone thought like you do, it would be open season for the criminals. They'd know that no matter what they did they'd get away with it because no one would ever report them," she continued. Kerrie looked at the floor.

"Don't you care about your husband?" asked the detective.

"I love him," said Kerrie. "That's why I got him to the hospital."

"Then why do you want to let the person that did this to him get away with it?" asked the detective. She pulled out a notebook and I laughed.

She smiled at me and asked me what was funny.

"I guess I was expecting something more modern," I said. "I'm a note taker too, but I do it on my iPad."

"So what do you do when the power goes out or your iPad's battery runs out?" She asked.

"It's rechargeable," I said.

"Okay Mr. Carlisle, what happened to you?" she asked."

"A guy broke into our apartment and robbed us. He knocked me out and raped Kerrie," I said.

The detective's demeanor changed. "Mr. Carlisle, do you mind if I take your wife down to the lab. We need to get DNA from her as soon as possible to avoid contamination. We'll be right back," she said.

"That's not going to work," said Kerrie. "I didn't want that asshole's smell or his stuff left on me or in me so I showered and douched." The detective looked at Kerrie as if she was stupid. She sighed and shook her head.

"Mrs. Carlisle that will make things a lot more complicated. Can you give me a description of the man?"

"Not really..." said Kerrie."I guess I'm in shock or something."

"I can help with that," I said. "He's tall and kind of stocky. He's in his late twenties to early thirties. He has dark hair. His hair is cut short. He has a tattoo on his left forearm. His voice is kind of deep and he speaks with an accent like the people from Boston. He was wearing jeans and he had a slight scar on the left side of his neck. I remember all of that from when we were on the elevator before he clubbed me over the head."

"Excellent, Mr. Carlisle," said the detective. "If I bring in a sketch artist do you think you could help him draw the guy?"

"Hell yeah," I said. "Bring him in now, while the bastards face is fresh in my memory. Let's catch this bastard. I want him in the electric chair with a cattle prod up his ass by nightfall."

That made the detective laugh. "I don't know if we can arrange that," she said. "But I'll do my best to catch him and I'm kind of like the RCMPs. I always get my man."

"Good!" I spat. "I can't wait to see that bastard behind bars."

"So can the two of you tell me exactly what happened, and the sequence in which it all went down?" she asked.

"Noooo!" screamed Kerrie. "I can't go through that again. I won't!" She got up and ran out of the room.

There was an awkward moment when the detective and I got our wits about us. "She'll be better off if you don't go running after her," said the detective. "I'm sorry I was so insensitive. She seemed so calm. You never really know with rape victims. They all handle it differently. A lot of women react the way your wife seems to be. They try to pretend that it didn't happen. The problem with that is that deep down inside they know that it did and no amount of hiding or pretending can take that away from them. Sooner or later they tend to explode. Some of them are never able to get over it. I suggest that you get her into therapy as soon as possible."

I nodded. "From what I've seen, you've already been doing a great job of letting her know that what happened wasn't her fault, in fact, I heard you tell her that before I stepped in. You're a good man Mr. Carlisle. A lot of men would look at their wives as if they had betrayed them. But it's obvious that your feelings for your wife haven't changed."

"Why should they?" I asked. "None of this was her fault. It was all, my fault."

"Don't get silly Mr. Carlisle," she smiled. "How was any of this your fault?"

"Kerrie loves me," I began. "She called me and asked me to come home and I was so giddy about it that I didn't pay any attention to my surroundings or the people around me. I spoke to that bastard in the elevator. I didn't pay him any attention. He didn't live in our building. I'd never seen him before. I should have been more suspicious. It's funny to me how stupid I was. If a black guy that I didn't know or another minority or a teenager had been in my building I'd probably have stared at him and called security. But because this was a white guy, I didn't give it another thought." I shook my head.

"I lead that asshole right to my apartment and opened the fucking door for him," I said.

She smiled at me and reached out touch my hand. "Mr. Carlisle, you're the victim here. None of this was your fault. We all tend to feel safe in familiar surroundings. You had no way of knowing this would happen."

"But it did happen. I failed to protect my wife," I said. "How the hell will I ever face her again? My carelessness led to what happened to her." I wanted to cry then but I couldn't do it with her in the room. I told her everything that I remembered. She thought that it was strange that after taking all of the risk of breaking into our apartment, the guy left with nothing. He hadn't stolen a thing. I noticed that she was writing down all kind of notes and impressions.

We were just winding the interview down when the nurse came back into the room. I think that the questions had been over for a whole, but neither of us seemed ready to end the meeting. "Mr. Carlisle, your wife called. She wanted to apologize. She said she's sorry but she just had to get out of the room. She's on her way back now," said the nurse.

"Can you call her back and tell her that I'm asleep or that visiting hours are over or anything you can think of that will work?" I said. The nurse lifted one of her bushy eyebrows but nodded and left the room.

"Are you going to be Okay?" asked the detective.

"I just can't face her right now," I said.

"Maybe both of you need the therapy," she said. "She's going to need to have you loving her and letting her know that she's still your woman to get through this. I'm going to catch this bastard for both of you, so stay strong."

I laid there in that hospital bed and everything flashed before me over and over. I imagined myself choking the life out of that bastard over and over again. Sometime during the night I fell asleep. I awoke several times during the night when my phone rang. Every time it did I looked at the screen and when I saw that it was Kerrie ... I just put it down.

When she showed up the next morning to visit, I pretended that I was asleep. I just couldn't face her.

I was in the hospital for almost a week. It gave me plenty of time to think and to feel sorry for myself. I felt useless. I felt worthless. I had the weight of the world on my narrow shoulders. Of all the responsibilities I had in life, I had failed in the most important one.

I hardly saw Kerrie during my time in the hospital. She was very angry about it too. I don't think she understood at all what I was feeling until we went to therapy and it all came out. We both did the crying thing. Although I was ashamed of doing it, I couldn't help it.

Kerrie seemed to just bounce back from it. Within two or three weeks, it was as if it had never happened for her. I was the one who went into a depression. Things just got worse when she started at first to hint and then to act on the fact that she was ready for us to start having sex again.

She started dressing in her sexiest lingerie for just walking around the house. After a while she became even more obvious. She took to not wearing any panties around the house and just bending over whenever I was behind her. Kerrie is one of those thin gorgeous women who look good in anything so normally I'm ready to mount her at the drop of a hat. Not doing it told her that something was seriously wrong with me and she began to pester me about it.

On the other hand I'd started working out more. I even signed up for a martial arts class. I didn't want to be Bruce Lee, but I did want to be able to protect Kerri the way she deserved.

I registered for a license to carry a gun. I bought one and took classes to receive my permit to carry. If I ever met up with that guy again it would be quite different. Every time I thought of him I was filled with more rage than I thought was possible.

It took me a few weeks to get back to my stride at work. My long-suffering secretary, Heather, got a raise when I became more myself after a couple of months. She'd endured my jags of introspection, self-doubt with compassion similar to what I'd have expected if I was one of her kids.

Another person that went beyond the call of duty was Betty Durant. She was the detective that I'd spoken to at the hospital. She actually had the grace to have the police department switchboard rout all of my calls to her wherever she was, even when she was at home. She put up with my endless calls and visits to the station to ask whether or not they'd made any progress in our case. She also called me to ask me for information on details of the case. Sometimes I think that she did those things just to ease my mind that they were really working on finding the guy.

I usually dropped everything when she called to ask me if I could come over to look at a suspect or a lineup of suspects when they caught someone committing a crime. None of the guys I looked at were him though. She often invited me to sit down for a cup of the rancid stuff they called coffee at the PD. She seemed to actually enjoy our talks as much as I enjoyed the fact that they hadn't after all of that time, put our case on the back burner.

At home things were very frustrating. Every time I looked at Kerrie, all I saw was my failure to protect her. I felt unworthy of her. Even a talk with my father in law didn't help. He tried to reassure me that Kerrie didn't hold me responsible and that no one in the family did either.

But when Kerrie looked at me I sensed that there was something off between us. She went out of her way to be nice to me. I think that she did that because she felt guilty about feeling that I had failed her. Although neither of us would admit it we both know that the whole thing was my fault. There were so many ways that I could have prevented what happened. I could have kept going and walked past the apartment. I could have gone back to the elevator, pretending that I'd left something in my car. Even if the asshole had robbed me, he'd have had no idea which apartment was mine and Kerrie would have been safe.

The worse thing that happened was when I said that in our couple's therapy, Kerrie actually started crying and left the room. I knew then that even she blamed me for what had happened.

On the other hand, I took out my frustration in business. I became more ruthless. I did anything and everything I could to draw in more customers and to keep them happy. Some of the prices I offered were so low that I almost drove some of my competitors out of business.

Away from the office I became more withdrawn. One thing that I truly enjoyed was my martial arts classes. I got better by leaps and bounds. My instructor cautioned me several times though because of my lack of form and technique. He told me that I probably wouldn't get my next belt because my technique was awful and I could never remember the correct movements when performing the katas.

I smiled at him because he might have been a martial arts master, if such a thing was still possible in this day and age, but he didn't have a clue. I think in his defense that he really believed in his art and the whole morality of using the martial arts for defense etc. but the bottom line was that he was a business man just like me. He had to give his customers what they wanted.

I, myself didn't give a fuck about the proper usage of the art. I couldn't even stomach sitting through a fucking Kung fu movie. All I wanted to do was to beat the hell out of the guy who'd raped my wife. I wanted to beat him until he was just a puddle of mush on the floor beneath me and then take a squeegee and clean up his remains. I went to class not to improve my technique or advance the art, but to let out some of that rage by sparring. After a few weeks no one in my class wanted to fight with me. Even among the ranks of guys who were much younger than I was and were ranked higher, I had problems finding partners. In a lot of cases I ended up sparring with some of the competitive fighters who worked out in our school. The battles were usually gut ripping and intense. We all liked it that way.

I also did well at the shooting range. I made the mistake once, but only once of forgetting to take off my gun when I went inside the police station. The officers after hearing of cases where attackers had walked in and shot up police stations in Detroit, Chicago and a couple of other cities had quickly subdued me and only Betty's father, the police chief's quick intervention had saved me.

I did go to the range with Betty a few times. She gave me a lot of shooting tips and made me a better shot. So I was becoming a better shot, a better fighter, a more successful business man and a worse husband all at the same time.

Kerrie sat me down on a Wednesday morning, just before I left for work and told me how much she loved me. She reminded me that we had stopped working on moving into or renovating the large house we'd bought that needed to be redone and landscaped before we could move in. She reminded me that if we didn't at least start, it might be another year before we could move in. That would mean paying both the mortgage on the house and all of our condo fees simultaneously for a longer period of time.

She finally told me that we needed to start work on our greatest project. She wanted to have a baby. She confessed that she'd been trying really hard since before the attack had happened even though it wasn't a part of our plan. She'd done it because she knew that as much as we loved each other, I'd love our child, even if he or she was born before we were ready. Even if it didn't result in a baby, we needed to resume having sex. We needed to even if it was awful at first. We needed to do it to bring back the closeness and intimacy that was the real thing that had been stolen from us.

"Ren, that guy didn't get me," she said. "I'm still here with you and I always will be. Okay he fucked me. It was probably the worst pussy he ever got. And it didn't mean anything. I wasn't a virgin when we met, Honey. You know that. So it doesn't matter. He got to stick his dick in me one time, with me fighting him all the way and just lying there like a rock. My pussy belongs to you. It misses you. And I miss my best friend, my husband and my lover. I'll give you a day or so more to get out of this funk you're in. But this weekend, two days from now, I've rented us a cabin out at the lake and I intend to come home pregnant."

I just shook my head. I hugged her and genuinely meant it. For the first time since the attack we kissed passionately. And I remembered why I'd married her. I'd married her because I loved her. Letting that asshole take that away from us was an even bigger crime than the one he'd done.

I left for work that morning feeling far better than I had in weeks. And that was when it happened. It's funny but it always seems like things are getting better, when we take our darkest turns.

I was heading downtown and running late because of my talk with Kerrie and the make out session we'd had afterwards. I swear that woman tried to get me to stay home with her instead of going to work. It was almost like ... it was almost like the way we'd been before. I had really allowed myself to think that we were getting out of the hell we'd descended into. I had allowed myself to believe that we might get over it.

I guess I started to believe that old saying about how it's always darkest before the dawn. I was stuck in traffic in front of the courthouse building when I saw him. He was wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase but I was sure it was him. He was leaving the building and heading for the parking lot outside of the courthouse. As he walked he smiled and I knew it was him. I pulled into the lot and parked up front while he walked towards the back. The attendant gave me a ticket and I handed him a fifty and told him to call the police. I told him to ask for detective Betty Durant and to tell her that Ren Carlisle needed her.

I heard the parking lot attendant on his cell phone talking on the phone as I continued to stalk the man. Looking at him, I saw that he was a bigger man than me and also younger. It did nothing to deter me. For the first time I understood what tunnel vision meant. As I dogged his steps I saw nothing except the man I followed. In a way it was poetic justice. This time though I was in the role of the hunter and he had no idea that I was behind him.

I couldn't do it that way. If I did, I'd be no better than he was. Besides, my pride wouldn't be restored by a cheap sucker punch victory.

"Hey asshole, remember me?" I yelled. He turned and looked at me. His eyes went wide as recognition dawned on him. "I'm giving you a courtesy that you never gave me," I said.

"I have no idea what you're talking about dude," he said. Ht looked at my eyes and he knew then that I knew who he was.

"Putting a suit on a gorilla doesn't change anything," I said. And then I started for him. He started backing away from me. He saw the attendant behind me.

"Call the police," he yelled still back pedaling.

"I already did," I smirked. "They may not have been able to find you, but they've got plenty of your DNA from my apartment to prove it was you."

"Look buddy," he said. "It's not what you're thinking..." Everything else he tried to say was cut off by my fist.

There's a lot to be said for getting in the first punch in a fight and making it a good one. Our battle was not like the sparring matches I had at the martial arts studio. There was no referee to separate us. There were no rounds. After my first punch hit his jaw, he was pretty much just clawing at me trying anything he could to get away.

I launched another wild punch and connected with the side of his head. He went down flailing wildly. "I'm sorry," he yelled. "It wasn't my fault." Without thinking, he finally used his superior size and strength to throw me off of him. But my fury wouldn't be denied.

I dove after him grabbing both of his legs from behind and tackling him. As we crashed to the concrete he skinned both knees and tore the pants of his expensive suit. Behind us, I heard a siren in the distance but it didn't register. I crawled up the length of his body and started to pummel him. He tried to ward off my blows but I kept connecting with every second or third punch. He was bleeding from his mouth and cheek and one of his eyes was swelling already. But it wasn't nearly enough, I wanted more.

I punched him as hard as I could and felt his head bounce off of the concrete. He stopped responding then and went limp.

"I think you killed him," said the attendant. I turned to look at him and noticed that he had a cell phone out and was filming the whole thing.

"He's still breathing," I said. "As a matter of fact, I think he's faking it. I unzipped my pants. "I'm going to piss in his face." His eyes popped open and he struggled to get up. I pulled out my gun then.

"The police will be here any second," I said.

"Please, you have to let me go," he said. "This will ruin my life. I'm sorry. I'll do anything."

"Ruin YOUR fucking life?" I screamed. "What about my life? What about my sanity? What about my self-respect? What about my wife? What about my marriage?" I think he realized then how close I was to pulling the trigger. He looked away from me. The police arrived then. Three uniformed officers jumped out of their cars and came over to me.

"Drop you gun sir," they said.

"Officer, arrest this man," I said. "He's the one you've been looking for. He's the one who robbed us and raped my wife." They looked at each other.

"Drop the gun sir," one of them repeated.

"I'll put it down on the ground," I said. "You guys know me. I have a license to carry it. Remember when I accidentally brought it into the station?" Recognition flared with them then.