The Sleeper

Joe walked into the bar, nodded a greeting to the bartender in passing, and sat, alone, at the table in the corner. His back, still hidden beneath a thick and dirty leather duster, was stiff and pressed to the wall through the chair. He lowered his hat and leaned his head down, crossed his hands over his chest, and waited.


Charles paced between his car and the next in the parking lot. Long, willowy fingers fidgeted with the lock of the briefcase held in his hands. Wire-rim glasses slid along a sweat-soaked nose and were promptly pushed back in front of dilated hazel eyes. His thin lips muttered senselessly as he walked the tight circle considering his options. Calculations ran quickly through his mind, first accepting his choice, then shying away from the act.

A car sputtered, the bang of a backfiring engine startled the indecisive man and sent him, adrenaline pumped, into the dimly lit and smoke filled bar.

Charles did his best to keep the wild-look of fear and anxiety off his face as he nudged his way through the growing crowds. He finally approached the rear wall and halted, scanning for the first time for the man described in the email. On his second sweep of the tables, Charles realized the sleeping man was not really sleeping, instead he was watching the room. Charles approached, hesitant about pulling out a chair, debating once again pacing in place.

Joe tapped his fingers, a small gesture meant only for Charles. Charles sat. Silently, he lifted the briefcase, unlocked the combination, and cracked the lid. He turned the opening to the other man and waited for some form of acknowledgment. Joe moved slowly, as if roused from a much needed slumber. His thick fingers traced the locks while his sharp eyes peered quickly inside. The case snapped shut and disappeared beneath the table, safely resting against Joe's leg.

Charles squirmed as Joe returned to his "sleeping" state. Realizing his dismissal, he stood and walked out in a daze. It is done, then, he thought to himself. The lying, cheating bitch will get what she deserves!


Two days later, a woman walked into her lover’s apartment. Her keys slipped on the hook as her purse landed atop the hallway table. Her coat fell down her arms and the chill of the air unit blasted her skin. She shed her clothing, little by little, as she wandered through the rooms. She crawled under the covers into bed and snuggled against the man sleeping in the dark.

Instantly she stiffened, but before she could scream, a hand clamped over her mouth and a stranger’s body rolled her onto her back. The muscled bulk of a well toned and brawny man crushed her petite form. Fear seared through her body as she realized every inch of the man touching her was skin; she was in bed, pinned, by a naked man, a man that was not her lover. This man was also very firm, pulsing, and ready. She froze.

The smell of leather and smoke permeated his flesh and penetrated her nose as he leaned down to whisper, gruffly, in her ear, "Your husband, Charles, sends his regards." Pain radiated from her core as he sank deep, thrust without mercy, over and over again.