Sunshine: A Short Story

So many people had a kind word for the late Jonathan Andrews that the funeral dragged on for a couple of hours. Several people spoke of his philanthropy; Jonathan always helped any cause that was thrust upon him. No fundraiser was held in the posh suburban Chicago town to which he didn't contribute. There wasn't a public building in around that wasn't built without the aid of Jonathan's foundation, aptly named the Andrews Foundation. He personally helped at the soup kitchen on holidays, handed out blankets and coffee on cold nights, and bottles of water in the heat of the summer. He was a good man, many of them whispered. The entire town had turned out for his funeral.

Jonathan's widow Marilyn stood in the front row of the church flanked by Jonathan's father and sister. Her own parents presumed dead, were never seen during the five year marriage. No one knew if she had siblings either. The sympathy for the woman grew as the crowd realized that she was there without the aid of her own family.

Marilyn's tall curvy figure could be seen standing next to a man who resembled an older version of Jonathan. The man, James Andrews, occasionally flipped his medium length silver strands while trying not to look disgustedly toward the overacting widow.

Throughout the entire service, Marilyn's wails could be heard above the priest and later the eulogies. Back at the house, the widow was watched over and cared for by the matrons of towns. The blue-haired group made sure that she grieved peacefully. They took over the details of food preparation and clean-up. They even set an eager grandchild on watch over the widow, to get her what ever she needed, whenever she needed it. Someone else's big nephew was posted nearby to steer away the lookiloos, the rude, and anyone else they deemed inappropriate. Jonathan had done a lot for the community; caring for his widow was least that they could do.

At the end of the day, Mrs. Marilyn Andrews closed the door on the last departing guest. She surveyed her home, surprised at its neatness. The old biddies had cleaned up well, she thought. They offered to have someone stay with her--a daughter or niece--so that she wouldn't be alone. The offer was declined. Privacy is what I need, Marilyn told them. She promised to call if she changed her mind.

Hearing running water upstairs in one of the bathrooms, she cautiously went to investigate. Marilyn checked the master bathroom first. The door was shut; light and steam escaped form the space beneath the door. She slowly turned the knob, and pushed the door open. In her garden tub, overflowing with bubbles was a man who appeared to be naked. He extended a hand that held a flute of champagne. Hello Marilyn, we're alone at last," he said.

"I thought they would never leave," she replied before stripping off her clothes and joining him.

Marilyn and Bruce have been together since the Andrews' tenth anniversary. On that night, Marilyn had planned a romantic dinner at Jonathan's favorite restaurant. She even had a room waiting for the two of them upstairs in the hotel. However, Jonathan wasn't with her. He had called to tell her early in the evening that he could not get away from work in time for the reservation. He had some breakthrough that he just could not leave; some computer thing. She went with him, determined to make the night fun for herself, no matter what.

She met Bruce at the bar. They had dinner, and then he took Jonathan's place upstairs in the suite. To Marilyn, he was a worthy replacement.

This all happened five years before. It was before Jonathan started spending more time with his charities and foundations than with her. It was later that they stopped sex and communication altogether. As a matter of fact, Marilyn believed that Jonathan was going to divorce her. She couldn't let that happen. There was a prenupt, and Bruce was beautiful had not a dime to his name. It didn't take long for them to decide that Jonathan had to die.

A little poison in his morning coffee was supposed to send Jonathan to the netherworld. He would die of a heart attack about an hour after he left home-enough time for him to make the precious company his final resting place. The medicine worked faster than she expected, but the result was the same. Instead of dying at work, he had a heart attack in his car, causing it to careen off the scenic road he often took to work. The car made a freakish landing in the river that ran perpendicular to the road. Marilyn reported him missing after he was gone for a day. Her fingers were crossed as she spoke to the officers over the phone.

Jonathan's Jag had a GPS system whose last blimp placed him the river before the entire system went dead. After three days of searching, the car was found. Jonathan's bloated body was inside, his face picked away by the river's inhabitants.

Marilyn was able to identify him, though, from the wedding band on his finger and the cross around his neck. Both left his body only for bathing purposes. To be sure, she had ordered a DNA test which confirmed that Jonathan Andrews was really dead. Marilyn was instantly a wealthy woman.

Soaking in the warm water, after a day of pretending to grieve, Marilyn could feel her worries rinse away. She and Bruce stayed in the water until it chilled. They retired to the master bed, where they began their usual activities, this time, with no fear of discovery.

Their plan was to hide out in the house until the end of the week, when she would finally put in a formal request for the insurance money. She would then begin to feel "overwhelmed" by the presence of Jonathan in the house. She would tell her friends and neighbors that she needed to go stay with family, outside the state. Marilyn and Bruce would then relax in the tropics where they would plan the rest of their filthy rich lives.

To kick off the week of hibernation, Marilyn decided to make a candlelit dinner for Bruce. She had stocked the house before Jonathan's demise, so finding something to cook was not a problem. There was a little trouble when Bruce requested wine with dinner. Marilyn would have to go into the wine cellar to choose one. This had always been Jonathan's job; she was afraid of the dark room. Tonight, however, she decided to go, feeling that she had to rid herself of old fears in order to start another life.

Down in the cellar, she successfully located Jonathan's most prized wine, that he had bought to commemorate their honeymoon in Paris. Perfect for this occasion, she thought. Shutting the door to the wine cellar, she made it across the rest of the basement that spanned the length of the house. About halfway to the stairs, she stopped in her tracks. On the floor, glistening under the florescent basement light was the wet print of a large bare foot. Prints led to the stairs, which were wet and slimy to touch. Now very afraid, Marilyn ran up the stairs, just in time to catch the ringing kitchen wall phone.

"Hello," she said, breathing heavily.

Hello sunshine," said the distinct voice of Marilyn's late husband. "Did you miss me?"

"But...how?" Marilyn stuttered in shock.

"Oh, at a loss for words, are we? Well just open up your ears and listen, because I will only say this once." His voice took on a darker tone as he spoke. "I know what you did to me, and momentarily, so will everyone else. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts. I plan to take you and Fabio there down." The phone clicked as he hung up.

Marilyn stood holding the receiver, shocked. She was trying to analyze the call, but her mind could not comprehend it. She could not get over the fact that Jonathan had called her, after he was supposed to be dead.

She did not have time to try and figure out the call. The doorbell rang, followed by several very hard and loud knocks on the front door. She hurried downstairs, eager for the distraction, afraid of what was next.

"Sorry to bother you ma'am," said the uniformed officer when Marilyn opened the door. "We have had reports of a prowler in the area," he continued, "we would like to search around your house to see if we could find anything."

"OK," she answered.

"Have you seen or heard anything out of the ordinary tonight?" he asked after signaling the other officers to begin the search.

She thought about telling him about the man in the cellar, and the call from Jonathan. She decided against it. "No," she said, "I haven't heard anything."

"Well, just go back inside and enjoy your evening. If we find something, we'll let you know. He left, and she shut the door."

By the time Marilyn remembered to warn Bruce to hide, it was too late. An officer noticed that there was a silhouette of a man in the kitchen curtains. They stormed the house, pushing Marilyn into the safety of the living room. In minutes, Bruce entered the room, in cuffs and surrounded by blue uniforms.

Marilyn didn't know how to respond when she saw him, but she had to do something. The police thought that Bruce was the prowler. They were taking him away in handcuffs.

"Marilyn, help! Tell them who I am, tell them that I stay here!" he shouted as they hauled him past his stunned lover.

"Can it dude," said one of the officers. "Her husband was buried yesterday, have some respect." He gave the cuffs a yank to get his point across.

"Marilyn!" Bruce screamed. Panic streaked his face.

"Officer," Marilyn finally spoke, "I know this man. He's not a prowler." She explained that he was there to keep her company, in that big, lonely house. They let Bruce go, but Marilyn could tell that they didn't believe her.

The officers left immediately, warning Marilyn to keep her house locked tight. Although her situation was embarrassing, they were taking the anonymous prowler tip seriously. After all, the tipster sounded reliable.

When Marilyn shut the door, she saw the large crowd of neighbors on her lawn. Apparently, word got around that they may have found the prowler. When the police emerged from the house empty-handed, the events inside the house were leaked. Soon, everyone knew that Marilyn had moved her lover in after her husband was in the ground only a day.

The next day, Bruce and Marilyn had to endure the glares and scrutiny of the neighbors when they left the privacy of the house for the mail or newspaper. That evening, they decided to step up their plan before someone started getting too nosy. Although they thought their plan was solid, they couldn't risk police scrutiny. Marilyn was to file a claim for the money the next day. They would then leave for the islands and wait for the check to come.

That evening, Marilyn went to her room to pack, while me. Bruce took in a football game. He contended that they could buy everything new when they got to the island. Marilyn told him that would be impossible for her; she had to have something packed in case they had a layover, or if the island shops didn't carry her brands. He waved her away and went back to the game.

Forgetting the events of the previous day was hard, but made easier when Marilyn fantasized about their life together at another outfit. She was stopped by the distinct smell of pond water. Marilyn stepped back and looked around the room. There, leading from the bedroom were footsteps, in mud and algae. How had someone walked into her bedroom without her knowing? Her mind clicked back to the previous day, when she saw the same thing in the cellar. It is Bruce trying to scare me, she thought.

"Oh," she said in her best Scarlet O'Hara drawl. "Someone is in my house, a prowler. Is there a big strong man to help me?"

She wanted to continue, eventually ending up in bed with her lover. She was interrupted, however, by the ring of her cell phone.

"That's a great impression, doll," said the voice of her dead husband. "Do you think your cell mate will like it too?"

Marilyn screamed, throwing the phone onto the bed. She ran from the bedroom, down to the living room, throwing herself at Bruce.

"What the hell is your problem?" he yelled at her.

"There's someone up there and the mud, and the phone. He's coming after me."

"Did you see him? Is he still up there?"

"No I didn't see... Yes he's up there! It's Jonathan; he's back to get me!"

"It can't be," said Bruce. He pushed Marilyn off his lap and got up. Bruce walked up the stairs, leaving Marilyn on the den floor. He stayed up there for a few minutes and came down carrying the cell phone.

"There's no one in here. I called back your last received call, and it was Jonathan's dad. He said you screamed at him and then hung up. All he wanted was to know when to come and pick up a few of Jonathan's things.

"It was him, I'm sure of it," she exclaimed.

"Well, I don't think so. By the way, how did you track mud into the bedroom?"

"I didn't. I thought you did."

Someone was messing with her, Marilyn knew this. She needed to find out who it was before she and Bruce left the county. After that, it wouldn't matter anymore who found out about Jonathan's death. They would be long gone and virtually untouchable.

The sabotage operation was going well, I thought. Marilyn is going batty, and everyone knew about her live-in gigolo. The next few maneuvers would he carefully planned so that the outcome would be perfect. The entire project would be perfect.

Marilyn's "stalker" was enjoying these thoughts as he watched the house from his perch. He was having fun, not ready to let Marilyn loose yet. Besides, she had not broken yet. They were still thinking of running. He wanted to turn their thoughts toward confession.

He put the binoculars in the bag, picked it up and prepared to leave. It was time for the next phase.

No matter how inappropriate it looked, Marilyn and Bruce could see no reason to stay in the house. The decided to go somewhere that they could be left alone; somewhere no one else knew of. Jonathan had a cabin in the woods about three miles from town. Marilyn found out about it one day while going through Jonathan's office. (She wasn't snooping, just checking up on her man; making sure that he wasn't hiding anything from her.) She found the cabin's deed in with the property records. She didn't know why Jonathan had it, he didn't hunt, as far as she knew. Marilyn actually went out there to see what exactly he was up to.

She found a three room pine shack that was overrun by cobwebs. A rusted wagon wheel leaned against the post of the large open porch. The windows were so dirty that it was overrun by cobwebs. A rusted wagon wheel leaned against the post of the large open porch. The windows were so dirty that it was almost impossible to see in. A turn of the front doorknob opened the ancient wood door. A blast of hot moldy air hit Marilyn's face. A quick look at the dust covered, sparsely furnished interior assured her that Jonathan had never set foot in the place. He probably bought it as a tax write-off, she thought. It certainly wasn't going to turn a profit. Anyway, Jonathan was always buying useless real estate to help out a poor schmuck who's down on his luck.

Marilyn thought that the cabin would be a perfect place for them to hide out, even if she had to get her hands dirty and do some of the work.

The very next morning, the two of them drove out to the country. Bruce drove using some evasive maneuvers that he saw in a spy movie. They made a lot of sharp right turns, and only used the backroads. He was sure that no one had followed; Marilyn thought he was being retarded. Nevertheless, he got there.

Later that night, after they had settled in, Marilyn and Bruce lay in a deluxe sleeping bag, in front of a roaring fire in the fireplace. They were tired, but not because of the clearing they did after entering the cabin. Surprisingly, Jonathan had had the place cleaned sometime before he died. They just had to do some light dusting, and put away the supplies they had bought.

The tiredness came from the sleeping bag tango session. Marilyn lay wrapped in Bruce's arms, hoping that they were safe at the cabin.

Hours later, that hope was shattered by the sound of a ringing phone. Marilyn was shaken out of her sleep, and immediately awakened Bruce. The problem was not that a phone was ringing; both had brought a cell phone. The problem was that the ring was of an old-fashioned rotary phone, a sound that they didn't recognize at first.

"When did you get a phone put in here?" Bruce asked Marilyn.

"I didn't, and I'm almost certain that Jonathan didn't put one in." She looked very puzzled.

"Well, you didn't know that he had the place cleaned up either," Bruce replied sarcastically. They both looked in the direction of the coat closet by the front door, where the phone continued to ring.

"Go get it," Marilyn said to Bruce. He looked at Marilyn and then back at the door. Slowly rising, he pushed out of the sleeping bag and edged slowly toward the closet. The shadows from the flames played across his naked back, giving him an eerie silhouette.

Bruce placed his hand on the knob and turned it. The door squealed on its old rusty hinges as Bruce pulled it open. The piercing ring from the rotary phone was suddenly louder. Marilyn unknowingly drew the sleeping bag closer to her body. Bruce picked up the heavy black phone and lifted the receiver.

"Hello," he said, brows furrowed, into the receiver. He waited for a moment, then turned to Marilyn and said, "it's for you."

Her mouth dropped open. How can this bastard be so damn stupid? She threw off the wrap and stormed to the phone. She mouthed, "I'm going to kick your ass," through clinched teeth. Underneath the anger, there was fear that this call would be like the one a few days ago.

"Hello," she said hesitantly.

"Hello Sunshine, did you miss me?" Marilyn dropped the phone and screamed, backing away from the phone. Bruce stood there, not knowing what to do. He looked at the phone and Marilyn as if trying to decide whether to pick up the phone or comfort Marilyn.

After a few moments, he went to Marilyn, pulling her toward the door. "Go to the car," he said, "we're leaving." He left her standing there, and grabbed some of their clothes and coats. He went back to the open front door to find that Marilyn hadn't budged. "Move it now," he shouted, hurling Marilyn's lithe body toward the car.

Bruce pointed the car west, heading for a destination that he would determine after they had gotten far away from the haunting that had taken place at the cabin. Marilyn was silently sitting in the passenger sent, shaking from fear. She was mumbling to herself words that Bruce could not hear. Her long thin arms wrapped around her body as she rocked back and forth. She was the image of a woman bound for a breakdown, if she wasn't already in the midst of one. Watching made him rethink his role in their once foolproof plan. He was to sit back and collect the cash, while Marilyn did the work, acting the role of the grieving widow so that she could get the check and run. Somewhere, however, something went very wrong. Someone must have found out about this, Bruce thought, whoever it was, they weren't going to stop until they are cut in on the deal. He was sure of it.

Marilyn had another idea on who was behind the harrowing events. The words that she was mumbling below Bruce's hearing threshold were not the ravings of a mad woman. It was the words of a woman scared to death, beginning to feel remorse for her evil deeds.

"I'm going to die," she said, still rocking. "I killed him, and now he's going to kill me. I should have just left him. I shouldn't have killed him. I'm going to die." She continued on while Bruce drove in silence.

If Bruce were watching his rearview mirror instead of his lover's silent slide out of reality, he would have noticed a pair of headlights in the distance. If he had been watching, he would have notice the lights fast approach. He didn't however, so when dark interior of the sports car was flooded with light, he believed that the car appeared out of nowhere. Bruce like Marilyn began to believe that Jonathan's ghost was haunting them.

"Marilyn, snap out of it and help me," he shouted. "I think he's behind me. Marilyn, MARILYN!"

She looked up into the panicked eyes of her lover. A weak smile crossed her face as Marilyn, for the last time in her life, mustered the presence of mind to speak. "It's payback. What goes around comes around. We're on the same road that he died on. We're gonna die too."

Marilyn's eyes grew wide as she looked past Bruce and through the window. Bruce turned his head to see the grinning face of Jonathan Andrews just his car was rammed off the road.

The high speed that the car was traveling when it was hit sent it over the banks of the same pond that Jonathan's car was found in. Bruce tried turned the wheel, to no avail. He braced himself for the impact of the water. The last thing he saw was the hysterically laughing face of the now mad Marilyn. When the car hit the bank just before it flipped into the water, Bruce's body was thrust into the air. He landed on the blacktop just before a semi cam barreling down the freeway.

An anonymous call was placed to emergency services. A rescue team arrived in time to drag the half-conscious body of Marilyn Andrews to the shore. Bruce's body was scraped off the freeway and buried days later. A week after her rescue, Marilyn started talking. She told of how she killed her husband, and that he came back get her for it. She was sedated and eventually sent to a mental hospital for evaluation. They had to put her on suicide watch; she said that she wanted to do the job before Jonathan could. No one investigated her story, the ramblings of a grieving widow. Everyone had his or her own suspicions, however.

The estate of Jonathan Andrews was eventually turned over to the next beneficiary on the list, James Andrews, Jonathan's father. He was at his hunting cabin that his son had left him when the insurance check arrived by courier.

The cabin had changed from the way it was when Marilyn and Bruce had their last rendezvous. The pine wood floors had been refinished and accented by braided Navajo rugs that he found in Jonathan's study. On the walls hung the head of the four point buck that was killed only a month before. James planned to adorn the walls with more of his prized kills in the future. A roaring fire leapt up from the fireplace adding a warm glow to the faces of the two men sitting in front it.

"Finally got it huh?" James' visitor asked as he lazily sipped the brandy in his glass.

"Yep, came today," James answered. "I'm not sure what to do next."

"Well, for starters, you could make sure that Marilyn's bills are taken care of for as long as she needs it. She was a bitch, but she's sick and needs care."

"I can do that. What else?"

"Well, send a good portion of it to the Andrews foundation so that the geneticists can continue their work."

"Okay. That still leaves a good chunk of cash. Maybe I'll take an extended vacation, or buy an island or something."

"No, Dad, you can give me my money, like we planned.

"I still get my cut don't I, Jonathan," said James, trying to fake disappointment.

"Of course, Dad."