House of Skin by Jonathan Janz Read Free Book Online

anywhere?”  
    It was the first time the woman’s control slipped, and experience told him three things: Brand’s wife was a nice lady, he treated her like dirt and though she knew deep down that he was cheating on her she’d never heard the possibility verbalized. She was staring at him now above a crumpled Kleenex. Sam felt for her, for the fact that there had to be women like her, as well as men like her husband.
    “No one’s saying he did stop, Mrs. Brand,” he said in a gentler voice. “We’re just talking hypotheticals here.”  
    “Hypotheticals.”
    “That’s right.” He reached over and grabbed a box of tissues from the end table. Handing it to her, he asked, “Is there someone back at your house who will call if Mr. Brand comes home while you’re gone?”
    Her eyes held his. “Yes. My mother’s there. With our two sons.”
    “What are your boys’ names?”  
    “Majors and Macky,” she answered.
    Sam tried not to cringe.
    “Those are good names, Mrs. Brand.” He leaned forward. “And the best thing for you right now is to be home with them. They’ll be worried enough if they wake up without their father home.”
    “But I don’t want to go home,” she said without much conviction.
    “I know that. And I know you’re worried about your husband. I appreciate your feelings, Mrs. Brand, but what good will come of you sitting around this office?”
    “You think Ted’s cheating on me, don’t you?”
    “No one said that, Mrs. Brand. In fact, I’d guess there’s a perfectly reasonable answer to this thing.” He forced himself to make eye contact. “How can you be sure he didn’t check into a hotel here or somewhere else on the way home? People get tired when they drive at night.”
    She was shaking her head before he’d even finished. “No, Ted never does that. He can drive all night. On trips or wherever. He never gets tired.”
    “Isn’t it possible?”
    “I’m sorry, but no, it’s not.” She stared up at him, her eyes appealing.
    “Okay, Mrs. Brand. Can I call you by your first name?”
    “It’s Linda.”  
    “Alright, Linda,” he said. “Let’s talk a little more about your husband.”  
    As Linda Brand began to talk, Sam thought more and more about the lawyer stepping out on her. Granted, it was possible he had crashed his car somewhere or gotten mugged. But Sam’s money was on the guy screwing another woman.
    “Tell me what Ted looks like.”
    “He’s very handsome. Tall, athletic. He was a pitcher in high school…”  
    And as Linda Brand went on, Sam began to nod.
     
     
    Ted’s first thought upon waking was that his face itched. He moved his hand to scratch it, but the rope caught and reopened the cut on his wrist.
    His head began to pound. What time was it? he wondered. He remembered his days as an undergrad, a psych class he’d taken. They studied a lot of boring shit in that course, but there had been one interesting lesson about prisoners in solitary confinement, how darkness and time deprivation led to panic. Now Ted could see why. Down here in this fucking dungeon it could be noon or midnight. He had no idea how much time had passed, but he was certain by now that Linda would be looking for him.
    He tried to remain calm but felt himself slipping. He was trapped, would soon be dead if he didn’t escape. But what the hell could he do?  
    That fucking stupid cunt, she had no right to do this to him, had no right to behave like a Spanish inquisitor, and why did his face itch like it was full of bugs and what was that crap tickling his lips and getting in his mouth? What the hell, had the iced tea transformed into a cadre of flesh-eating bugs bent on driving him insane?
    “Let me out of this fucking hole!” he bellowed.
    She must have been upstairs, waiting for him to call to her because seconds after he’d screamed, the light flicked on, blinding him. He heard footsteps on the stairs. His eyes adjusted to the light, and he was about to demand