Stranger On A Train

A few minutes later, he hears a knocking at the front door. He ignores it, not wanting the alcohol induced pleasure to vanish. The knocking continues, so he begrudgingly gets up to find out who the caller is. Julien stands on the other side of the door’s entry way. “Mr. Varro, can I have a word with you?” “Can’t it wait? I’m rather busy right now.” “It should only take a minute. It’s very important.” Annoyed at himself for accommodating Julien’s request, Marcus says, “Sure, follow me. I’ll pour you a drink.” There is no mistake about his resentment. Settled in facing chairs, Marcus asks, “What’s so important?” At first Julien doesn’t speak, his fingers clenched around the chair’s armrests. For a second it seems that he has changed his mind, to reconsider the sensibility of the visit by saying something innocuous and then leave him alone. There are no whispering words of wisdom to help him out; his brain seems to have shut down. Marcus, however, shows his impatience. “What is so important? Tell me.” Something clicks in his head. He blurts out, “I was in love with Elizabeth.” There is something in his voice that makes it sound true, yet not at first to Marcus. “Yes, yes, we all loved her.” He passes it off as nothing more than a comforting remark. “Is that what’s so important?” He looks ahead, yet, at the same time he sees something else in Julien’s face. He hesitates to ask, however, too interested in ending the unasked for visit and conversation. With the ball back in Julien’s court he has to decide what to do. He rubs his sweaty palms on the chair’s armrests, feeling itchy all of a sudden. Humdrum thoughts pass through his mind, too afraid to think of the more important ones. He opens his mouth to say something, but as quickly closes it racking up annoyance points with Marcus. “This is the most unusual conversation I’ve ever had. What is it you want to tell me? Come out with it, or else, find your own way out of my house.” “Elizabeth and I were lovers. It was only a matter of time before she left you.” Julien undergoes both a sense of relief and one of discomfort at the same time, if having opposing feelings simultaneously is at all possible. The wait to hear Marcus seems endless. He feels an emotional rage looming within himself, getting up enough steam to blow up. He throws down the remains of scotch and without hesitation refreshes the drink. Now with his back turned to Julien, who anxiously sits waiting what might come his way next, Marcus says in a composed manner, “Get out of my house, and never come back.” Is this the calm before the storm? Not realizing when to cut his losses Julien tries to explain. “We were soul mates who …” With the force of a full blown typhoon, Marcus starts to rant and rave. “You come into my house after my wife dies to tell me you’ve been screwing her! I don’t believe a word of it. You are a very sick man … no … you’re the devil spreading its wickedness … making the innocent like my wife, appear to be evil. Get out and I hope you rot in hell!” He flings the glass with all its contents at Julien. It hits him in the forehead, cutting the skin just above his left eye. “Get out!”