Living Dead by Offer Reish (english novels to read .TXT) 📖

Lila or leaving her, but this unmanly trait doesn't exempt me from other masculine characteristics. An unattainable beautiful woman, though she may be brusque and caustic (some would say especially if she's of that kind), whose intentions are unclear and alleged to be impure, will always attract my attention and my desire. Like every man (but not contrary to, and perhaps even less so than, women), there's a base, impulsive, immoral part in me. The difference between good men and bad ones is the consequence not of the identity and characteristics of that dark side, but of one's ability to suppress it. Fortunately, I've always been quite skilled in suppressing mine, and yet every time Lila spoke of Paige the dark Clancy seemed to come to life like a lion stirring in its cage at the sight of a helpless zebra beyond the bars.

I was surprised to find Paige at our door, as was she to find me home alone. It's much less surprising that she'd come to ask for a favor, and that I obliged willingly, suddenly forgetting the original purpose of my early arrival.

"Where's your pretty woman?" She asked with suspicious blue eyes that wandered around the living room, as though expecting Lila to be there waiting in ambush. When she spun her head from left to right following an unexplained noise coming from the kitchen a long string of her curly brown hair brushed against my nose, sending a seductive fragrance my way. I was much taller and more robust than she, and her figure was so fragile that sometimes it seemed about to break, and yet here she was in my own living room and she could say or do anything she liked while I had the liberty only to respond to her. She had me captivated, and I remember sensing a tingle of amazement run through my body at the realization that if she were an ounce bolder than she really was she could send her soft hand with its long, polished nails to my face and assert her control over me. But no such thing happened and I managed to contain my fiery attraction, which had all but melted my resistance (or at least so I thought, but one must bear in mind again her intrinsic advantage as a woman in perceiving underlying emotions).

"She's still at work", I muttered, thinking: 'Ask me anything about my fiancée, and I will tell you her darkest secrets.' I had a strange feeling of being in the power of another, but even more strangely there was something familiar about it. And this mysterious familiarity wasn't rooted in my relationship with Lila since, as most men are ready to declare but few actually practice, there was no hierarchy between us and I was as much in her power as she was in mine. But not so with Paige. The beautiful, audacious, impertinent, milky-skinned Paige had me wrapped around her long, elegant fingers.

Where had I met this sense of utter subordination before? It was something recent and very powerful, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it, and I couldn't ponder it long as Paige's dominant voice soon rang again.

"And she's not afraid to leave you home alone like this?" She asked coquettishly. I noticed that her eyes had a unique grayish hue, which seemed to come alive to make her even more seductive.

I can't remember my response to this, but it was surely awkward and insignificant. Enough so to make my visitor chuckle triumphantly and leave. I watched her go, listening fixatedly to her heels clicking away on the pavement as though to a religious sermon. With the recent unfortunate developments with Lila, I believe it's understandable that my attraction to Paige augmented, however one's heart's desires, if not acted upon, constitute no breach in the bond of trust between man and woman. How many men had Lila taken a liking to? If that number is but a hundredth of the number of men that must've lusted for her over the years, then God knows there was nothing inappropriate about the fluttering of my heart (as if, if it were inappropriate, there would be anything in my power to do to restrain it).

I don't recall the details of Paige's request (you may've noticed by now that my memory functions as that of a man twice my age; for the sake of fairness it should be mentioned that it's much more blurry regarding affairs that took place in recent months compared to earlier ones), but I clearly remember that it required of me to handle several things at home before joining her next door. My business at home, whatever it was, was completed without delay, but when I reached her house something stopped me from knocking on the door. For some reason I felt the urge to go around the house and look inside through the back window- but how did I know?- and I followed it. Paige's house, like ours, was a small single-floor flat with a tiny back yard to which the bedroom window opened. This was the window I was drawn to, and when I reached it I saw that the curtains were drawn almost all the way but there remained a tiny gap between the edge of the fabric and the windowsill. This narrow space was precisely what I'd hoped for. I slowly inched toward it until my right eye poked its way into the gap and peered into the bedroom. Even through the closed window and without taking advantage of the position of the curtains one could imagine the cause of the repeated noises muffled but not muted by the glass and concrete, but with eyesight one procured a full graphic account.

There was such fiery heat in the bedroom that I could almost feel it seeping out through the tiny cracks between the closed window and its frame. The bed was pressed against the wall to the left so that there was an unblocked diagonal line of sight from the gap and the side of the bed. My right eye fixed on that line of sight and watched in fascination. The impeccable Paige, stripped nude and all the more beautiful for it, was on her back, moving in waves to and fro along with the rest of the bed. Her eyes were closed and an occasional moan escaped her, each time emerging in a different pitch and form; the fiery sensations were in control of her the way she'd been in control of me minutes earlier. On top of her was a man I'd never seen before. They were both under the covers so all I could make out from him was his long brown hair and a general profile view of his face. He had a small round nose and by the light brown color of his skin I guessed that he was of Latin origin. They were moving in perfect harmony together, and yet there was nothing planned or molded about their motion, like the waves of the sea that blend into the water but are never quite the same and can never be predicted. The sea is filled with life, and even its water seems to come alive with the force of the wind; the bedroom was filled with such passion that even the bed and the covers and the closets seethed with the passion of the lust that wreathed the two lovers. I stared at the mesmerizing scene and wondered if I'd ever had such passion with my Lila. Alas, I wasn't half as passionate as the man in Paige's bed, and what he had inside him I could never bring out from myself. I was too deeply embroiled in the frenzy to notice the man turn his head toward the window. It was an entirely inexplicable thing to do in his condition, but he seemed somehow intent on staring at the window rather than at the beautiful woman writhing nude underneath him. It was almost as if- but there was no way- something told him I was spying on them. His eyes met my right one and for a long moment we scrutinized each other. Seeing his face I suddenly realized that he wasn't in fact a complete stranger and there was something chillingly familiar about him. What it was precisely I knew not then and still fail to understand now, but there was something intensely, intimately familiar that we shared in those gripping moments. His eyes were dark and he wore a dark expression, as though reflecting that he was committing an act of not only passion but evil. And though I'm clueless as to what part of it was evil, I had an odd sensation that I was somehow also taking part in it. I still shudder when I think of that inscrutable glance, never knowing quite what to make of it.

What I remember most clearly about the mystery man was, first, the strange tattoo on his forehead whose exact outline I couldn't make out. But a tattoo on the forehead- how uncommon, and yet it too tingled me as eerily reminiscent of something quite personal. The second and last picture that emerges lucidly in my mind about him was the expression on his face. You would expect a man in his position to be taken aback, infuriated, perhaps to feel violated for being caught in such intimate circumstances. Surely if I were in his position and a strange man was spying on my while making love to Lila I would act quickly and emphatically. Perhaps violently. But the man with the tattoo showed no semblance of being disturbed by my misconduct. He stared at me first blankly, then, without disturbing what he was doing so Paige didn't even notice, a sinister smile curved his lips. In that smile, too, there was something familiar but more than anything it was terrifying. That was the point when I couldn't bear to look anymore- not for fear of any retribution from the man or from Paige, but out of fear of that odd smile and inscrutable calmness.

I never entered Paige's house and she didn't come to call on me again. I rushed directly home and never let the thoughts out of my head. The next day things were busy at the office but, fighting the workload and my reluctance to face the demons that seemed to be haunting me at home in those days, I left early again, wondering what surprise awaited me this time. There was still some hope in me that I'd only been imagining things and cooking up my own baseless conspiracy theories. I hoped that by some unexpected miracle I would return and everything would be as it'd been. But to my great dismay, this childish wistfulness vanished when the house loomed into view.

Someone was leaving the house; due to her shoulder-length hair I thought it was Lila at first, but the combination of the direction of her progress- toward Paige's house- and the fast and rough gait indicated plainly that it wasn’t. It didn't look like any of her friends, and when I focused on the wide shoulders I realized that it was a man. I was never a jealous boyfriend and under ordinary circumstances wouldn't be disconcerted by this (and if I were I'd simply ask Lila about it), but in the current situation surely you can appreciate the rush of anxiety that came over me. Instead of pulling up to the house I sped ahead with the conspicuous intention of overtaking the man and investigating him. He had a severe limp in his right leg which slowed him down significantly so that despite the short distance to Paige's house I could overtake him before he turned away from the street. I slowed down as I rolled up beside him, and by a very common coincidence his identity dawned on me just as I got a clear view of his face and saw