"Davis, Jerry - Wall Of Delusion" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Jerry)

vasectomy. Could it have been there that long?
Terri worked nights. Scott worked days. They had four hours
a day together plus weekends. Scott never saw a problem with it
until the sad little clues started chipping away at his
willingness to ignore them. He didn't consciously admit to himself
the reason why he took a day off from work and didn't tell Terri
about it. He got up that day and prepped as usual, ate breakfast
with Terri (it was her dinner), kissed her goodbye and left. Scott
drove five blocks, parked, and walked back. There was an old
1950's car parked in his driveway, shiny and lovingly maintained,
and Scott knew exactly whom it belonged to. It was an intern that
worked with Terri at the trauma center, a cocky jerk named John
Wahler. That quick? Scott thought. John must have been sitting in
his car waiting for me to leave!
He crept into the house feeling like he was floating,
feeling light and full of air. Like he was dreaming. He was
detached, calculating, suspended in utter disbelief. Terri was
cheating on him? Terri? A side of her he didn't know, his own wife
... they shared everything with each other, they told each other
everything. He loved her with a conscious single-mindedness that
he felt was pure and joyous. It had never occurred to him to
mistrust her, to be jealous of her ex-boyfriends --- Scott simply
accepted and loved her. She was it, his woman, his wife, and his
life partner. How could it be otherwise with her?
The bedroom door was open a crack and he peeked in. He heard
noises, and expected to see him on top of her. It was a shock to
see them side by side and upside down to each other, pleasing each
other orally. All he saw was Terri's black hair and John's hairy
legs.
It was like a dark mask was pulled down over his face. The
light seemed to go dim and his vision pulsed and flickered, the
scene lit by flames. His chest hurt. Scott spun on his heal and
rushed with terrible purpose to the hall closet, yanked open the
door, and pulled out a long gun case. The sound of the zipper
ripping open filled his whole head. He pulled the long, heavy gun
out and then fumbled with his free hand for the box of shells on
the top shelf. It rattled as he picked it up. There were only two
shells. He didn't think about it, he just chambered them with a
reflexive motion and walked back down the hall.
"Scott?" It was his wife's voice. It sounded scared and
startled. "Is that you?"
He heard scrambling sounds and rustling cloth as he pushed
the door open. John Wahler was hopping on one foot, trying to get
into his pants. "Was it worth it?" Scott said to him. He let go
the first shell, a shocking explosion in a small room. Fire
blossomed out the muzzle of the long barrel, and skin and blood
sprayed apart from John's hairy chest. It slammed him into the
wall, his eyes bulging. Scott didn't see him fall. He turned the
gun on his wife, who was on the other side of the room, naked, her
mouth wide open. She was trying to scream but couldn't get enough