Bastard (A Novel)

On Sunday morning, George Hamilton opened the paper, accepting a piping hot cup of coffee from Jennifer.

"Thank you, darling."

After reading the headline, he spilled his coffee all over himself, dropped his cup, and stared, unconcerned about the dark liquid dripping down his pajamas.

"What?"

Sarah Miller Mysteriously Dies After Having Susan Freid Over for Tea

At 7:00 p.m. on Saturday night, Sarah Miller mysteriously died. She was found at her home, laying on the floor with no blood on her, one empty tea cup on the coffee table. Rumors are swirling that Susan Freid poisoned the poor girl, but no one can be certain. There was a curious smell surrounding Ms. Miller's body, but her stomach has not yet been examined.

That said, the mysteries in this particular case continue to increase: According to Dr. Jonathen Heathrow, Ms. Miller fainted and Susan Freid quickly called him, begging for his help. When police arrived, he was found holding an empty vile next to the body, his face in shock.

Apparently, he had been too late, or so it seems.

Police do have a record of Susan Freid's phone call to Mr. Heathrow, but that is all we know so far.

Annoyed with her husband, Jennifer Hamilton scurried about, cleaning up the mess he had made.

"Honestly, George. I keep telling you! Don't spill coffee on yourself and the floor. This is a wooden floor, and I always have to clean it up. It stains the floorboards. You always do this!"

She sighed, then stomped off to the kitchen for another rag, muttering to herself aloud that husbands never listened.

George sighed, got up, and got out of his pajamas. He threw his clothes into the laundry which was piling up. He thought about throwing them in the washer, and finally surrendered, then watched as they swirled about, unaware of his naked body.

The thoughts in his curious mind swirled with the clothes as Jennifer walked in once more, scrambled eggs in hand.

She stared at him.

"Oh. For fuck's sake, George! How old are you? Five?! Get dressed. You're a grown man."

"Yes. Yes. Of course," George grumbled. He went to his closet and picked out a pair of denims and a white t-shirt.

"Thank you for the scrambled eggs, my dear."

"Yes, darling. I'm sorry I'm so irritable. It's just...It's just that I've written quite a few pieces for my blog this month and there is no traffic. Absolutely none. I'm hoping to make some money from this sooner than later, you know, and it's just, well, it's just very discouraging."

George sighed, understanding how difficult business could be, especially for artists.

"I'm sorry, Jen. I know it's tough. If it's any consolation, you don't have to hurry anything. I'm okay with this job."

"Yes, love, but you've seemed so distracted lately."

"I know this case is just so stressful lately, and I spilled my coffee this morning because I learned that a woman I just spoke with has died."

Jennifer's mouth fell agape.

"What?!"

She reached out her arms to hug her husband, and he accepted, reciprocating.

"I'm so sorry, George."

"Thank you."

"That's why you've been so distracted lately."

"That and bloody Frank Miller. He's disappeared. He's nowhere to be found. It's like he's died or something, but I know he hasn't. He's still out there, and I'm almost certain he's a killer."

He slammed his fist on the washer, then proceeded to groan in pain.

"George. Go to bed. Honestly, you need some rest."

"Alright, love."

George laid down, but he couldn't really rest. His mind continued ruminating about Sarah Miller, and exactly how she must have died.

It can't be Susan. She wouldn't. That damn doctor. He's been seen twice now with an empty vile right next to a dead body, and then there's the case about him killing a patient. Technically, that makes three.

Strike three, and you're out...

At least, that's the way it should be.