Dead to the World

It’s been thirty minutes since we turned out the lights. Misty will be stone cold asleep in another fifteen. Dead to the world. She used to toss and turn all night long. Neither of us slept a wink. Then her doctor came to the rescue with his prescription pad.

That magic little pill knocks her out for eight full hours. Oh, the wonders of modern medicine. I could crank up a jackhammer right here in the bedroom and she’d sleep right through it. Seriously.

So you’d think I’m getting a full night’s sleep these days, right? Wrong. I found something much more interesting to do at night. It’s called cheating.

I’m sick of being married to Misty, but I won’t divorce her—not until the clock runs out on that stupid prenup she made me sign. Two more weeks and I’m free. I’ll walk away with half of her fortune.

It started with just one night a week. I’d meet a hooker at a downtown hotel, and then pop back here, sleep a couple of hours and get up for work. Not that I really work.

It’s Misty’s company, and she made me Vice President of Special Projects. So, what are my special projects? Whatever the hell I want them to be, which currently is throwing paper wads at my trash can.

After a while, the one-hooker-per-week thing got boring. So I stepped up to two nights a week, then three. These days I have a different lover for each night of the week. Is this the perfect life or what? And Misty doesn’t suspect a thing. Little twit.

But don’t I feel guilty for treating my wife this way? Hey, it’s not my fault that she was dumb enough to marry me. She should have known better. But then, how could she resist—I am a major hunk.

Of course, my seven girlfriends are even more stupid than Misty. Each one of them actually thinks I’m going to marry her. Why should I? Once I have all that money, I’ll be able to get any woman I want, any time I want. No need to settle for just one. Been there. Done that.

Misty’s been perfectly still for a few minutes. I’ll give her a couple more before I get up, change clothes, and drive to the hotel.

Room 523. Can’t wait. Libby is smoking hot. I usually give her five hundred—not that she asks for it. She’s no hooker. I give her money out of the goodness of my heart, as I do with all my girls.

Okay, time to go. Wait—the lights came on. Misty’s awake. How did this happen? She should be sound asleep. She’s using the phone. I’ll hold still and pretend I’m sleeping.

“Hey. I did it.”

Who is she talking to at this hour?

“Don’t worry—he can’t hear me.”

Yes, I can. I can hear everything you’re saying.

“I know. I can’t believe I did it either.”

Did what?

“But he was cheating on me.”

Uh-oh. She knows.

“And I hate being played for a fool.”

This is crazy. Does she really think I can’t hear her?

“Yeah, I’m about to call—in just a minute.”

What is going on?

“That was a brilliant idea—to spike his whiskey with some of my sleeping pills. I crushed them up like you said, and he didn’t notice a thing. All it took was three. Those little babies are extremely dangerous.” She giggled.

You bitch! The joke’s on you. It didn’t work. I’m alive, and I’m hearing everything you’re saying. This is attempted murder. You’re gonna rot in prison. Now I’ll get ALL of your money. Ha!

And now for the big surprise. I can’t wait to see the expression on her face…Why can’t I move?…I can’t even open my eyes…But if my eyes are closed, how am I seeing everything?

“I’m waiting a few extra minutes to make sure he’s really dead.”

I’m not dead.

“I sure wouldn’t want the paramedics to be able to shock him back to life.”


“What if he’s having an out-of-body experience right now? Wouldn’t that be funny? Maybe he’s looking down, hearing how I killed him, seeing his dead body lying here beside me, wishing he could jump up and strangle me.” She looked up at the ceiling and shot it the finger.


“That would be hilarious.”

You don’t want to do this, Misty. I love you, Honey. Please call 9-1-1 now. Please!

“But wait—I don’t need to call now. I don’t have to worry about time of death. How would I know he had died? I was asleep. In fact, I could wait until morning to call 9-1-1. Then I’d be absolutely sure he was really dead.”

No, please! I’m fading, Misty. I can barely see you now. Please call..before it’s..too late…


Copyright © 2012 Robert Burton Robinson