Word of the Day: Candle
Two days later voices woke Marty from a hydrocodone-induced sleep. The sound of Mason and Leslie conversing piqued his interest and he gingerly eased out of bed and crept to the bedroom doorway. The aroma of one of Leslie’s candles wafted in the air. He tilted his head to catch where the voices were coming from and determined they were in the dining room. The voices were muffled and whispery as if the conversation was intended to be private. Marty stepped out of the doorway and into the hall. The painkillers had made him groggy so his movements were slow, deliberate. He also sensed that he didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping. The hoarse whispers floated up the stairs. They were combination of hushed words and light giggles. What were they talking about? He inched closer to the top of the stairs and the floor creaked under the weight of his step.
He stopped. Frozen.
The whispers and giggling fell silent.
He stood in silent dread and waited until the conversation started again. He leaned over the rail to no avail. Nothing could be deciphered. He ventured a couple of timid steps down. Marty padded down two more steps and froze when he heard Mason make an ominous statement.
“Why would we do that to Daddy?”
Marty summoned the energy to finish the journey down the stairs and peered into the dining room. In the corner, Leslie sat in that damn chair with Mason at her feet. The smile Leslie wore faded when she faced Marty. His blood chilled.