There were three more photographs all from different angles.
My free write
He angled the screen. No longer could he slip photos in his pocket. These weren't even on a laptop he could take.
She wouldn't come into the city to look at them. Of course he could email them to her. Yes, he could do that even if he couldn't guarantee that he would be there when she first saw them: her, the baby and whomever.
The three looked like a family, but not his family.
Whose family?
Who was the man holding his son?
His son?
It had to be his son. The baby looked like him. The man looked like him, too. Both of them had that WASP look, except the man in the photos was so much younger.
When he left his first wife for her, he didn't think the age would make a difference.
The photos disappeared when he shut down the computer without emailing the photos.
Rick's free write
Two of the photos were lurid depicting sexual acrobatics he'd never seen before and certainly had never performed.The third was dark and barely distinguishable, a selfie apparently of the photographer who had shot the gymnastic couple.
He-she was deep in the shadows of the room. Near a door. You could faintly make out the scene of the framework and the glint of the door handle, a flat handle, not a knob.
It was hard to tell, the height of the hooded figure, and certainly not the gender.
Was the photographer a participant in the macabre threesome's scheme? Or a voyeur? And the selfie was a trophy, proof of presence?
The woman was sprawled, spread-eagle on the sheets, a pillow over her face. Her partner was gone, the window to the balcony open.
But there was no exit. That way except for a three-story drop into the hotel's pool plaza.
Or was the man the selfie-taker? Dressed after the suffocation to lead us to think there were three. And did he leave his phone on the dresser deliberately? A burner phone, to be sure. With three photos to drive the police crazy.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment