Sin Eater

Author's Note: Here's another

in cauda venenum

story that could go in multiple sections on this site. I think you would agree that it belongs here, despite some of the elements some readers have come to expect from me. Please remember that this is fiction, and it follows its own rules, so please suspend your disbelief before reading. I do believe there are some reasonable questions raised by this, so I hope that this is worthwhile for you to read.

This story started from me overhearing a single word and then immediately took a life of its own, wrapping plot, characters and setting around itself.

There's some sex, but it's not a stroke story. All characters engaging in sex are represented to be over 18.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"It would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free."

― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

I had just come downstairs after taking a post-work shower when the doorbell rang. It was early summer, about 7p.m. so the soft dusk light didn't yet require the street lamps to be lit.

"Honey?" my wife called from the kitchen. "Can you grab that? I'm finishing the risotto." I grinned. I loved her black truffle risotto. Jenny was always a solid cook, but that risotto was her signature dish, perfected over the twenty years of living together as husband and wife. In a lot of ways, that risotto signified our relationship. Hearty and reliable; tweaked and fine-tuned in small adjustments over the years to become perfectly balanced and enjoyed tremendously.

"Got it," I called out and made my way to the door. The open windows on the first floor let in the warm air that had the baked, lazy scent of pollen and grass.

I opened the door to find a woman of indeterminate build standing at the door. She looked to be about five-foot-five or so, with dark hair pulled back from her sunbaked face into a ponytail which seemed to hang well past her shoulder; it made it difficult to place her age - it could be anywhere from her late-30s to her early 50s but she could have been much younger, too. Her dark eyes were small with the easy crow's feet at the corners. Her nose was broad but not pronounced and she had full, sensuous lips. I guessed she was from Central or South America, based on the features. She was beautiful, or had been at one time.

Her clothes looked to be a simple linen blouse and loose-fitting trousers. On her feet were some kind of sandals. Taking that all in at a glance, I noted that she had what looked to be a very expensive pedicure. I remember that seemed at odds with the rest of her simple, unadorned appearance.

"Hi. Can I help you?" I asked. She flashed an easy smile which reached her eyes. They darted and cast playful glances at me which hinted that she had some kind of secret she was keeping. 'Mischievous' came to mind, which made me adjust her age downwards, maybe making her much younger. When she adjusted her posture, I was struck by the way the simple clothing clung to her breasts and hips; there were implied plush curves hidden underneath.

"Mr. Rhinehart? Carl Rhinehart?" Her smile revealed white, even teeth. Her voice was rich and accented, but not with the Latino accent I was expecting. It was more guttural and harsher. I actually couldn't place her native language, but it wasn't English.

"Yes? Can I help you?" I repeated.

"Hello, Mr. Rhinehart. My name is," and it was the oddest thing. When she told me her name, it was as if I couldn't understand it. Maybe it was her odd, choppy accent? Maybe I was tired? But at that moment, a breeze wafted through the door frame, carrying with it a rotten, sour smell and it distracted me, at least for that moment. "But you can call me Zolli," she continued. She extended a hand in a fluid, graceful gesture.

Out of habit, I responded. Again, I expected a working woman's hand but was surprised. It was a delicate woman's hand - long, slender fingers, but not a delicate woman's grip; it was dry and surprisingly strong. A well maintained, and probably quite expensive, manicure graced her hands as well.

"Mr. Rhinehart, my purpose to see you today is a serious matter regarding you and your wife. Is she here?" She continued to shake my hand while she spoke before finally releasing it. I found the extended contact oddly exciting.

"Ummm, yeah. She's here, but she's cooking dinner." I looked back towards the kitchen. "Can this wait? We're just about to eat. Can you come back, maybe a little later?"

Those dancing, laughing eyes twinkled. I knew the answer, oddly, as soon as I asked.

"Mr. Rhinehart, I'm afraid this is an important matter, and one which significantly affects you. And I think my timing is perfect." The smile.

I stared.

"Mr. Rhinehart, there is a filth here in this house. I am here to perform a cleansing." I looked behind me, searching for the stain she spoke of. I couldn't see anything like that. Among her many skills, Jen kept a tidy house.

I looked back to Zolli; or rather where she had been. Somehow, she was past me and standing just inside the threshold of the door. I wondered how she had moved past me without me knowing. I'm a pretty big guy, and took up a lot of the open doorframe, but apparently not enough to keep her outside on the front doorstep.

"I'm sorry? You're a cleaning woman? A service?" I asked, adjusting myself sideways so I didn't touch her. Something told me that would be a bad thing.

She shook her head, giving me a brief look with that coy smile. I didn't have to be an expert in body language to see the look that said I was too slow to understand. I felt a bit insulted, but only a small amount.

"Ah, won't you come in, please, Miss -ah, Zolli."

"Thank you, Mr. Rhinehart." Honestly, the more she spoke, the more I detected an almost musical, sing-song nature to her speaking voice. It was enchanting, and I found myself wanting to listen to her.

"Carl."

"Carl," she echoed. Her laughing eyes were enjoying my puzzlement.

Jen and I tried to have an honest sit-down meal at least twice a week. Modern living made it too easy to fall into the trap of disposable time, of takeout or informal meals eaten right off the stove top. Junk food for junk time together. These were meals without communication or a chance to bond. How many opportunities for good talks were lost in that way? So, we had resolved to try and commit to real time together. We weren't perfect at it; we weren't slaves to the ritual. But if we had the chance, if both of us were home and had a clear schedule, why not take an extra thirty minutes together to know your partner better?

Our daughter, Angie, was still away at school, finishing up her freshman year at the state university. When she was home, we tried to be much more consistent with meal time. With kids and their busy lives, dinner was just about the only time we could force our daughter to sit down and talk with us. Jen and I tried to keep up the habit while she was gone, too. The risotto was a perfect excuse for such a sit-down meal.

"Hon? Is the table set?" Jen called out from the kitchen.

"Yeah," I called back. I thought about getting a third place setting for the table.

"OK. It's ready." Jen came wheeling around from the kitchen into the dining area, carrying the serving dish. She moved to put the steaming dish down on the table. The rich, earthy smell of the food flooded my nose. I didn't realize how hungry I was.

"Who was at - Oh!" she said, seeing Zolli standing next to me. Jen's eyes flew open before they went to mine in a silent 'WTF?' If I had been paying attention to that first look, I might have asked more questions. It wouldn't have changed anything, though. Really.

"Hon, who is this?" Her voice was low and soft, but there was a touch of menace. A cat, cornered, will emit that low, gurgling moan that is a prelude to an attack. I couldn't help but think that Jen had just given the human equivalent of a fight-or-flight reaction.

"Jen, this is -"

Zolli turned to fully address my wife, and she ... she

pulsed

. I couldn't describe it, but somehow the air in the room around us changed; it throbbed, really, and the source of it was centered around Zolli as if she was suddenly much larger than the woman I had just met at our front door.

"Jennifer Rhinehart, I am-" and again, there was that staccato whisper as tongue grazed against palate and teeth as rough consonants were invoked and again Zolli's true name escaped my ears. The delicious smell of my wife's hearty cooking was replaced by the sickly-sweet odor of decay, of rot corrupting the serenity of our home. It turned something wonderful into something sour and I swooned; my hunger replaced with a passing nausea.

"You have sinned against your husband and you must confess to atone for your crime. I name you, Adulterer!"

Jennifer simultaneously looked both ashen and furious. Her mouth worked like a goldfish, gulping air in great sighs. It was a rare thing to see my wife at such a loss for words, but this swarthy dynamo had usurped and upstaged her in her own house and taken control.

My amazement of seeing Jen in such a state gave way, though. The whole scene was so bizarre that I was more affected by the impact of Zolli's words on Jen than what she had actually said. Jen had understood right away, of course, but I was a step slow. I did catch up though, and that's when I felt the room tilt, like I was losing my balance. The pit in my stomach dropped. Then it was my turn for my mouth to open and close like that hungry goldfish.

Well, that was certainly something.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

If I was to describe Jen, it would start with "self-assured" and "confident" and then go from there. It was one of the things that attracted me to her when we met at school. I was a chemistry grad student who fell for one of the intro chemistry course students I was TAing for. She was a tall, athletic blonde, complete with the full-complement of good Scandinavian genes. She was not the most beautiful woman in the class, but she had the girl-next-door looks and a warmth in her personality that made people remember her.

My courtship of her had to wait until after my course with her had ended and even then, I had to compete against a host of other rivals for her attention, such as her full course load and her extra-curricular activities. She was even active in student government and did some tutoring on her own.

I reasoned that I couldn't be jealous of the schoolwork. But the guys? That was a different challenge entirely. There were frat boys, jocks and multiple others vying for Jennifer Strelhorn's charms. I wasn't the most handsome or richest, not even close! But I had other tools I could use. Chief among them, I was pretty clueless.

Say what you will about stereotypes, they exist for a reason. Young men have the reputation of being woefully inept at reading social cues, and especially those cues of women during the courtship dance. During my years at university, I more than reinforced that well-worn image.

That period of my life was a time of great personal growth for me. I learned that I would put up with a lot for this woman. I had reached deep inside me in the first place to approach her after a TA session to plant the seed, a stunning act of bravery I never thought possible before that. I surprised myself to take a chance, to be vulnerable and risk rejection. And then I had to preface the whole thing so that I couldn't date her while she was in my class either, so my initial contacts were merely place-holders for afterwards. Talk about planning ahead!

When I could finally meet with Jen socially, when I could finally carve some time out of her busy schedule, I tried to be upbeat and focus on us; our time together was just that - ours. I didn't talk about the things I couldn't control. I was a lot of things, but I wouldn't be a whiner. Besides, what good would it do? If I complained about it, and made myself more of a killjoy around her, she could just replace me by refusing my calls and move on. And then where would I be? No, I had to be the bigger man, and let the real me come through. I had to bite down on it and focus on the positive.

I was not without pride, and there was a price I had to pay for that. But for Jen? I paid it. Willingly.

But I couldn't help but feel the pain when she would turn down a date to attend an invitation-only fraternity mixer, or travel with one of the university's sports teams for a game at a rival's campus. I mean, I knew she was a popular girl, and we were not in a committed relationship, so she was free to do what she would. During that time, I had to watch from the sidelines as she sampled and enjoyed the privileges that an attractive, young woman often feels they are entitled to. She wasn't in a devoted monogamous relationship and was determined to sample and satisfy her urges. On the outside, in public, she was in control and happy. But, every once in a while, there was a gleam in her eye.

Jen wasn't a liar; had I asked her what she was up to, I was pretty sure she would've told me. And if I was the type to ask for details, I'm sure that would've been no problem either. But she more or less just avoided the topic of what she did when I wasn't around and that was good enough for me. What would I gain by pushing? Not much. My choice was to keep my peace of mind.

Like I said, it stung though.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I had come from the proverbial Smalltown, USA where I was smart, but not exceptional. I was big boned, strong and reasonably good looking, but I was never going to be anything beyond a weekend athlete. I dated, a bit. Brenda Aiello and I dated for a few months for my junior year in high school and had let me get her shirt off, but it never went further. And senior year, I got to finger a very drunk Birdy Jenkins, who then promptly ignored me for the rest of the year.

Getting out of town to college was better. Competition was far fiercer, but the talent pool was much bigger, so after much trial and error, I lost my V-card and became a man.

I made my way through undergraduate classes but never connected with 'the one'. That was OK. I knew that there was someone out there for me. I wasn't in a hurry to get to the finish line. I had made enough mistakes, and I was convinced that I would rather not repeat the same mistakes again.

On to graduate school, I focused on organic chemistry and really took to it. And, as fate would have it, it led me to her. The One.

We ran in different social circles, so our paths didn't really cross until she was enrolled in my TA seminar. She made an impression, on me at least. I didn't play favorites, so it's not like I was some sap that pined for her in the session. But she was smart, and did engage in the lessons, so I was able to plant the seeds for later contact. I had never had a relationship arise from those roots before. Again, this seemed to have been fated.

Like I said, I never noticed her prior that class, but after that, I saw her everywhere. She was my own personal Baader-Meinhof phenomenon. We'd run into each other outside of class, and acknowledge each other with a knowing nod or smile. After the course ended (she got a well-earned B+), we still bumped into each other, and laughed about each of us stalking the other. Well, we both knew that she was the attractive one, so the odds were that I was doing the stalking. But I wasn't. The world could be a strange place, and who was to say synchronicity wasn't a thing?

I finally got a spine and gave her my number. She took it with that easy way she had, and after the required three days, I got a call asking if I was free to meet for coffee. For her? Of course, I was.

When we finally slept together, we were comfortable. Don't get me wrong, I was happy. We both were. But it wasn't like the earth moved and time stopped. I think we were both mature enough to treat it as two young people enjoying their bodies and having fun. Not much more than that. We weren't committing to anything more than that. But still, I was happy to be around her.

While she was doing that, I learned about my own desires and how to push down the need for immediate gratification, as well as the crippling inferiority I felt inside as she unabashedly flirted, teased and played the field. I stayed true to her; I've always been a one-woman man. I know how that sounds, like I was some pussy-whipped fool pining for a girl out of my league. Maybe it wasn't far off, but I was gonna play this out while I had the chance.

Somehow, my persistence and resolve had won her over. When others wouldn't or couldn't meet her requirements, she simply moved on. She made it clear to her dates that she had plenty of options for companionship and if they didn't want to meet her needs on her terms, then she'd move on to another who would. I stayed as a place of stability. It didn't hurt that I was a little older and more focused on my career. I liked to think she appreciated the sober and mature balance I brought to her life.

Of course, there were guys who were into just adding Jen as a notch on their bedpost. I can understand why. She was worth it. She was aggressive in bed, and her strong, lush body made her seem like a fertility goddess.

I held the course and continued. Eventually, the others had fallen by the wayside and I had won. We continued dating and right around the time we graduated, I popped the question and we were married not long after. We bought our house, made it into a home, complete with a backyard garden. I had to admit, that was my pride. Over the years, I had developed quite a green thumb and had arranged the space into a refuge from the rest of the world. It always got comments from guests about it being our own Eden. I suppose we stayed in the same house for so long partly because I didn't want to leave my garden and start over again.

Jen started a career as a teacher, but Angela was very motivated to come along, an early 'oops' baby, and after year on the job, Jen left to become a stay-at-home mother. At least until Angela entered secondary school.

After that, Jen slid right back into teaching, as if she had never missed a beat. It wasn't that she even needed to work. She didn't know any other way. Just a motivated woman; that was my Jen. Over the years, she took part in activities at the school, like class trips, and oversight of different clubs. And then also took part of several neighborhood groups.

She was the real thing - a beautiful, smart and vibrant woman who loved me and our daughter.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jen's silence was short lived. She positively

seethed

at our guest. Her voice was low and hushed, squeezed through clenched jaws and teeth.

"Carl! What ... what is

she

doing here?" There was something happening here that I missed. Hell, there was apparently a lot I missed. Like I said, I could be pretty clueless. But something else was going on between these two. The tension in the room was palpable. Jen looked to be a few inches taller, a couple dozen pounds heavier and had a fury about her from having just been accused of, if my memory of the last ten seconds was correct, of cheating on me. I half expected her to launch herself at her accuser at any second...

Zolli, for her part, didn't give an inch. She stood her ground, fearless and ready to bell the cat. Both of Zolli and I stared at my wife.

"Carl!" Her strained voice brought me back.

Spurred into action, "Uh, honey, this is Zolli and I thought she was here as part of a maid service to clean the house, but apparently I misunderstood." I still stared at Jen. I think that focus was the only thing to keep me from collapsing onto the floor in a heap and crying like a child.