Skin deep

Mr Murray

I looked into the mirror. A well-dressed, sharp-looking man stared back. Brushing an imaginary speck of dust off the suit I wore, I studied the image. Life had been kind to me, at least on the surface. My image was perfect, save for the long, faded scar that began on the right side of my neck that disappeared underneath my collar. As always, I traced the scar, feeling and relieving the fiery pain that still smoldered within. There were more scars below, hidden by my shirt, and not all of them were skin-deep. Looking away, I sat down at the mahogany desk, my eyes drawn to the family photo in the ornate photo frame displayed proudly for my clients' viewing. The American Dream. The perfect family. Happy and smiling, safe and secure. Skin-deep. No one sees the tightness in her throat, the tension in my shoulders, or the hand clenched into a fist behind his body. All they see are the smiles. Skin-deep.

A sudden fire welled up in my heart as my eyes fell on the little boy standing with his sister in the middle of the picture. My son, James. My rightful heir. The boy that I had carefully groomed and cultivated in the hope that he would one day become all that I had failed to be. The boy that I had loved with all my heart. And he had been on the brink of throwing his life away. For her. His daughter. The scar on my neck throbbed. For a brief moment my heart filled with an unreasonable sense of betrayal. But I knew it was unreasonable, because James did not know, and so I willed it away. I had done enough. I had hurt James, but I did not regret it. She would only have led him astray. Led him to destruction. I knew because she looked exactly like her father. And I knew her father. Oh, I knew him very well indeed.

My eyes shifted to the left. Frances. I wondered where she was now. She moved out the first chance she got, and never spoke to me again. Even her mother would not tell me anything about her. For the umpteenth time, I wondered where I had gone wrong.

The rapping on the door caught my attention. "Come in," I said immediately. Ah, Marshall. I liked this one. Hardworking, responsible, a tad sad puppy-like, and most importantly, naive. Perfect for my purposes.

"You called me, sir?"
"Yes, yes. I wanted to talk to you."
"What about, sir?"
"I will be hosting a function tonight. And I want you to be present."
"Me, sir? I'm honoured."
"Yes, you, son. You've put up a good job performance around here. That's why I'm going to show you off to the bigshots. Oh, and before I forget, I suggest you bring a date. You know, James' ex-girlfriend. Just ask her out for the night - it'll help sharpen up your image of togetherness. And in this political business, son, your image is everything."
"Sir, I'm not too sure..."
"He won't be there tonight - he's out of town for the weekend. Don't worry. Just ask her for a favour as a friend."
"Alright, I'll ask her, sir. Thanks."
"Be here at 7 sharp. Remember, your image is everything."
"Yes, sir."

The door creaked shut behind him, and I leaned back onto the padded chair in satisfaction. Marshall, oh, Marshall. You're so in love with her. Anyone can see that. And so, you shall be the perfect instrument in keeping them apart. Diana will never hurt James again.

-Maia-