Rebecca (by Mick Hartley)Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. This time I took the long route over the moors, avoiding the Lichester ring-road. Then I was on the B3424 through Rimes Medingham, and Rebecca was in the car suddenly (had she been there from the start?), and she was angry. We'd had an argument, apparently. The remainder of the journey passed in heavy silence. It was dark when we arrived. Max came out to greet us. In a wheelchair. I never found out why he was in a wheelchair. It was as though we all knew, so it didn't need to be explained. Was that what we'd been arguing about, Rebecca and I? Then the two of them went in, Rebecca pushing the bastard up a newly built ramp, and I found myself on the way home alone.
When I woke, Rebecca was already up and showering. I pretended I was still asleep when she came back in. It was obvious to me now, as it had never been before, that I had to tell her. I rolled over, and she walked to the window and drew back the curtains. I pushed the duvet aside and sat up.
'Max is dead.'
She stared at me. 'What?'
How could I explain myself? What possible reason could I have had for withholding it from her? She was looking at me incredulously.
I saw them again, disappearing up the ramp and into the house.
[The short short story comp is announced and explained here.]