Halloween Fiction: the sculptor: 10 of 11

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Violet was waiting for him just outside the door.  She pulled him out of Moira’s earshot and pushed him into an office used by the doctors for private interviews, before she shook her head,  “Thomas, why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”  She sounded deeply upset, “You have my home number, you should have called me immediately, or just come to my house.”

“I was tired,” he stared at the floor as he spoke,luz morgan monroe ashamed of himself.  Somehow, he felt weak for having been so afraid of very things he had been telling his wife were delusions for over a year, “I’ve been thinking so much about what Moira imagined, I guess I started to hallucinate the same thing.”

Her eyes narrowed and her voice grew colder as Violet responded, “That has always been your greatest fault, Thomas.” he looked at her startled, she had never sounded so judgmental before, “You have such a small view of what’s real.”

“What do you mean?” he could not understand what she was saying to him.

“Moira,” she thrust her hand down the hall, toward his sleeping wife, “was a strong, vital woman before all of this started to happen.  You taught me that with all the stories you shared.  I feel like I know that twenty year old woman you described, as well as I know Moira now.” Violet paced the floor of the small office violently, “I refuse to believe that she could fall into such a state for so long, being so afraid, of nothing.  Something happened to that woman, I believe it.”  She stopped when she was facing Thomas, thumping her hand over her heart for emphasis.

“You don’t believe that her sculptures really came to life?” Thomas sounded sarcastic, incredulous that this intelligent, professional woman could succumb to such unbelievable things.

“I can’t say that I don’t.”  Violet said strongly, staring into Thomas’ eyes defiantly, “I’ve heard Moira scream about them too many times, with too much conviction in her voice, in her fears, to doubt her.”  She poked Thomas’ chest so potently that he backed away from her, “Listen to what she said, there is something in that.  She spent all morning today telling me about what happened.  Hours and hours of terror poured out of that woman.  I don’t believe that she did it all to herself, because of some psychosis.”

“Violet,”  Thomas put his hands on her shoulders, “you know that I adore you. You have been like an angel in my life. But you can’t say this.” She rolled her eyes as he spoke, “Maybe you’ve become too emotionally attached to Moira,…”

“Maybe,”  she scolded Thomas, “you’ve been too detached.”

Thomas felt a wave of guilt wash over him.  Never before had Violet criticized his relationship with Moira, his lapses of attention.  It was too much for him to hear.  He turned away from her and grabbed the door.  “I should go home.”

“I’m sorry.” Violet sounded sincere, but Thomas could not make himself turn around to look into those eyes, “I know you love her.  But, maybe, you should trust her a little more.  That might be the key to helping her.”  Thomas started into the hallway, when he felt a hand on his arm.  Finally, he looked back at Violet to see her face grave with concern.  “Thomas, call me if anything happens.  Anything.  Even if you just feel uncomfortable.  I’ll be there in an few minutes, your new house is close to me.  If you want to stay at my place, you know you’re welcome to.”

“Thank you for caring about her so much,”  Thomas rumbled, “I should get going.”

He was walking toward the elevators when he heard Violet call out, “Take care of yourself, Thomas.”

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