How about Cosmic Horror? Chapter 18

Sitting in the backseat of a large sedan, Irae pressed her hand against her forehead. She shouldn’t have agreed to the drive.

“What’s wrong? Carsick?”

Her husband, fidgeting with her hand from the seat next to her, asked worriedly.

“No, I’m not carsick.”

It was a headache.

To think he wasn’t driving, but his secretary was.

She’d assumed it would just be the two of them. He’d be driving, and she’d be in the passenger seat. Wasn’t that the typical drive scenario? But when they went down to the parking lot, his secretary was waiting for them.

When did they even communicate? She hadn’t heard him making any calls, had he texted him? Anyway, this didn’t seem right…

Glaring, implying Did you need to call him?, he tilted his orthoplex head.

“Why that look?”

“I’m just wondering if it was necessary to call Nia for this.”

“I didn’t call him, he came on his own. He’s a bit overzealous.”

What kind of nonsense excuse is that? How would Nia know unless summoned? If true, she should call the police, suspecting hidden bugs or cameras in the house.

“Are you disappointed he’s here? Want me to kick him out?”

“From a moving car?”

Ire lowered her voice, worried the driver might hear. Her husband mirrored her tone, whispering just as quietly,

“Let him pay for butting in.”

“Tone down the theatrics, you’re just having a normal date.”

Her husband’s secretary gave them a sharp rebuke. They had kept their voices low, but apparently, his ears were annoyingly sharp.

“But it’s my first time.”

Her husband retorted calmly. The word ‘first’ stuck in her mind.

She pulled out her phone and snapped a photo. Checking the album, a breathtakingly handsome man stared back. Though she saw an orthoplex now, this was his true face. Never dated? With that face? The claim stunned her.

He must be joking. Or maybe he was telling a white lie, since he couldn’t exactly admit to having dated other women in front of his wife. As she was contemplating various possibilities, a shadow fell over her phone screen.

“Did the picture turn out alright?”

He leaned closer, peering at his image on the screen.

“You could have told me you were taking a picture. I would’ve tried to look my best.”

What more could he possibly do? He was already devastatingly handsome.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Why the formal speech all of a sudden?”

It wasn’t intentional; it just slipped out. When your face makes a surprise royal appearance, respectful language sort of bubbles up by default.

“Look outside, honey.”

He said gently, taking her hand. She turned towards the window and was greeted by a scenery rarely seen in the city. It was a view worth the drive. And yet, even with this view, the blurry photo of him on her phone moved her more.

Still, she dutifully admired the landscape, but she could feel his gaze lingering on her face. He’d told her to look out, yet ignored the scenery himself. She couldn’t point it out. It would be too awkward to ask why he was staring at her. Pretending not to notice was the best option. She ignored his gaze the entire drive.

He asked if she wanted to stop for a meal on the way back, since they were already out, but she declined. They’d had lunch not long before, and she wasn’t hungry.

The car re-entered the city, filled with buildings. As they stopped at a red light, Irae casually looked out the window. And spotted an unexpected figure.

Back in the city filled with buildings, the car stopped at a red light. Irae casually looked out the window and froze.

“Huh?”

“What’s up, honey?”

She instinctively brushed him off.

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

He didn’t ask again and resumed playing with her hand. He wasn’t the type to pry or relentlessly push for answers. That was something she’d learned during their time together after she was discharged. Though it had only been a short period, not even a month, maybe even less than two weeks.

Her husband’s secretary, as always, parked the car and saw them off. Just as she was about to thank him, she noticed a new ring on his finger and expressed her curiosity.

“That’s a unique ring. What’s the stone in the center?”

The black gemstone looked like no other she’d seen. It wasn’t a typical round or heart-shaped cut—it had been carved into a bizarre polyhedral shape. The inner facets glowed red, as if something pulsed within. She couldn’t guess the mechanism, but it felt like the product of some overachieving physics major.

“It’s a trapezohedron. Would you like a closer look?”

Her husband’s secretary replied in the kindest tone she’d ever heard from him. And as if that wasn’t enough, he took the ring off his finger and offered it to her. He must have really wanted to show off his new ring.

Unfamiliar with jewelry, she wasn’t keen on the trapezo… whatever, and it wasn’t her style. She preferred colorful, sparkly gemstones. She was about to decline when…

“If you look into the center, you might see something interesting.”

Her husband’s secretary subtly urged her. He was clearly trying to sell her on it. It would be rude to decline after he’d gone this far, so she took the ring. Was it a mineral with something trapped inside, like amber?

Just as she was about to examine the mysterious, sparkling polyhedron, a large hand covered the ring.

“Don’t do anything unnecessary.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

Her husband ignored the secretary’s question and turned towards her. His spinning orthoplex head looked strangely mystical, making her marvel at it. Before she could speak, he suddenly changed the subject.

“Honey, do you need another bath mat?”

“…Huh? You just gave me one recently.”

“Yes. But I thought you might get bored of stepping on the same one every day. Maybe add another to switch out?”

She appreciated the thought, but was it really necessary?

“I like to use things until they’re worn out before getting a new one. I’ll buy later if needed.”

“Later? Hmm. Now that I think about it, we have a lot of bath mats on standby. Maybe we should switch to something else. How about a punching bag? We could hang one up in a room, and you could punch it whenever you’re stressed. It’d be good exercise too.”

That was a tempting suggestion. She’d never learned boxing, but it wasn’t a bad idea. Wouldn’t punching a bag relieve stress?

“Maybe instead of a mat, I could try—”

“No! You wouldn’t like such a violent object. You’re a pacifist at heart.”

Out of nowhere, the secretary interrupted. She blinked in surprise.

“What? I’m not exactly a pacifist…”

“Just say you are. One being’s fate hangs on your answer.”

The secretary, standing behind her husband, whose lips weren’t moving at all, yet his voice was eerily clear—like telepathic ventriloquism.

Overwhelmed, she nodded. She didn’t know why her getting a punching bag would affect someone’s fate, but she didn’t need one anyway. Impulse purchases rarely ended well.

“Um… I appreciate the thought.”

The orthoplex tilted slightly at her rejection, then straightened.

“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”

Still covering the ring with his palm, her husband handed it back to the secretary, who looked like he’d just aged ten years.

“It was just a harmless greeting…”

“Don’t pull pranks I wouldn’t play.”

Blinking at their odd exchange, her husband gently took her hand and laced his fingers with hers.

“Let’s go.”

She nodded briefly at the secretary and followed her husband.

***

As soon as they arrived home, she went to the bathroom and locked the door. He wouldn’t come in even if it was unlocked, but it made her feel safer.

Hiding in the bathroom when she needed time alone was a long-standing habit. She didn’t know how she’d developed such a pathetic habit, but she felt uneasy being anywhere else.

“It was definitely the CEO.”

The man she’d seen through the car window on the way back. The pot-bellied, balding man in his 50s was her former small company’s CEO. But according to her husband, that company only existed in her mind. A false memory created by her brain injury. And naturally, the CEO couldn’t possibly be a real person.

Was it a coincidence? A random person in real life happened to look exactly like a figment of her imagination? 

But it wasn’t just his appearance. The way he dressed, his general vibe, even the way he rubbed his stomach—pure fat with not a shred of muscle—as if he were cradling a pregnant belly… it was all exactly the same.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that the middle-aged man she’d seen in the city was the same CEO from her memories. The memories of that company felt so real. She could even remember her coworkers’ faces. How could all of that be fake?

What if it wasn’t fake?

What if her husband, the man standing outside the door, was lying to her…?