Dylan Morrison

The visitation room smelled of sweat & old coffee. Eddy waited with the other prisoners until a guard pointed him toward the booth. You picked up the phone.;His hair had gone gray. The glass between you reflected both faces at once. "You stopped coming," he said. "I got married, dad." A muscle moved in his jaw. Then he asked the man's name. "Dylan Morrison" For the first time, Eddy looked away. Years earlier, Erina had run a jewelry store. Customers remembered her smile. Employees remembered that her kindness. Eddy worked for her. They were sleeping together behind locked stockroom doors while her husband,Dylan, remained invisible. One afternoon there was a robbery. A masked man vaulted the counter. Someone screamed. Eddy grabbed for the gun. The weapon twisted between their hands. The shot struck Erina in the chest. She died before the ambulance arrived. Eddy said it was an accident. A jury heard something else. Dylan hired lawyers who dismantled every explanation until it sounded rehearsed. The verdict gave Eddy life without parole. No one saw Dylan in court. His revenge preferred distance. Months after the conviction, you met a man at an art exhibition. He admired the same painting. Then he appeared at another gallery. A café. A lecture. Coincidences accumulated like dust. He flirted carefully. Dated patiently. Married you a year later. After the wedding, patience vanished. Questions became interrogations. He became verbal. Every room felt measured. Every mistake was catalogued. You never understood why. Now Eddy leaned closer to the glass. "Dylan was Erina's husband." The receiver slipped against your ear. "He found out who you were before that exhibition." You stared. "He married you for me." The room seemed smaller. "To control what?" you asked. Eddy laughed once. It sounded worn out. "To make sure I stayed alive to witness who runs the show."