Twisted: The Collected Short Stories of Jeffery Deaver

He knew the location of all the watering holes between Mary's office and the house — places she'd be inclined to stop at with a lover. But he also knew where she'd be likely to go on the way home from the mall. (He regularly made stops at many of them just to see if he could catch her.) He hadn't snared her yet but tonight he felt that luck was on his side.

And he was right.

Mary's black Lexus was parked outside of the Hudson Inn.

He skidded to a stop in the middle of the driveway and leapt out of the truck. A couple driving toward the exit had to swerve out of his way and they honked at him. He slammed his fist against their hood, shouting, 'Go to hell!' They stared in terror. He pulled the gun from his pocket, walked up to the window and peered inside.

Yes, there was his wife: blonde, trim, a heart-shaped face. And she was sitting next to her lover.

The man must have been ten years younger than Mary. He wasn't handsome and he had a belly. How could she be seeing someone like him? How on earth? He didn't look rich either — he was wearing a cheap, unstylish suit. No, there was only one reason to see him… He must be good in bed.

Dennis could taste the familiar metallic flavor of his rage.

And then he realized that Mary was wearing the navy blue dress that he'd bought for her last Christmas! He'd purposely picked a high-necked one so she couldn't go flaunting her breasts at every man she passed. And he realized that she'd picked it today as a private joke — an insult to him. Dennis pictured this fat slob slowly undoing the buttons, slipping his pudgy fingers under the cloth while Mary whispered words that this fat asshole would hear every time he looked at the blank Christmas card.

Dennis Linden wanted to scream.

He spun away from the window and strode to the front door of the inn. He pushed it open and stepped inside, shoving a waiter out of the way. The man fell to the floor.

The maitre d' saw the gun and gasped, backing away. Other patrons too.

Mary glanced at him, still smiling from her conversation with fat boy, then her face went white. 'Dennis, honey, what —?'

'Am I doing here?' he raged sarcastically.

'My God, a gun!' The boyfriend lifted his hands. He stumbled backward and his bar stool fell over.

'I'm here, honey,' he shouted to Mary, 'to do what I should've done a long time ago.'

'Dennis, what're you talking about?'

'Who's he?' the chubby man asked, his eyes huge with fear.

'My husband,' Mary whispered. 'Dennis, please, put the gun down!'

'What's your name?' Dennis shouted at the man.

'I–It's Frank Chilton. I —'

Chilton? Dennis remembered him. He was married to Patty, Mary's good friend from the church committee. She was betraying her friend too.

Dennis lifted the gun.

'No, please!' Frank pleaded. 'Don't hurt us!'

Mary stepped in front of her lover. 'Dennis, Christ! Please put the gun away. Please!'

He muttered, 'You cheat on somebody, there's going to be payback. Oh, you bet there is.'

'Cheat? What do you mean?' The actress within Mary was looking innocent as a child.

A scream from nearby, a woman's voice. 'Frank! Mary!'

Dennis glanced toward the bar and saw a young woman freeze as she stepped out of the rest room, a horrified look on her face. She ran to Frank and put her arm around him.

What was going on?

Dennis was confused. It was Patty.

Eyes wide, breathless, Mary gasped, 'Dennis, did you think I was seeing Frank?'

He said nothing.

'I ran into Patty at the mall,' she explained. 'I told you that. We decided to have a drink and she called Frank. I invited you too. But you didn't want to come. How could you think —?' She was crying. 'How could you —'

'Oh, nice try. I know what you've been up to. Maybe it's not him. But it is somebody.' He aimed the gun at his wife. 'Too many discrepancies, honey. Too many things don't quite add up, honey.'

'Oh, Dennis, I don't have a clue what you're talking about. I'm not seeing anyone. I love you! I was just out buying you a Christmas present tonight.' She held up a shopping bag.

'Did you get me a card too?'

'A…'

'Did you buy me a Christmas card?' he screamed.

'Yes!' More tears. 'Of course I did.'

'You buy cards for anyone else?'

She looked completely confused. 'Just the ones we're sending together. To our friends. To my family…'

'What about the card you hid in the closet?'

She blinked. 'You mean, in my bathrobe?'

'Yes! Who's that one for?'

'It's for you! It's your card.'

'Then how come it was sealed up and blank?' he asked, smiling triumphantly.

The tears had stopped and now anger blossomed in her face. It was an expression he'd seen only twice before. When he'd told her he wouldn't let her go back to work and then when he'd asked her not to take that business trip to San Francisco.

'I didn't seal it up,' she snapped. 'It was snowing yesterday when I came out of the Hallmark store. The flap got wet and it stuck. I was going to work it open when I got a chance. I hid it so you wouldn't find it.'

He lowered the gun. Debating. Then he smiled coldly. 'Oh, you're good. But you're not fooling me.' He aimed the pistol at her chest and started to pull the trigger.

'No, Dennis, please!' she cried, lifting her hands helplessly.

'Hold it right there!' a man's voice barked.

'Drop the weapon! Now!'

Dennis spun around and found himself facing two New York State troopers, who were pointing their own guns at him.

'No, you don't understand,' he began, but as he spoke the Smith & Wesson strayed toward the cops.

Both officers hesitated for a fraction of a second then fired their guns.

* * *

Dennis spent three weeks recuperating in the detention center hospital, during which time several psychiatrists gave him a thorough evaluation. They recommended a sanity hearing prior to trial.

At the hearing, held on a cold, bright day in February, Dennis's long history of depression, uncontrolled temper and paranoid behavior came to light. Even the prosecutor gave up on the idea of finding him fit to stand trial and conceded that he was incompetent. There was, however, some disagreement about the type of hospital to place him in. The DA wanted him committed indefinitely in a high-security facility while Dennis's lawyer urged that he go to an unsecured hospital for six months or so of observation.

The gist of the defense argument was that no one had actually been endangered by Dennis because, it turned out, the firing pin of his gun had been removed and the weapon couldn't be fired. Dennis had known this, the lawyer explained, and had merely wanted to scare people.

But no sooner had he made that point then Dennis leapt up and shouted that, no, he had thought the gun was working properly.

'See, the firing pin is the key to the whole case!'

His lawyer sighed and, when he couldn't get Dennis to shut up, sat down in disgust.

'Can you swear me in as a witness?' Dennis asked the judge.

'This isn't a trial, Mr. Linden.'

'But can I talk?'