A Mad Man's Clause

18| The Taste of Sanity

The first snow has fallen.

Down below, where the night sky hovered and relative silence prevailed. A perfect night it was, moonless and starless. Henry gazed upon the slumbering streets; a glass of scotch in his hand,  a faraway look in his eyes.   His hair was messy from lying on the bed next to Mai up until she gave in to sleep. He could smell her all over him, A shudder rose with that thought. How fragile, just like its owner. 

A distinct sound cut through the room's silence. A few more rings and he realised it came from the coat closet near the door. A few steps in and it stopped, only to ring once more. He made his way to the source and grabbed a phone out of the breast pocket of his jacket. 

Marge.

The name blared like a warning alarm, forcing him to heed to it. "Hello, Marge." He made sure to keep the inflection in his tone to a bare minimum. 

"Where are you?" came her voice, weary and demanding just like its owner. 

He chortled, again back at his old post next to the glass walls. He took a generous sip of his watered scotch. It had unfortunately lost its kick. Once he'd exhausted his courtesy seconds, he regarded her with an answer,

"My wife and I are on a vacation if you must know." There was a pause but only for a brief moment.

"You're not Henry." 

Henry's face twisted, small mounds forming across his forehead. "What the bloody hell..." Just as quickly, the small mounds smoothed over and its place , a smug grin rose. "You're good, Marge. I thought I was doing such a good job."

"Eddie..." came her clipped response. He could almost taste the apprehension in them. "Where is Mai?" 

"So no hello for me. It's been too long, Margie. Haven't you missed me?"

"Where are you keeping her, Eddie?" 

He had to scoff, "Keeping her? You think I kidnapped my own wife?" A  towing truck strolled below, lighting the streets in its signature yellow technicolour. It held his attention for a brief moment. A loud bang on the other side of the call brought him back. He could imagine the frantic moves she was making to come over and save dear Mai. "Why do you always think the worst of me, Margie? Do you really think I'm capable of hurting my beautiful wife?" 

"She is not your wife. And Henry would never forgive you if you lay a single finger on her." 

He laughed, genuinely amused "And what, pray tell, can he do to me. Kill me? I would think the last century has taught him something." In a split second, he felt another presence in the room.

"Henry..." 

"You hear that, my wife is calling." Marge's voice rose over the phone belting out threats, every one of them meaningless. He found it quite entertaining. Tranquility and chaos had never felt so harmonious. Mai looked so delicate under the yellow lights in the barely lit room. He couldn't help but think; what would it take to break her. I love you seemed to have done something but he wasn't fooled. There was far more to her. 

"I've got to go, Margie. Have a good night." He pushed the end button and leveled Mai with a smile he hoped screamed undying affection. Arms wide open, he invited her into his personal space and held her close against him. 

"Margie" 

He looked down at her confused. She wore an amused look. 

"You called her Margie." 

He picked up on her meaning immediately and laughed, "Yeah, she doesn't like it as much." He rubbed tiny circles in her back. "And you, I reckoned you would sleep through the night but here you are."