Julie Myers knocked on her boyfriend's door, only to be greeted by his wife.

She squeezed the handle of the fancy paper bag harder, which held about a pound of fresh pasta she picked up for dinner on the ride over. It seemed an adorable romantic partner to the eighties style invasion of privacy.

Julie considered all the possibilities. What if he doesn't like spaghetti like a freak of nature? Get some Alfredo, just in case. What if he's one of those 'no salad' guys? There would need to be soup. Which kind? Better be safe and buy them all. What if he's pissed about her dropping by like a stalker after dating for two weeks?

Which is why the second bag on the doorstep contained an apology cake. Another woman? No. Sister, or oddly attractive cousin. Steve's a good one.

"Um, is Steve home?"

"That depends. What can I do for you?"

Julie began to see the unspoken words in Steve's lies. It all made sense. This chick wouldn't be suspicious unless she walked in on her riding him on her own couch. The "long work nights", secrecy about where he lived. Hell, she had to tail him home from a parking lot rendezvous in the dark corner of the Applebee's property. It was all right in front of her face the whole time.

She, too, couldn't spot the bad ones.

"Fuck. I don't know what to say. I was expecting Steve to open the door."

"Who, may I ask, are you?"

"I swear to god I'll answer that question, but is there any chance you can answer mine first? Right back at you style?"

"I'm Rachel, Steve's wife."

As the daggers left her lips, she wished Mrs. Lewin wasn't perfect. Bright red lips, that cute blonde Bob that Julia tried once and ended up with prom photos looking like the "before" side of a hair extensions commercial. Even then, lounging around the house, the worst news of her life at her doorstep, she still presented as immaculate. Loose fitting black slacks. Loose gray, long sleeve shirt. 

Julie wasn't the rebound. Julie wasn't even a one-night stand. Julie was a girlfriend to someone that could - and did - do better. She was junk food.

"Well, if this isn't the Pictionary definition of rock bottom. I'm Julie, Steve's girlfriend."hen the news broke. "Interesting," Rachel said. She gazed past Julie, to the street where Julie parked her rental.

Julie closed her eyes and wished that the ground would open up underneath her and gulp her down right to hell. It had to be the one time she risked it all. Of course it would be. It was getting harder to ignore the noise in the bottom portion of her peripherie, flashes from PB, messages, bio metrics alerts. It had to be silenced for now. She was a doormat standing on a doormat. There was no use being fancy to hold the grime from the bottoms of shoes.

 "Did you two fuck in that car?"

A wave of heat went across Julies face. The quiet had made her consider just walking away, getting into the car, and driving it into the closest bridge support.

"No. Not that one. We did it in his car."

Rachel's face returned to Julie. "Steve doesn't have a car. He drives mine to work."

Before Julie could apologize or cry or whatever she would had done, Mrs. Lewin left her at the doorway. This is the worst night of my life, she thought.

Then a sudden shatter of glass. Then another, followed by a steady cadence of screaming and rage. Julie stood on one foot to try and look around the corner of the living room to where Rachel was. The kitchen, she thought. She's trashing the place. Good.

"Why am I still here?" she muttered to herself. Buy tequila and ice cream, go home, and pretend you were never born.

It was at this moment she realized she was crying. Hard and quiet. Drops of her mascara pooled onto her fingers as she slid it across her cheek.

She looked at her hand. The tears were alien. How long had it been since she cried? What the fuck did Steve do to her?

Julie was deep in that thought and did not notice the symphony of destruction stop from inside the house. If she had, she may have seen Rachel return with a large knife in her hand.

"Did you know he was married? Did you?" She asked, pointing the tip of the blade at her.

"No. I wouldn't have even thought once about doing it." she replied. "For what it's still worth, I'm sorry, even if I didn't know. I should have, though. It's just my brand of luck. He's the only boyfriend I ever had."

Julie did not expect sympathy, and she did not get any. Instead, Rachel nodded. "He has a way--" she started before trailing off.

"I know."

"How did you meet? Was it the bullshit bowling league?"

Julie shrugged. "It was just a random thing. I was waiting in line to get my coffee, and he was behind me. Steve struck up a conversation. I didn't see a ring, I... don't get out much. I figured this is how these things went. I see it in movies all of the time. The chance meeting. It seemed romantic to me."

She wouldn't tell Julie the fake future she booked for herself and Steve. The wedding in the mountains somewhere, the honeymoon in Prague. She wiped her face again.

Rachel pointed to the bag of food. "Did he take you to Antonio's for your first date, too?"

Julie's heart switched from pain to punishment. "Motherfucker," she said. Rachel shook her head and dropped it into her shoulder. This poor woman. "You know what? I brought dinner. Let's eat it together. Steve can eat shit."

Rachel lifted up her head. "The wife and mistress bonding over calamari? I don't know."

"You know what? Before today I would have agreed with you, but having it happen to you and seeing it in a movie are completely different. Why should we hate each other? Shouldn't we, at the very least, exchange information so we can know exactly how deep Steve dug his own grave?"

This seemed to make sense to Rachel. "It does smell good, and that asshole doesn't deserve whatever desert is in this bag," she said looking into it.

"It's a cake."

"Chocolate or something else?"

"Chocolate. What the fuck is the point of anything else?"

Rachel stepped to the side and held her arm out. "Mind the broken pictures. I'll get the silverware."

Steve's house - Rachel's house - was immaculate. A small ranch, light gray walls, hardwood floors throughout. She walked through the living room, a simple thing of a couch, loveseat and small ottoman to the dining room. Julie put the food on the table and looked around.

Steve had a life, a whole other life than the one he told her about. Was any of it real? Was Steve actually the president of a company? Were both of his parents still alive? Did they come over and have Sunday dinners at this table?

Rachel returned with two forks and a set of plates. Julie reached carefully into the bag and pulled out the oversize plastic container. It had a smear of vanilla frosting on the inside.

"Do you have a gun?" Rachel asked.

Julie paused the ruffling of the bag and glanced at her side, where her leather holster was peeking out from her shirt.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I usually never leave the house so I forget that I wear it. The fact that I showed up to your door with cake and carbonara for your husband withstanding, I'm not crazy, I work for the FBI."

She pulled out her identification out and gave it to Rachel, who held it head-level. Julie got a kick out of her looking back and forth between her and the picture on the ID. Like she could know a fake if it were one.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

She shrugged. "I guess if I knew Steve fucked a cashier at Walmart and not a federal agent, that would be worse."

"No. It's not better. There are no levels to infidelity. There are no hall passes or compliment hookups. The man is a scumbag."

Rachel's face dropped. Pity? Julie couldn't believe it. How could she still care for him?

"How can you carry this in your pocket? The metal is so heavy," Rachel said, handing it back. When she did, the thin fabric of her top rolled, showing Julie a polka dot frenzy of black and blue going up her arm.

"That's another one of those things they never talk about in the movies," she replied, now aware of the weight on her hip and what that weight could do. Could kill.

They stood in this awkward transition between floozie at the door to scorned women stuffing their faces with processed sugar.

Julie popped the top off of the cake and dug in a giant forkful, the amount too much for her mouth to handle. She chewed long and wide, like a cow eating grass until the sponge and sprinkles vanished.

She didn't care how pathetic she probably looked to his flings wife. She was hurt, and frosting patches the potholes of the soul.

"How long have you been there?" Rachel asked.

"I started the first of the year."

"How long did it take to go through the, what would it be, academy?"

"Yes, it's an academy, but I didn't get in that way."

"There's other ways? I didn't think that was the sort of thing that college credit covered. Is your dad an agent?"

"Something like that."

Rachel picked her piece up. "Rachel. I need you to know something," she said after a second bite. She watched how delicate Rachel ate. Tiny bites on from the end of the fork, napkin tucked underneath. Steve seemed like the type to bitch about crumbs. Fuckingpieceofmothersfuxk— 

"How I got into the FBI is the same reason I'm going to get away with killing your husband."

Rachel choked, then cleared her throat before forming what Julie interpreted as a covert grin. 

"Beg pardon?"

"The thought crossed my mind as soon as you opened your door. It got finalized when your sleeve rolled up and I saw those bruises. I had my suspicions considering how rough Stevie likes it in the sack that he may be one of those types who actually gets off on beating women, but he never tried me. After all this? Yeah, that dude is a corpse and doesn't know it." Julie smiled. It was satisfying to say it out loud. The round in the chamber of her service weapon was the only thing in this room that had a spouse anymore.

She put her plate on the table. "I can't let you murder my husband."

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" Julie replied after finishing her piece. Why was it going to be like this? Rachel seemed cool in a prissy, erm, cultured way. It would suck to have to kill her, too.

"It would never work. The cops would know it was me."

Her eyebrow raised. Or maybe not. "What?"

"The spouse kills. That's what they do. Until death do us part is a real condition of a legally binding contract. No one ever benefits more when the dirtbags go missing than the wives. Cops know that, everyone does."

"Sounds like someone likes to watch murder shows."

Her expression didn't change. Those bright red lips quivered. "If I knew, one hundred percent, that I wouldn't get caught, he would have been dead before you two met." She crossed her arms. "I'm too much of a coward to do anything to help myself."

Well, well. Maybe she had a friend, after all.

"What did he do? The bruises?"

Julie wanted to know. She thought she knew Steve, knew the kind of person Steve was. How wrong could she have been?

"Steve grabbed me by the wrists and held my arms against the wall, right over there," Rachel replied pointing to the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. "He likes to do that. Tie me down and then hold me down, like I could break free from anything even if I wanted to. One way of restraint is never enough for him."

"The old stand-by starter for a firm slap or a choke," Julie replied. It's a shame that something so vile in the hands of another can be bliss to the careful operator. "That I had figured. He tried that shit on me the first time we fucked. Well, tried isn't the best word. I let him, but not because me made me, only because I like it."

And sometimes an operator, apparently, can be versatile.

"Steve was your first boyfriend but you know you like to be choked during sex?"Julie's body tensed. "What's a relationship got to do with getting railed?"

"That's my husband!"

There it was. The line she had been waiting for. Like she didn't know. Well, she didn't, but now? Would there ever be a fact more branded into her memory than Steve Lewin is fucking married to Rachel Lewin?

She slammed her gun on the table. The weight making a dent in the shiny polished wood. It seemed to scare Rachel, as she took a step away.

People that aren't around them fear the pew pew. When you look at one, or have to use one daily, you see it for the collection of parts that it is. Hunk of metal with a firing pin and a bunch of other shit she knew but never learned.

Only PB would think a girl yearns for the knowledge of armory.

"Do you want to do it? Julie asked. "You can. If anyone deserves to, it's you."

"What makes you think I'm just going to let you shoot that thing in my house?"

"Because you've been smiling ever since I told you." Rachel touched her face then waived her hands. "This is nuts. There will be police. I have nosey bitches that live across the way."

"They may show up, probably not, though," Julie said as she walked to the closest window and peered out. Quiet neighborhood. It was possible Rachel was right and someone would hear the pop and splat and freak. "If they do, I'll be out in the morning and will be more than happy to help you wipe blood from the tile."

Rachel's grin evolved into a ear to ear showstopper, complete with blinding white teeth.

"No, I'm sorry. Maybe you work for the FBI, but you don't have some kind of get out of jail free card."

"I appreciate your concern for my freedom. Honestly, I do. It's something I don't get enough of. I'm going to shoot your husband, though. This doesn't have to involve you at all, you can leave, you can --"

"Can I watch?"

Julie laughed, she couldn't help it.

"You and I are best friends now."

Julie heard Steve before she saw him. The door flung open, a set of keys hit the little table next to their door, a slam. It was really quiet in here, she realized. She took a quick glance at Rachel, who was stiff and colorless, like she had been stopped mid-breath and was afraid to take another one.  He came into the kitchen and stopped, mirroring how his wife was. If only they would stay next to each other for a nice family photo. Julie didn't take too long to savor the moment, though. There was too much to say.

"Well, good evening, fuckboy."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he snapped at Julie. "Rachel, go the fucking bedroom," his dumb knock-off tie pushed to the side as he pointed at her.

Steve's voice had a tone that drove Julie crazy. Deep. with a layer of authority.

Julie held her arm out as Rachel went to walk away. "No. You stay. You're not the one who's leaving."

"Yeah, right." He walked to the fridge and took out a can of beer. Cheap shit, just like him. 

"Listen, you were fun, and I should have trusted my gut, but it's time for you to hit the road." Right. He cracked open the suds and leaned against the stainless steel appliance. She imagined a memory of the two of them wandering down aisles of stores, picking out a refrigerator together. Why did it seem so reasonable thirty minutes ago?

"You're going to go back and obsess over that dumb job until they realize how much of a retard you are and fire your ass, she's going to go back to keeping this house clean and sucking my dick." He took a swig, Julie brought her arm away from Steve's wife and hovered it over the gun that was still on the table. She wondered if Steve could see it. "Don't make me say it again or I'll smack the shit out of you. I don't care about that badge. I know cowards when I see them. I guess the feds really are taking in anyone these days, even ones like you who are rotten on the inside."

The words "rotten on the inside cut through her. That would be the last time she would expose her deepest fears. She laughed and looked at Rachel. "The best thing about fear is it goes away as soon and you decide to pull the trigger on it."

She wasn't a normal girl. Ever, really. Even before that day she ran away from home and stumbled upon a power not born of this world. The view of Steve's kitchen got the overlay she was suppressing. Numbers, stats blinked at her. Messages from PB were important and unread, but she couldn't bring herself to read any of them.

"Julie," PB said into her mind. "Julie whatever you're doing you need to stop. WE cannot help you. WE are losing influence."

The beer can was tipped into Steve's mouth when the bullet went in. One single shot straight through the aluminum bottom and the back of his head. Rachel jumped and shrieked at the bang. Her weapon had a silencer, but quiet guns are imaginary ones. He crumbled into himself like a pair of pants hitting the floor, knees bent as they absorbed the runoff alcohol from the spill. Steve just leaned there halfway up agaisnt the counter, poofy combed back black hair bleeding all over the floor he wouldn't have to mop like an asshole.

A large number in the top right of her field of view increased from nine to ten. Automatic messages populated her inbox, indicating she had reached milestones and unlocked upgrades. Those would have to wait. There was so much she wanted to say to PB. Aplogize, to start. but before she could reply, the message disapareared and her whole interface glitched. The sudden flashes gave her a headache, so she closed the overlay.

That has never happened before.

"I'm sorry I ruined your Kenmore," Julie said after putting the safety on and holstering the gun. She prepared for the panic from the widow as the realization crept in that his mistress just dropped him dead in her kitchen.

"He's really gone." Rachel sprinted to the body and nudged it with her foot.

"Be sure to wipe that off."

"I'm glad--" she started. Julie braced herself for the unloading of a lifetime. Instead, she just shrugged. "I'm glad."

"I'm proud of you. If you decide in the next thirty seconds that you hate my guts, you'll still go to your grave happy you told that slimeball off."

Rachel walked to the table and let gravity sink her into the chair. "Now what? That was louder than I thought."

"That's another one of those movie myths. You can never make a gun silent, just, you know, less thuddy. We'll have to see if the cops show up. If not, my contact will get rid of the garbage in here."

"Thuddy?"

"Yeah. The pressure you felt in your head? You know, concussive force? Thuddy sounds better, doesn't it?"

Rachel looked like she might throw up. "Do you want some wine?" she asked before leaving the room in a hurry.

What was that about? Then, she remembered, not everyone is used to seeing corpses, let alone witness the production of them.

Julie swiped the curtains to the side once more. Several new porch lights were on, there was a guy on his phone in the driveway. God damn, these neighbors really were all in each other's business.

She pulled up her interface and started cringing through the menus, each tab made the pressure at the base of her skull deeper. A warning opened that the police, were in fact, on their way. As soon as she read that the faint howl of sirens could be heard creeping closer.

Julie sent a message to PB:

I'm at the location of this police call, can you get them off of us?

The response, as it always was, was instantaneous. Or, as close to instant as Julie's mind could allow. Text appeared in front of her eyes as it did, but this time was different, they flickered red and went askew like the font had been changed to italic.

"WE told you not to kill any more people. WE trust you'll finesse your way out of this inconvenience." Then, a second reply that made the hair on her arms stand. "It found us."

Fuck.