It was almost time to go. Marcus took a deep breath to calm himself. The time for nerves had passed. He slid the package under his arm and, with careful motions, opened the door.

The vestibule was dark and silent. The only light was a flickering that emanated from upstairs. Sarah might be still be awake then, watching television with the sound turned down. The evening was waxing, so the children would be curled in their beds by now, sleeping peacefully. It would not do to wake them because of his inconsiderate lateness.

He slipped off his square toed loafers and shuffled inside, turning to close the door as quietly as possible. It shut with a faint click. He moved in a sort of slide until his feet reached the thin cream carpet and made his way to the sofa. He lowered himself slowly and breathed in.

It would be best to depart from the basement or the yard, but he wanted to take the chance to relax. The delusions were really getting to him lately, and even with the therapy things were worsening. He was seeing and hearing things all the time now (they were getting bold). He had come close to accusing the dearest people in his life (Rob's hand on Sarah's ass), but he forgave himself that sin. No, what was intolerable were the baseless suspicions he was beginning to have about his own beautiful babies (straight blonds, Sarah and I are dark and curly, Rob is blond blond blond).

Even now, in the still and tranquil moment, the madness was taking hold. Marcus closed his eyes and desperately ordered his thoughts. He did not hear a tell-tale creaking. There was no smack, no giggling. (They are bold and carefree. Because you are pathetic). No love.

His senses would have to be ridiculously sharp for him to hear anything but shouting from that distant chamber. The Halperins were winners and the house was far too large. Marcus was no superhuman. Auditory hallucinations were blooming in his disturbed senses.

The insanity also came with false memories, as if he had lived other lives in darker times. Marcus (Jeremy) on his deathbed, ancient and decrepit as a bejeweled and richly dressed hag screeched calumnies against his manhood while a sneering young man (false son, blond blond blond) stood behind her. Marcus (Angelo) singing to a lovely golden-haired girl (false daughter, blond blond blond) as she clapped in glee. Marcus (Deepit) uncomfortably hemmed in by a wide-eyed beggar who babbled about avatars and urged him to "pass on the shard" before it was too late.

There! Was that a cry (satisfied moan)? No, it was quiet and everyone was asleep. Well, perhaps his best friend Rob was here after all, maybe waiting for Marcus to come home so they could have a beer and make plans for the weekend. If he was upstairs in the bedroom, he would be helping Sarah with some manly household chore. That was all (you are pathetic). There was no reason to doubt a great friend and a wonderful wife (when was the last time she touched you?).

Marcus buried his face in his hands. The guilt was overwhelming. He was blessed with so much and surrounded by the finest folks anyone could ever know. Still, he suspected. Still, he hated in his secret heart. The world deserved better than Marcus Halperin (chump).

He was suddenly struck with an urgent need to depart immediately. Even taking the time to go into the basement or step back outside seemed an unbearable delay. Now now now, his madness demanded.

He cradled the package in his lap. A delighted squeal muffled the sound of his tearing the plain brown wrapping. He took the polished model 629 revolver in his hand. It was heavy and its touch felt like a cold weight in his stomach.

Marcus despised guns, like any proper person of his class (grass-eating pussy). Nevertheless, procuring a firearm had become an imperative. The weapon was already loaded and he had test fired it before leaving the seller's lot. Revolvers were best, or so he had heard. Weapons with magazines were more prone to jams and misfires. He only needed a single shot, two if he was unlucky.

He pressed cold metal to his temple as false (real!) cries of climax bamboozled his ears. For a brief moment, he reconsidered. He had thought to cause as little disturbance as possible and departing from the living room might be considered unkind (be a man for once, pissant!).

Marcus pulled the trigger and remembered all his lives. They had been imperfect.

Once upon a time, Isabella stared at her daintily slippered feet as Carlo strode into the courtyard and felled Marcus Antonio with a contemptuous blow before triumphantly proclaiming the children as his own. A skip later, a shaking Marcus Shigeru wept silent tears, staring numbly through the curtain as his cousin pleasured an energetic Makiko. A jump after that, and Marcus Nwowe collapsed in helpless horror as succulent Mfumwi held a startlingly pale newborn to her dark breast.

There was a thread of joy and happiness in those clouds of (true) memory. The children. Fat and sickly, red and brunette and blond blond blond. They were innocent. They were worth it. Marcus finally accepted. He embraced his role and loved his shard.

There was a bullet and a crashing. There was a smashing through bone and an eruption of red and white matter.

He was eternal, blessed to be a caregiver and loving provider of the offspring of worthy men and women. He left Marcus behind and felt ecstasy as he was remade. The universe bent to provide him with great friends, lovely wives and children to raise.

He was finally ready. As Norman emerged from the distant wreckage of Marcus, something inside him embraced his essence. It comforted. It squeezed and pierced his soul. His new formed mouth opened in a silent scream as the shard tore into the spiritual core of his being. He was tasted, bitten, chewed and consumed.

Norman and Jimmy became good friends. Norman met a truly wonderful woman named Roberta and they soon wed. Jimmy and Roberta got on well and she delivered an attractive child within a year. A daughter followed shortly thereafter. Norman loved his children and took great pleasure in spoiling them. He took pride in creating distractions when Jimmy and Roberta hung out together. They were such good friends, they deserved some occasional private time away from Norman and the children.

The Cuckold settled in and embraced his children. Somewhere inside, the tatters of a soul wailed in endless anguish.

(Bliss)