Nina awoke to the howls of a raging storm. She was lying on the floor, curled up like a baby clutching an empty bottle to her chest, with no memory of the events that have transpired hours before. The house felt empty, and she shivered as the room rattled under the lashing force of wind and rain, like the world was about to cave in on her at any minute. She slowly pulled herself to a sitting position, pushing the empty whiskey bottle away, while wincing from the pain that had begun to pulsate behind her temple. A hangover was the last thing she needed when she should be in the kitchen getting dinner ready. Val would be home any minute, exhausted and hungry from his long drive from the city. She wasn't about to let him walk in on her looking like this broken mess, so she tried to get up despite her massive headache.
A telephone rang. Its shrill, metallic cry reverberated through the room, overpowering the din of the roaring rain, and ultimately jolting her out of her trance. Nina fought through the pain as she fumbled for the telephone receiver jangling in its cradle. She could hear the crashing storm in the background, but there was also a heavy breathing sound on the other end.
"Hello?" Nina said.
The heavy breathing quickly turned into quivering sobs.
"I'd like to speak to Val, please." It was a woman. Her voice seemed to tremble either from the cold or what sounded like overflowing despair. Nina could imagine her calling from the telephone booth, drenched to the bone with nowhere to go, mascara running down her face in thick, muddy streaks and her red lipstick smudged across one cheek.
"I'm sorry, he's not home."
"Please," the woman insisted. "I need to talk to him."
"Who is this?"
"Tell him it's Amanda."
Nina tightened her hold on the receiver, her knuckles white from the force of her grip. The name seemed to ring a bell. The voice sounded familiar, too.
"I can't get him on the phone right now. I'll tell him to call you back."
The woman did not reply. In the heavy silence that fell between them, Nina could hear the other woman breathing into the mouthpiece like an agitated bull on its target's neck.
"Hello, Amanda?"
"Bitch."
Nina scoffed in disbelief. The woman's voice had shifted from meek and mournful to hostile and taunting. "What did you just say?"
"Put him on the phone now," the woman hissed.
Nina flinched from the cutting acidity in the woman's reply.
"Like I said, I can't do that. What's your business with my husband, anyway?"
"You're lying," the woman shrieked. "I'll tell him! I'll tell him what you did!"
"Tell him what?" Nina was confused.
"I'll tell him what you did to me!"
Nina's hands were suddenly clammy with cold sweat. The receiver slipped out of her hold, and she had to fumble to pick up the handle and place them back against her ear.
"You don't remember me, do you?" The woman laughed. Nina slams the phone down, her body shuddering from head to foot.
She paced up and down the room. She could not hear herself think, only the pounding of her heart in her head. Was someone trying to pull a prank on her? It wasn't funny. Was she being stalked by one of Val's obsessed, lovesick fans? She looked out the window and saw nothing, except for the debris of trash being swept away by the wind. Had she offended anyone? A box fell off the stand as if to answer her question. She had never seen the box before. It was small and mahogany, and its contents of old receipts and wallet-sized photographs spilled across the floor like long-kept secrets finally revealing themselves.
Nina picked up a Polaroid of a woman in her twenties. In the dim light that came from the streetlights outside their house, she could see the woman reclining languorously in an armchair. Her face was turned away as she appeared to be gazing out of a window. She had the classic profile of a Greek goddess: deep-set eyes, high cheekbones, and a flawlessly sculpted nose. Her hair rippled to her waist like midnight black waves. Nina could feel a stab of envy as she marveled at the beauty resting in the armchair like Flaming June. The woman looked strangely familiar. She must have seen her in one of Val's book-signing events: a pretty face in a crowd of adoring fans. Nina had always been jealous of the women around her husband. They have always been more beautiful and more intelligent than she could ever be. And, as for her husband, he had built quite a reputation for himself being a ladies' man.
The telephone rang and Nina was relieved to hear Val's deep raspy voice on the other end of the line. He told her that he couldn't make it to dinner as he shouted above the hubbub of conversations and celebratory clanking of glasses. Nina could hear boisterous laughter in the background and women inviting him over to their table.
"Who is Amanda?" She confronted her husband.
"Nina—." Val seemed to stumble on his words. "Look, let's talk about this when I get home."
"I want to know now!" Nina raised her voice as she could no longer contain her growing agitation. "She called, and she kept asking for you."
"Amanda? Amanda called?"
"Yes!"
"That's impossible!"
"Well, I just spoke to her!" Nina screamed into the mouthpiece.
"Honey, listen to me. Amanda is dead."
Nina fell silent as she turned over the glossy snapshot of the beautiful woman in her trembling hand, only to read the words, "love, Amanda" scrawled on the back. She swallowed hard. She was suddenly filled with an inexplicable sense of dread.
"Now, that can't be," Nina shook her head. "I just spoke to someone who claimed to be her."
"It's probably just a crank caller," Val said. There was a short pause before Val could speak again. "Nina, whatever it was between Amanda and I is long over."
"How did she die?" She finally asked.
"Murder. She was found murdered in her apartment last week."
"Did they find her killer?"
"No."
Nina dropped the receiver, once again, as scenes of recent events (that seemed to have been wiped off completely from the surface of her mind) began to unravel themselves one by one at the back of her head. Nina recalled the day she tailed her husband's creative writing student around town until she was able to track her down to an old apartment building. She remembered rapping on the front door of the girl's cramped but cozy apartment unit, introducing herself as Professor Val Diaz's wife to the self-assured young woman who appeared unperturbed by her presence. She recalled the passionate love letters, the dropped calls in the middle of the night, and Val's frequent weekend getaways disguised as business trips that compelled her to track down the other woman. However, Nina's interaction with her husband's young mistress did not go so well. What started out as a calm and civilized dialog soon escalated into a loud and vicious altercation. Before she knew it, Nina was wiping off her fingerprints from everywhere inside of Amanda's little apartment.
"Nina, Nina." Val was still on the phone. "Are you okay?"
With her hands still trembling, Nina picked up the phone and looked around her. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she thought she heard a rustle and saw something moving in the shadows. She turned to see a silhouette of a woman superimposed in the blackest corner of the room, head bowed low as if in grief or great pain. Nina closed her eyes tightly, desperately blocking out the apparition.
"No, I'm not," she whimpered as she clutched the handset closer to her ear. "Please don't go."
A voice whispered in the darkness, sending cold tremors down her spine. "Nina," it said. "Look at me." The voice grew closer.
Nina opened her eyes slowly and found herself looking up at a grotesquely mishappen face so close to hers that she could smell its rotting blood-stained flesh and rancid breath caressing her cheeks. Its head looked like it was severely bashed in with a heavy object. Its mouth was twisted into a gory smile. And its black-rimmed sunken eyes baleful with hate bore into hers. Nina opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out of it.
"Nina," Amanda said. "Look what you did to me."
