Nouvelles Vagues 2

“A misunderstanding? Really? That's all you could come up with?”

Cécile was furious, with this cold anger, which was far more formidable than open anger.

But Carl didn't back down. It wasn't the first time they'd had this kind of discussion. Even if it was becoming a little too frequent for his taste... He simply nodded, saying nothing. He couldn't completely justify himself, anyway. And he knew that.

“I find you scaling the tonsils of the bitch who serves as your secretary with your tongue, and all you can tell me is that it's a misunderstanding? Do you really think I'm this stupid?”

Carl refrained from nodding again. Good for him, because Cécile's fury was so palpable that the police might have had trouble reconstructing his body if he had done so. It seemed to him that she was almost glowing, as if bathed in a red aura that indicated she'd better not be crossed. Her fists were clenched, and her pressure-bleached knuckles did not bode well for a potential encounter with Carl's face.

And while he readily admitted that he'd made a mistake (though he didn't specify what it was. For him, it was surely just a timing error, whereas for Cecile, it seemed much more serious than that), he was not about to sacrifice his best side to the blind vengeance of a woman he no longer desired.

So he simply made himself as small as possible, listening almost distractedly to what the woman he already considered his future ex-wife was telling him. A terrible thought, after all they'd been through together, when he thought about it.

And then he noticed the silence. The background noise had stopped. Cécile was no longer speaking, staring at him with an increasingly angry expression.

“Oh! Right! I'm supposed to say something! My bad, I wasn't listening to you!” he smiled at her.

Facing him, the face of the woman he had once loved contorted into a horrible grimace, her features grotesquely distorted by anger, while changing color to peony red.

Then a little *click* sounded from Carl's blouse pocket, and she froze in place, a living image of wrath.

“Yeah, that's not very flattering! The problem is, now I won't be able to see you any other way! Too bad...” he said to Cécile, even though she couldn't hear him.

He massaged his temples. His head ached, as it did every time he misused the device in his pocket. The invention was handy, but its use was not without consequences. The other part of the device, implanted directly into his skull, was not harmless. He'd been having regular scans for the past few months, and the evolution of the spots he was seeing left little doubt. The human brain wasn't really designed to cope with these back-and-forths. He was going to have to restrict his use a little.

He took a deep breath and plunged his hand back into his pocket. He'd been stuck in this situation for a while. He'd tried different scenarios, but he'd waited too long before coming back, and now he was stuck. He couldn't go back any further, and he knew that what lay ahead would be no picnic... He was a bit out of ideas.

The problem with manipulating other people's time is that you also lose track of your own. He felt as if he'd been having the same dead-end discussion for days and days. And that could very well have been the case. He had no way of knowing. He was just exhausted.

Even if he was no longer in love with her, he still didn't want to leave her, if only because a divorce would have cost him the earth. He had to find another way to work things out.

He thought, absent-mindedly fiddling with the remote control in his pocket.

*Click*

“A misunderstanding? Really? That's all you could come up with?”

Cécile was furious, with this cold anger, which was far more formidable than open anger.

But Carl didn't back down. It wasn't the first time they'd had this kind of discussion. Even if it was becoming a little too frequent for his taste…

“It was for science!”

*Click*

“It wasn't me, it was my evil twin!”

*Clic*

“I'm a sexsomniac!”

*Clic*

“In the semi-darkness, I thought it was you.”

*Clic*

“I honestly didn't think I'd get caught.”

*click*

“How about a threesome?”

*Click*

He knew Cecile well enough to know it wasn't likely to work out, but his eminently cynical, end-of-the-pipe mind enjoyed watching the incensed reactions of the woman who was becoming increasingly distant from him. After all, he'd been through a thousand break-ups with her, and he felt he'd never be able to pretend everything was fine again, in the event that he managed to calm her down and bring her back to her senses.

Cécile was frozen for the moment, in a silent cry of indignation.

Carl stared at her for what might have been a good five minutes. He was usually very creative, but now he was running out of ideas. It was all becoming too much. He now had so many powers, so many possibilities! He could no longer tolerate this situation. The only way out finally appeared to him.

*Click*

“A misunderstanding? Really? That's what you came up with?

- Believe me, I know what you're going to say, but I beg you, I have to show you something. Then you'll understand. Okay?”

Caught off guard, Cécile didn't answer. She was a little taken aback by Carl's reaction, but she still loved him enough for a part of her to agree to grant him the beginnings of a shadow of an opportunity to justify himself.

Without waiting for her answer, Carl walked around the desk and opened the bottom drawer of his office pedestal. He took out a small fabric bag and placed it on his desk.

Intrigued, his wife approached to see what might be inside.

He opened the bag and placed its contents, wrapped in a cloth, on the table.

Cécile was scared now.

“A pistol? But why a gun? What the...” she stammered before her voice died out completely. She couldn't understand what was going on in the office. Carl's lack of reaction was driving her crazy, but that gun was worrying her. He didn't seem to want to use it. He just stared at his wife, smiling, as if inviting her to take the gun.

“Come on, it's simple. Don't make a bigger fool of yourself than you are! Take it! And kill yourself!”

She widened her eyes.

“You've gone mad! Do you really think I'm going to do that?

-Yes, you will. Because I’ve hurt you. Like, a lot. And I can hurt you a whole lot more if I have to. So go ahead and do it. Don't make me do this.

-Are you threatening me? What are you going to do?”

Cecile's voice betrayed a growing concern, while Carl's seemed increasingly assured. His plan was infallible, he was sure of it.

“Me? Nothing. You're the one who's going to shoot. I'm innocent.

-Nonsense! You can't make me do this.”

Seeing that she was gradually backing away towards the door, Carl decided to pull out all the stops. So much for subtlety.

“Listen to me, you fat, purple cunt, you're going to take that gun and fry your filthy, disgusting brain. Because without me your life is over. Because no one's going to miss you. Least of all me. Because I'll be fucking my secretary. Among others.”

Cécile stopped and burst into tears. She began to tremble. She wasn't exactly of the confident type, and Carl knew all her weaknesses by heart. He knew where to tap to hurt her. And he'd decided to go all out.

He pointed to the gun.

“See that? That's the solution! Just one dose and off to bed! Come on, make yourself useful for once, and stop this pathetic charade. Drop dead! YOU FAT FUCK!”

Cécile was in tears now. She felt as if she'd fallen into another dimension, where all her bearings were missing. Anger swept over her like a tsunami of fury. She threw herself at the pistol, and through her tears, aimed at him. Given the distance, aiming would be superfluous, but she was looking forward to dislocating Carl's perfectly aligned teeth, who, finally seemed strangely relieved. He merely held up his hands with a perfectly innocent air.

“Piece of shit! You're the one who's going to die! Bastard!”

*Click**click**click*

“Um... That’s is a bit awkward, but you forgot the safety catch...”

Carl took advantage of the confusion to reach down and grab his remote control, still in his pocket.

At the height of her fury, Cécile removed the safety catch and put her finger back on the trigger. Barely loosening her teeth, she spat a final insult as she pulled the trigger:

“You son of a b-”

*Click*

Carl was jubilant. He'd done it. The gun didn't bear his fingerprints, and the tests would prove that Cécile had indeed taken her own life, having caused a scandal in his office because of his infidelity. No one could ever accuse him of anything except being a womanizing creep, which he didn't consider a crime.

After perhaps hundreds of attempts, he had finally figured out how to get rid of his troublesome problem. The result would not be pretty, but hey, he'd get over it by floating in his pool while his mistress would console him.

There was only one detail left to settle. He knew from experience that a person in frozen time could not resist movement, and retained no memory of it. Despite a certain rigidity, he could place her in any pose he wished, and she would simply resume the interrupted action when he pressed the button again.

He approached Cécile and looked at her one last time. He admired the details of her face, which he found beautiful despite the features distorted by the hatred he had unleashed in her. Drunk with the power of his device, he pressed himself against her, making one last obscene gesture against her body, which remained impotent, frozen in mortal rage.

Smiling, he passed in front of her again, then moved her sword arm to Cécile's temple. He had slightly underestimated the tensing of her muscles overwhelmed by anger and adrenalin. He struggled more than he should have, but finally, with a sudden movement, unlocked the arm.

And made Cécile's finger move.

And as he lay dying, still fully conscious, but in excruciating pain, half his face ripped off by the point-blank shot; the remnants of the damaged implant in his head sizzled.

*Click*

And as he lay dying, still fully conscious, but in excruciating pain, half his face ripped off by the point-blank fire; the remains of the damaged implant in his head sizzled.

*Click*

And as he lay dying, still fully conscious, but in excruciating pain, half his face ripped off by the point-blank fire; the remains of the damaged implant in his head sizzled.

*Click*