The same four chairs

Mr and Mrs Briarson sat across from Mr and Mrs Hall in the same four chairs, just as they had for fifteen years. Their regular dinners began when the Halls moved in next door, and Mrs Briarson, the welcoming committee herself, invited them over. That single warm gesture sparked a friendship that, tonight, would end.

Mr Hall, as he poured his wine into his glass, smiled a fake smile and laughed a fake laugh. Because tonight was the night five years ago that he was coming home late from the pub and hit a young boy, who hit his head on the hood of the car, killing him instantly.

At that time, Mr Hall was in the early stages of a drinking problem due to several years in a high-stress marketing job, a problem that reached its peak when he realised the boy he had hit and had killed was his neighbour’s son.

Mr Hall, quick on his feet, realised that he was all alone here and no one had seen him. So, without too much thought, Mr Hall moved the Briarson boys' body into the trees beside the road and covered him with a thick layer of brush that had collected on the forest floor.

Satisfied with his covering up of the evidence, Mr Hall made a quick getaway, making it home only a few minutes later than he normally would. The next morning, he washed the car and discovered a small dent in the hood, which he had fixed.

The boy Briarson was found in the brush a month later by a search party that was sent out for him. Mr Hall was designated the same area to check where he knew the body would be found. He avoided it as best he could; luckily, the boy's body was found by another volunteer.

Mr Hall, recollecting these events again tonight, drained the wine in his glass and poured himself another drink.

Mr and Mrs Briarson went into a state of shock and mourned for a long time after the funeral of their son, which was attended by Mr and Mrs Hall, who sat in the back away from the family.

Mr Briarson mourned his son for a year. Mrs Briarson mourned for five. In the space between their grief, Mr Briarson found Mrs Hall good company for coffee. Coffee became lunch, lunch became dinner, dinner became overnight stays. Two years on, no one had noticed.

Mr Hall had suspected that something was going on. However, these thoughts were replaced by the fog of the bottle by the time she returned, and in most cases, he simply forgot she was gone at all.

Mr Briarson, who was a high-level executive at a Tax Firm, would often go on long, extended trips across the state to see colleagues and other tax offices the firm managed, so it was not a big deal when two years ago these usually one-night trips became two-night affairs. Mr Briarson was happy. Happier than he had been in years.

He poured Mrs Hall a glass of wine before pouring one for himself. He was happier now, yes, but out of the blue, only a month or so ago, Mrs Briarson came out of mourning, she stopped wearing black and started being more attentive. He sipped his wine and wondered if this meant that his trips with Mrs Hall were going to need to be more discreet. He cared for his wife, but he was not willing to give up his dirty little secret, as he called her in his private letters to her.

Mrs Hall, however, was not in the mood to be a little secret any more. She had started the process of divorce and had the papers in her desk drawer at work. She didn't want to bring them home, lest Mr Hall find them and go into one of his drunken rages that burned out quickly and were forgotten by all but her.

Mrs Hall was through being Mrs Hall, and could not wait for a time when she would be able to call herself the new Mrs Briarson.

The current Mrs Briarson looked around the table and smiled a big fake smile. Knowing that she would only need to put up with the act for a little while longer. Mrs Briarson looked across to her husband, Mr Briarson, the words she read in the letters to his dirty little secret still echoing in her mind, the places they would go and the things he would do to her. The fact that she could even look him in the eye was proof enough of how much she loathed him in this moment. Then her attention moved to Mrs Hall, the dirty little secret in question, who confided in her a few days after her discovery of the letters that she would soon be serving her husband with divorce papers. Then, finally, Mrs Briarson looked to Mrs Hall's husband in question, the man who last month showed up in a drunken state on her front step to tell her that he believed the affair had been going on for years and blamed himself. Her skin crawled as she looked at him, and she gripped a knife in her hand unconsciously so tight that her knuckles went snow white. The man who took her son's life and didn't have the guts to come forward to admit it. He hid the body away in a forest and consoled her while her son sat in the wilderness, decomposing and being eaten by wild creatures for forty-nine days. His body and face were unrecognisable. When they identified his body, they instead needed to ID him from what he was wearing and his dental records. The thought of his face lying dead in the morgue haunted her every night these last five years.

But as she sipped her wine, she knew that it would all be over soon.

She smiled.

She couldn't even taste the poison she put in the wine.