The Revenge of Anthony Riggs

0001: Fractured Bonds

In the early dark hours of a cold New York morning, the soft breeze whispered through the nearly deserted streets, carrying with it a hint of the city's restless energy. Inside a dimly lit bedroom, the stillness was suddenly broken by the insistent vibration of a phone resting on a wooden nightstand beside a king sized bed. The shrill sound of the alarm cut through the silence, growing louder as it echoed off the walls, relentless in its pursuit of the day.

The phone's vibrations buzzed for several long minutes, stubbornly persistent, until a sharp slap on the back jolted Antony awake. He groaned, his body heavy with exhaustion, his face buried in the soft comfort of his pillow. The slap had come from his wife, Veronica, who now shifted her position in bed with an audible sigh of frustration. Her voice was laced with bitterness as she turned toward him, her features barely visible in the pale light filtering through the thin curtains.

"Will you turn off your God forsaken alarm? It's disturbing my sleep," Veronica muttered, her tone cutting through the fog of Antony’s half conscious state.

Antony, still groggy and drained from the previous day's work, reached out blindly for his phone. His fingers fumbled over the smooth surface of the nightstand until they finally found the device. With a sluggish swipe, he silenced the alarm, the piercing sound replaced by the quiet hum of the city beyond the window.

For a moment, he lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind drifting in the hazy space between sleep and wakefulness. The soft morning breeze slipped through the cracked window, stirring the curtains with a gentle caress. The rhythmic sway of the fabric seemed to mock his reluctance to rise.

“God, it’s morning already?” Antony murmured under his breath, his voice a tired whisper. The weight of the day ahead pressed down on him, but the bed beneath him was too inviting, too warm. He lingered in that liminal space for a few more precious minutes, savoring the fleeting comfort.

Eventually, with a resigned sigh, he forced himself to sit up. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if each action required a monumental effort. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool air brushing against his bare feet. As he stood, the room seemed to tilt slightly, the remnants of sleep clinging to him like a stubborn fog. And with a single step, Antony reached the nightstand, where his phone still lay. Beside it, a small lamp cast a dim glow across the room.

He then made his way to the bathroom, his feet dragging slightly against the cold tiled floor. The air was cool, tinged with the faint scent of soap and dampness from the previous night’s use. He paused in front of the wall mirror, a routine he had followed every morning without fail. His reflection stared back at him, weary and a bit haggard. His eyes, still heavy with sleep, scanned his face as if searching for some sign of change, some clue to the man he had become over the years.

He examined his pupils, then ran his fingers through his scalp, feeling the texture of his hair beneath his fingertips. He leaned closer to the mirror, his breath fogging the glass slightly, and opened his mouth wide to inspect his teeth. Satisfied that everything was in place, he reached for his toothbrush and toothpaste, which sat neatly inside the bathroom cabinet beside the mirror.

With practiced precision, he squeezed a line of toothpaste onto the bristles of his brush, then turned on the tap below the mirror. Scooping water into his cupped hands, he brought it to his mouth, wetting his teeth before starting his brushing routine. The minty taste of the toothpaste filled his senses as he moved the brush back and forth, the foam building up before he spat it out into the sink. He rinsed his mouth with another handful of water, the cool liquid washing away the remnants of the minty foam, leaving behind a clean, fresh taste.

After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Antony returned to the bedroom. The room was still dim, the soft light of early morning casting long shadows across the bed where his wife, Veronica, continued to sleep. He peeled off his top, the fabric rustling softly as it hit the bed, then unbuttoned his trouser and let it fall to the floor. Naked, he picked up the trouser and carelessly dumped it onto the bed beside his wife, who remained undisturbed by his movements.

Stepping back into the bathroom, he headed straight for the transparent shower cabin. The glass door gave a soft click as he closed it behind him, and without hesitation, he turned on the shower rain head. A gentle stream of moderately hot water cascaded down his body, the warmth seeping into his skin and loosening the tension in his muscles. Steam began to rise around him, enveloping him in a comforting mist.

As the water flowed over him, Antony found his thoughts drifting. He couldn’t shake the heavy weight of his marriage, teetering on the edge of collapse. The arguments, the distance, the silence— it all replayed in his mind, a relentless loop of memories and regrets. He stood there, letting the water wash over him, lost in the turmoil of his thoughts.

Minutes passed before he jolted back to reality, the water now cooler than when he had started. Realizing he had lingered longer than intended in the shower, he quickly reached for the hair shampoo and bathing soap stored neatly in the shower niche. Hastily, he applied the shampoo, working it into his scalp, followed by the soap, his hands moving swiftly over his body. The fragrant lather washed away the lingering fog of sleep, and after a thorough rinse, he turned off the shower.

Stepping out of the shower cabin, Antony reached for his towel hanging on the robe hook beside him. The fabric was soft and familiar as he dried off, his mind already shifting to the day ahead. But even as he moved through the motions, the thoughts of his crumbling marriage still lingered like a shadow, refusing to be washed away.

He then wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom, his body still steaming slightly from the heat of the shower. The bedroom was just as he had left it, with Veronica still asleep under the thick comforter, her back turned toward him. The room felt colder than before, or maybe it was just the chill of the day ahead that made him shiver.

Moving quietly to the closet, and careful not to disturb her, Antony pulled out a crisp white shirt and a pair of black trousers. As he dressed, his mind wandered again back to Veronica. They hadn't spoken much in days, their conversations reduced to monosyllables and forced pleasantries. The distance between them was palpable, a thick, invisible wall that neither seemed willing to break through.

Buttoning up his shirt, Antony stole a glance at his wife. Her face was serene in sleep, the worry lines that had recently etched themselves into her features smoothed out in the soft light. He felt a pang of guilt, a sharp twist in his gut that reminded him of the man he used to be— the man who once made her laugh, who once shared everything with her. Now, they were little more than strangers sharing a bed.

He sat on the edge of the bed to put on his socks, careful not to jostle her. As he bent down, he noticed something lying half hidden beneath the pillow on her side of the bed. A small, leather bound notebook — the one she always carried with her. His heart skipped a beat as he realized what it was: her journal. He had never been one to pry, but the urge to pick it up, to peek inside, was strong. What did she write in there? Did she vent her frustrations about him, about their marriage? Did she express the loneliness he had felt creeping into their lives?

Antony shook his head and stood up, forcing himself to ignore the journal. That wasn’t the way to fix things. He grabbed his watch from the nightstand and slipped it on, the cold metal clasping around his wrist.

"Antony, you know I hate being the one to wake you up to switch off your alarm," Veronica’s voice cut through the silence, startling him. She was awake now, her eyes open but still half lidded with sleep.

"I know, I'm sorry," he replied, his voice strained. He avoided her gaze as he adjusted his collar in the mirror. The tension between them was thick, almost suffocating, and he felt the weight of it settle over his shoulders like a heavy cloak.

Veronica then sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. Her hair was tousled, her expression unreadable. "Are you even coming home tonight?"

"I’m not sure," he said, trying to keep his tone neutral. "Work’s been... hectic."

She nodded, the motion small and almost imperceptible. "Yeah, I figured."

There was an awkward silence, the kind that had become all too familiar between them. Antony felt the urge to say something, anything that might bridge the chasm growing between them, but the words stuck in his throat.

"I’ll see you later," he finally said, grabbing his briefcase from the chair by the door. Without waiting for a response, he left the room, the sound of the door clicking shut behind him louder than it should have been.

As Antony walked down the narrow hallway toward the front door, he tried to shake off the unease clinging to him. The apartment felt strangely empty, the usual morning chaos replaced by an eerie quiet. Even the city beyond the windows seemed muted, as if the world outside was holding its breath.

He stepped out into the brisk morning air, the chill biting through his shirt as he walked across the driveway to his car. The streets of New York were already coming to life, the early commuters hurrying past with steaming cups of coffee and determined expressions. Anthony slipped into the driver's seat and started the engine, the familiar hum of the car offering a small measure of comfort.

As he drove through the streets, his thoughts kept drifting back to Veronica. The distance between them seemed to stretch with every passing mile, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was slipping away. He wondered how long they could keep this up— how long before one of them finally said the words that would shatter the fragile peace they had been clinging to.

Lost in his thoughts, Antony barely noticed the time slipping away until he pulled into the parking lot of his office building. The towering structure loomed over him, its cold, forbidding exterior a stark reminder of the hostile environment within. He parked the car and sat there for a moment, staring at the glass doors ahead.

With a deep breath, he stepped out of the car, straightened his tie, and walked toward the building. As he door revolved for entry, he steeled himself for the day ahead, pushing thoughts of Veronica and their crumbling marriage to the back of his mind. There would be time to deal with that later— he hoped.

For now, it was time to work.