The Glimpsing by James L. Black, Mary Byrnes

her moment with him, which was longer than most, and now it was over, cruelly and abruptly, like an arm being ripped from its socket.   He’d done the same to Portia, hadn’t he?   Now it was her turn.   Her time to bleed.
    The tears did come, however.   After she had dressed and paused to look at the swarthy fool staring back at her in the bathroom mirror.   They came recklessly and without number.   She simply could not hold them back.   The sink seemed to overflow.
    Afterward, she’d composed herself, dressed, and left the bathroom.     Before heading downstairs, she had stopped and glanced down the hallway, into a bedroom she would never see again.   To her surprise, she saw Jack sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down the hall… at her?     His body language suggested he didn’t see her at all.   He then turned away and peered down into the bed, almost as if staring at someone lying there.
    That was odd, she had thought, but not half as odd as what she saw next.   It was a long, murky sleeve of red just behind him.   She could not be certain of what it was, perhaps a blanket or something, but for a brief instant, something about its shape made her think it was actually a dress.   Someone appeared to be lying in his bed.
    She had thought about venturing back into the bedroom to see what it was, or perhaps who it was, but she wasn’t going to risk that.   Reentering the bedroom was almost certain to spark yet another round of abuse, and she’d had enough of that for one night.   So she proceeded down the staircase, out to the garage, and out of Jack’s life.   For good.
    She’d sped through the darkness, heading back towards Winchester, the ceaseless blows of heartbreak hammering at her soul.   What a fool she’d been.   What an unadulterated fool!   To have fallen for a playboy like Jack Parke; to have so deeply bought into the fantasy of a life with him; to think he was actually falling in love with her!
    She’d never done anything like this before.   She had always prided herself on doing the right thing, the smart thing in every situation.   From the drama school she had attended in Brazil, to the roles she’s chosen in film, to the men she had dated, and even her choice of friends, prudence had ruled her life.   Never had she been given to impulse, never to weak-minded flights of fancy, and never once, not even as a somewhat self-centered teen, had she ever betrayed a friend.   She had always been the good girl, the one out of a hundred that would take the high road in every situation; that still believed in loyalty, trust, and the eternal bonds of friendship—until that unfortunate morning two months ago, when Jack Parke arrived at her door.
    But it was over now.   She and Jack Parke were finished.   And as much as that hurt, with it also came a certain sense of relief, of pure liberation.   The last two months had been the most difficult of her twenty-eight years on earth.   Never had she felt such crushing guilt.   Never had her conscience been so overwhelmed.   But in one breathtaking stroke, Jack Parke had changed all of that.   Now she could take the time to situate herself, lick her wounds, clear her sullied mind.   She could even say that some part of her was happy, because now she was free.
    But if all of that was true, then why was she now sitting out on the sunlit patio of Magnolia’s restaurant, waiting for Jack to arrive, just as he had asked her to?   Why was she considering taking her place back in that shallow grave of guilt?   There was only one real answer to that question: because she had to know.
    Jack had called her this morning apologizing for what had happened the night before.   She’d hung up on him, having absolutely no intention of coming to Magnolia’s.   It had been hard doing so, but she was intent on getting back to herself, back to the good girl.   But then she remembered something else that had happened last night.   Long