I still think of Celeste every day. Celeste; her name could not have been more perfect to describe her. She was so beautiful and graceful, but also so kind. Her hair was pale and blonde and soft as silk, and her eyes were light blue and so full of hopes and dreams. She was an angel on earth. She was my beloved wife, my Celeste, the woman who held my heart and always would. I have not taken off my wedding ring once since her death...
* * *
"I've been watching you, Celeste," a voice said. Celeste shuddered. Why had she come here? Didn't she know better than going to a strange hotel alone the middle of the night? But she had had to. Her husband's campaign and future were at stake. And she needed to find out what horrible information the man on the phone had for blackmail. She knew that her husband was an honest man, but she had to know what he would be accused of if she did not cooperate.
A tall, hefty man dressed in a suit stepped out of the shadows and turned on the light. He had gray hair and full face with jowls and lines from age. It was Mayor Hamilton.
"What do you want?" Celeste asked trying to keep her voice from shaking.
"I have some information here that will ruin your husband's chances of getting elected," Mayor Hamilton said.
"How much do you want in exchange?" Celeste asked. "I brought money."
"I don't want your money," sneered the mayor. "But don't you want to see the incriminating photographs?"
Celeste's heart skipped a beat. What if her husband had done something incriminating? She took the file folder from the hands of the mayor who seemed to have no scruples. Her stomach churned as she opened it. Inside was a picture of Victor kissing a strange woman. Celeste's heart sunk in her chest.
"Your husband had an affair," Mayor Hamilton said with malicious enjoyment of Celeste's suffering.
Celeste could not believe that the man she married would be untrue to her. She knew him better than that. Or at least she thought she did. She looked closer at the photograph. The man's face was partially obscured as he kissed the strange woman, but other photographs showed him more clearly. There was something off. Upon closer examination, his features did not look like Victor's. His nose was much bigger and hooked, and his hair looked to be an unnatural brown that was all the same color. Even his skin was lighter.
"This man is not my husband," Celeste said firmly.
Mayor Hamilton became angry at her disbelief.
"You deny evidence that is right in front of your face?" He asked incredulously.
"Yes," she replied with more strength than she knew she had.
Celeste had started walking towards the door and turned back. He was right. Only she would be able to discern that the man's features were different from her husband's. Whether the evidence was fake or not, people would believe it, and it would ruin her husband's campaign. She felt a hot tear roll down her cheek.
Mayor Hamilton stepped forward and grabbed her arm tightly.
"I want you," he said leaning towards her. He pushed her up against a wall and kissed her forcefully. Celeste tried to struggle from his grip, but he was too strong.
He pushed her against the wall. Celeste cried out in pain, and he threw himself at her, pinning her helplessly to the wall.
“I’ve been watching you Celeste,” he said again. “I’ve been admiring your beauty from afar for too long.” Celeste pulled out of his grip as he was speaking. “Give yourself to me, Celeste,” the man said leering at her.
“Never,” Celeste screamed. She was appalled. How long had this strange man been watching her? How could a man she had never even spoken to lust after her so?
Mayor Hamilton lunged at her and grabbed her again.
“Help!” she cried, hoping that somebody would hear her. “Help! Please! Somebody!”
“You’ll regret that!” Mayor Hamilton said squeezing her arm and twisting it. “Make your decision” he sneered.
“I told you, I would never give myself to you and I meant it!” Celeste said, repulsed by him.
She wanted to scream, but his arm was crushing her windpipe. Tears streamed down her cheeks. He grabbed her and pushed her to the ground. He lunged on top of her, and she feared what he might do.
Suddenly, Celeste heard police sirens in the distance. A wave of relief washed over her. Mayor Hamilton jumped up, startled. He had not planned on this. If he did not act quickly, he would be discovered, and then his reputation would be besmirched. Before Celeste could get up off the hotel room floor, he pulled out a knife. Celeste screamed and prayed that the policemen would hurry. Mayor Hamilton pinned her arms to the floor, being sure to leave her wrists uncovered for what he intended to do. The police sirens faded into the distance. Celeste’s heart sunk. They had not been coming to help her after all. Celeste’s last thought was of Victor. She saw his face and heard footsteps running out of the room before everything went dark.
* * *
I remember that call like it was yesterday, and I relive the horrifying event every time I close my eyes. I had worked late that night, so I had not known that Celeste had left the house. When I got home, it was moments until the phone rang. I had just begun to wonder where she was. I answered the phone shakily, with a sense that something horrible had happened. The police officer told me that Celeste had gone to a hotel, locked herself in, and committed suicide. I remember my thoughts racing. Would Celeste really do that? How could she? It just couldn't be true. I remember the phone pressing against my hot, wet, tear-streaked face, and I remember trying to register what had happened.
“Sir, are you there?” The policeman asked. I realized that I had been silent for minutes.
“Celeste couldn't have done it!” I blurted out. I could not believe that my dear wife would take her own life. I could not even think of a reason. The policeman informed me that her body showed the evidence of what she had done to herself, and that he was sorry, but there was no use denying the facts. I had gotten angry. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember the policeman trying to calm me down over the phone. He told me the address of the hotel and said that the crime scene was still active. I could see Celeste one last time if I wanted to…
I remember speeding down the highway in the middle of the night, somehow thinking that if I got there fast enough, I could prevent Celeste’s death. My thoughts were frantic and illogical. When I arrived at the hotel, the policeman escorted me in and showed me the awful evidence. I saw her wrists with my own eyes, but I knew she had not done it herself.
I told the police officer again that it was impossible, but he wouldn't listen. There were a few more policemen, but none of them would listen either. I refused to give in and insisted on calling in a private investigator. They reluctantly gave me a name, and I dialed the number.
When he arrived at the scene, he introduced himself and shook my hand.
“I’m Houston Rider,” he said. “Private Investigator.” He quickly began his search of the room. The first thing he noticed was the open file folder with photographs in it.
“What is this?” he asked the police officers.
“We think it has something to do with why she killed herself,” said the police officer who had called me. “It’s not evidence,” he said. “It’s nothing.”
“Let me see!” I said, pushing past the police officers. I stared at the photograps in the file folder. In them, there was a man who looked like me with a woman who looked like a model. Someone had blackmailed me. Had she thought the pictures were real? Was her last thought that I had cheated on her? I couldn't bear the thought. Could these fake pictures move her to commit such a horrible act? No. I could not believe it. She had clearly come to stop the blackmailer from giving the pictures to the press, and then he had killed her. He made it look like a suicide. That just had to be what had happened.
I looked up from my racing thoughts and saw the policemen looking at me with disapproval. They clearly believed that the photographss were real.
“These photos are fake!” I said incredulously. “This is blackmail!”
Houston Rider put his hand to his chin in thought.
“Please - can I see those?” he asked gently. I reluctantly handed over the photographs.
“He’s right,” he said. “This man’s features are very different from his. His skin is lighter, his hair is clearly dyed brown, and look at the hook of his nose.” I breathed with relief. Finally someone was speaking some sense.
“Look, this man’s wife clearly thought the photographs were real and got upset,” the police officer from the phone call said impatiently. “There’s nothing more we can do here. This case is closed. It’s a suicide. We’ll give you a moment to grieve.” The group of policemen walked out the door.
Houston Rider looked at me solemnly.
“I’ll take the case,” he said. Then he followed the policemen, and left me alone with my grief.
I held Celeste in my arms. She looked so fragile, and somehow beautiful even in death. I could not believe that the woman I loved was dead. It was too much. I held her to me and sobbed. I must have been grieving for a very long time, because the policemen came in again and said that it was time for the body to be taken away. I held Celeste even tighter, not wanting to let her go. The policemen had to pry her from my arms, and when they left with my Celeste, I sat on the floor all alone. I did not think myself too much of a man to cry, and I cried for hours, never once coming close to relieving my sorrow. Celeste was the love of my life, and her loss was too much to bear. She was gone, but I knew I could never let her go...
