STEP 1:

A thriller about complex relationships, cheating, betrayal and madness.

STEP 2:

Forties to sixties detective/crime fiction with heavy emphasis on femme fatales.

STEP 3:

I did not plan it out and instead wove the story as I conjured it. I struggle with outlining my stories, as they often change constantly once I start writing.

STEP 4:

Cheating/betrayal is a core theme to my story. The madness one feels as they are involved in something that negatively affects them is another. And grim, pessimistic conclusions often conclude my stories, especially those of the horror genre, as I feel it is more real to life.

STEP 5:

Thriller/Drama. I will upload it to my blog Transient Oasis.

Draft:

Riley

For a brief, breath-stealing moment, he felt she was truly his. All that had happened before faded away, leaving only their warm embrace. In the peak of their intimacy, he felt a connection deeper than words. He couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving as dawn crept closer. She was too beautiful, too perfect. The idea of her with that creep twisted his stomach. She deserved something more. She deserved happiness, here, with him. He wasn’t perfect. But next to that man, he felt like a bright light beside a dark shadow.

As he sat on the edge of his bed, watching her sleep, reality loomed like an unwanted guest. She wouldn't be there when morning came. He dreaded the inevitable, knowing she would vanish, leaving him with only sweet, haunting memories. "Why does it have to be this way?" he uttered, unaware that he had spoken aloud. She stirred, rousing from her dreams, and he felt the weight of his words.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, a hint of guilt in his voice.

"No, it’s fine. I wasn't really sleeping anyway," she replied, rubbing her eyes. Her smile brightened the room, and her eyes sparkled patiently in the dim light. "What were you saying?"

He frowned, pulling an item from his pocket. "Nothing, just lost in thought," he said, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. With a flick, he lit one and leaned against the bed like a weary traveller.

The wind howled outside, a stark warning of the storm approaching. Soon, rain would tap against the roof like a soothing lullaby, beckoning him to sleep. As he nestled into the bed, he watched expectantly for the first drops to splash on the window. If only everything could remain just as it was—a moment frozen in time.

She slipped closer, like a curious cat drawn to warmth. "What were you thinking about?"

With a cheeky grin, he replied, "I told you, it was nothing," as he brought the cigarette to his lips.

She playfully snatched it before he could take a drag. "Nothing? It's never nothing with you. Come on, out with it," she said, puffing out the smoke with an amused expression. "You know I don’t like secrets."

"Ah, so that’s why you’re with him? 'Honesty'?" he said sharply, his mood darkening as he took back the cigarette. "Let me tell you something, Mary. You can hide from secrets and lies, but you can't hide from the truth. You either face it head-on or run away screaming."

Mary lit a cigarette from the pack. "Are you telling me you're a coward?" she said, the smoke curling around her.

His words became lost in the haze. "A coward? Are you trying to piss me off? I'm not a coward."

With each puff, she spoke in that cheerful tone. "And I’m not a scaredy-cat either."

Riley remained silent, exhaling clouds of smoke until she nudged him again. "You deserve better," he admitted slowly.

"And who is better? You?" She raised an eyebrow, a knowing spark in her gaze. He wanted to shout yes, but she saw right through him.

"Anyone would be better than that guy. There are plenty of men out there, or women for that matter, who are better than he is for you."

Mary scoffed, tousled hair framing her face in chaos. "I wouldn’t mind a woman. At least she’d know what she was doing."

Offended, Riley shot her a look. "Hey..."

She met his gaze with playful defiance. "It’s true."

"Sure..." he replied, sarcasm dripping like rain from the sky, and stubbed the cigarette into the ashtray. "Ready for bed?"

She curled up next to him, finishing her smoke. "That depends. Are you done talking?"

He shrugged with a hint of resignation. "Not much to say."

With a final puff, she kissed his cheek sweetly. "Then yes, I’m ready to sleep."

Watching her pull on his shirt two sizes too large, he felt her hands brush against him. But he held back, making himself comfortable instead. His pillow, firm yet cosy, cradled his head. The blankets were unnecessary; her warmth was more than enough. Even without contact, he felt her comforting heat, but he remained distant.

As he drifted off, he saw shadows of trees outside his window sway like dancers on a stage. And just for a moment, he could have sworn the silhouette of a man stood among them.

When morning finally broke, and she was gone, he let out a heavy sigh. He hovered his hand over the spot she once lay, closing his eyes and conjuring the ghost of her presence.

*

Riley

On a warm Saturday afternoon, Ralph stumbled up to Riley’s front door. He was younger than Riley, but you wouldn't know it by looking at him. Years of substance abuse and neglect had left their mark: sunken cheeks, beady blackened eyes, and clothes as ragged as a scarecrow. Despite the dishevelled appearance, Ralph was still Riley’s best mate.

The man arrived in an old red station wagon, just as worn and weary as he was. The car had dents, tape holding things together, and mismatched doors—one black, one grey. He clambered out, almost tripping. “Beer. Ya got any?” he called, lumbering past Riley with the grace of a lumberjack.

“Yeah, in the back,” Riley replied, trailing behind, grimacing at the dirt Ralph left on his tiled floor. “Are you okay? Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Mum… stuff, you know,” Ralph muttered, his eyes unfocused. Sweat or tears trickled down his face, and seeing him like this twisted Riley's gut.

When they first met, Ralph was the kind of guy who was full of life, charm, and mischief. No one could have foreseen this downfall. But the wheel of fate left its mark on him. Seared it into his skin. He lost his father, a man who had acted more like a good friend than a parent to him. And while his father was still alive, the two of them had been almost inseparable. Losing him meant losing more than anyone had realised. Not even his girlfriend could fully understand the ramifications. And that ring he had bought for her, well, that was sold for much less than he had paid for it.

They ambled towards the backyard fridge by the outdoor lounge. Riley sank into an old, damp couch while Ralph rummaged for drinks. Ralph’s jeans hung low, and his singlet showed off more skin than Riley wanted to see.

Returning with two beers, Ralph barely acknowledged Riley’s frown. “Is she doing any better?” he asked, eyeing the cans.

Ralph gulped the beers quickly, like they were his salvation. “Chemotherapy’s going all right, or so they say. But, man, she’s skeletal—so thin.”

Riley felt a flicker of sympathy. “I’m really sorry to hear that. I’ve always liked your mum. She was awesome, even when we did the stupidest things.”

“Not lately. She’s been a total pain. I get it, I know I am a mess, but her nagging isn’t helping.” Ralph burped, then looked at Riley. “I need something to eat. Got anything?”

“Nah, we smashed the pizza last night; there wasn't even any crust left.”

Ralph’s face fell. “We? You've got a girlfriend now?”

Riley laughed softly, shaking his head. “Nah, just a friend. For now, anyway.”

Ralph chuckled. “Oh, just a friend, right?” He smirked, the tension easing a bit.

“Not like that, you idiot. We’re more than friends; it’s complicated.”

“Uh-huh, sure, buddy.” Ralph coughed, pushing himself to stand. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where are you going?”

“Just takin’ a piss.” Riley watched as Ralph strolled towards a tree, ready to relieve himself.

“There’s a toilet, you know,” Riley called, half-joking as Ralph vanished behind the tree.

Pulling out his phone, he was shocked to see that Mary was calling him. “Hello, are you okay?” he said, answering quickly.

“Riley! Can you hear me?” Panic soaked her voice.

“Mary? Are you okay?” His heart raced.

“He knows, Riley… I think he knows!” she blurted.

“Who? Fabian? Has he hurt you? Are you all right?" Panic surged.

“He’s been acting weird. He hasn’t said much about us, but I think he knows.”

“But you don’t know for sure.” He tried to stay calm. “If he touches you, get out. Do you understand?”

“I hear y—” The line went silent, and Riley's heart dropped. He checked his phone; it was still connected. She must have stopped because someone was nearby. “Riley, he won’t leave me alone. He follows me everywhere.”

Relief washed over him, glad she was safe, but anxiety still gripped him. “Where are you now?”

“In the bathroom. I can hear him outside. Riley, I’m scared.”

“Mary, are you in there?” a voice called from outside.

“What should I do?” she quivered.

“Don’t do anything. He might not know…." Then something landed on Riley's chest. Looking down, he found a pair of dirty, wet underpants smeared with something foul.

“What weird shit did you two get up to last night?” Ralph asked with a grin.

Riley yanked the underpants off, glaring at Ralph. “Where did you find these?”

“Found them in that tree.”

“In the tree? Who the fu--” Panic surged as the reality hit him. “Shit! Mary, he knows. Stay in the bathroom, lock the doors. I’m coming over.”

“What? You can—” He cut her off, ending the call and jumping to his feet.

Ralph grabbed his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“Grab your keys. We need to drive.”

“But I have been drinking.”

“Just grab them! Let’s go!”

*

Mary

Just after dawn's gentle kiss, Mary stirred from sleep. A pounding drum echoed in her head, a painful remnant of a restless night spent grappling with lurking worries. She rose carefully from bed, careful not to disturb Riley. He slumbered peacefully, a carefree visage that made her heart swell with longing. If only he wore that serene expression more often.

Dressed at last, she cast a fleeting glance at Riley. A faint smile lingered on his lips, and a flicker of doubt pricked her thoughts. Why the hurry? Torn, she pondered their future together. He was kind—most days—but there was an underlying hostility in him which she recognised all too well. A chill coursed through her as she recalled the bruises that he had marred on her skin. With a heavy sigh, she whispered, “I'll see you again soon,” and left behind her wistful smile.

Time crawled like molasses, and the train ride home seemed an unending saga of boredom. Maintenance prolonged the journey. By the time she reached her house on the town's west side, sweat clung to her like a second skin, her feet pleading for mercy after hours in heels she'd wear no more.

The front door stood ajar, a sight that twisted her stomach into knots. What the hell had happened? Racing up the stairs, she burst into the hallway, instantly engulfed by an oppressive chill. A wave of dread settled over her as she checked every corner—kitchen, bathroom, living room, and upstairs—but no signs of struggle or break-in tainted her space.

Where was Fabian? Why had the door been left open? Entering her bedroom revealed emptiness echoing through the house. She breathed out a resigned sigh; the atmosphere was lifeless yet ominously exposed, as if danger lurked just out of sight. Slipping off her heels, she found a moment of fleeting relief.

The bathroom was a mess. Makeup lay scattered like fallen soldiers, some abandoned in the mad frenzy. Grabbing a pouch of wipes, she wiped away the remnants of panic from her face. After collecting the scattered pieces of her beauty arsenal into a single bag, she ventured back to her room.

Her eyelids felt heavy as exhaustion wrestled with her mind. As she sank onto her bed, sleep swept her away faster than she could grab a pillow. Unlike the entangled men in her life, her dreams whisked her to an oasis, a picturesque haven adorned with beloved flowers and animals. A quaint home reminiscent of childhood warmth enveloped her.

But, as afternoon's light filtered in, that dream became a nightmare. An unsettling presence loomed near, and a foul odour stabbed through her floral reverie. Groggy and disoriented, her eyes fluttered open; pain throbbed in her legs, and her head was a weighted cloud. Someone held her leg tightly—an all-too-familiar grip.

"Good morning," a gravelly voice echoed. It was Fabian. "Did you sleep well?"

Frozen, she wasn't clearly gripped by fear but rather by anxiety. She lay still as he trailed his fingers up her skirt, probing too intimately. A desperate urge to flee surged within her while she felt cornered—trapped in emotions like always. "I slept okay; when did you get home?" she stammered.

"I could ask the same to you," he replied, the tones laced with chilling curiosity. “When did you get back?”

“I had a late night at work. I was tired by the end of my shift. I think I fell asleep at my desk," she stated, finally finding her voice. She shifted out of bed, pushing his hand from her breast and stepped towards her closet, which only now hung open.

Plastering on a façade, she asked, "What happened in the bathroom?"

"Not until you tell me what really happened last night. Do you really think I would have believed that you had fallen asleep at work?" he retorted dryly.

“Okay, I may have lied about that part. But I did finish really late. I stayed with one of my coworkers."

“Which one?” Her heart raced. Which one?

“You know, Chelsea—the one from netball. I hadn’t seen her in ages. Nice catch-up.” Sweat cascaded down her face like a river.

“I didn’t know you played netball,” he remarked.

“There’s much you don’t know about me, Fabian. Now, tell me about the bathroom.” She whipped around, her gasp escaping her lips at his appearance.

His face—a chaotic masterpiece smeared with her makeup—was a horrific sight. Lipstick, once pristine, now transformed into foundation, while eyeliner streaked his cheeks like battle marks. “You okay?” he asked casually, oblivious to the horror reflected back at her.

“Your face,” was her only response, though it felt utterly inadequate.

“Yes? What about it?”

“What have you done?”

“Oh, this? I just got bored and a little frustrated,” he remarked, swiping away remnants of the madness. “Want lunch? I haven’t eaten since yesterday. I left dinner ready for us, but it got cold while I waited for you to come home last night.”

“No, I’m fine. I've got to shower, and then do some work.”

“Shower?” A devilish grin spread across his face. “Can I join?”

"No, I just want some alone time. Sorry," she hurried to the shower, and as she did so, she could feel his eyes upon her. He gazed at her, staring almost through her, through her façade, through her lies, through her very eyes. She slammed the door shut and showered in relative peace.

Her day continued on like this, with this "does he know, or doesn't he" thought constantly in the back of her mind. That was until he asked her about the bruises. Some were from playful love, others not so much. And her response broke her facade, like shattering glass. "Well, you see, Molly has got this very long hill, and I sort of tripped and fell down it."

"Molly?" he exclaimed, confusion etched on his face. "I thought you had spent the night at Chelsea's?"

Shit... was all she thought before an hour-spanning argument began, in which her only safe space came in the form of her dishevelled bathroom. She sat there waiting for Riley to arrive. While the loud banging on the door continued.

"Stay out!" she cried, her voice trembling. "Leave me alone."

"What have you done?" he shouted from the other side. "Why, Mary? Why?" His voice brimmed with desperation, a balloon deflating slowly. She almost felt pity, but each knock reminded her why she sought refuge behind locked doors. No answers pooled in her mind. Why did she cheat? Why did she lie?

She pressed against the door, her breath steadying it like a fragile dam. Then came the sound of sorrow—an unmistakable sob from the other side—that made her stomach twist. Next, a hopeful crash broke through. Riley had arrived, and he was not alone. She heard him confront her boyfriend, then the unmistakable sound of violence. Moments later, a polite knock echoed softly at the door. When she opened it, a ghost from her past stood there.

"You," Ralph said, incredulity dancing in his eyes. "It’s you. I can’t believe it."

A sinking dread gripped her as he took a step closer. "Hey, what's wrong?" Riley asked, sensing the tension.

"This is the woman you've fallen for?" Ralph shot at Riley, sarcasm dripping from his words. "You sure can pick 'em."

"You know her?" Riley's voice faltered, confusion twisting in his mind.

"Yeah. She’s the girl who ruined my life."

*

Fabian

It all began the moment their eyes locked—his Mary. Five years ago, in a sun-dappled park, she emerged like a delicate bloom, ready to unfurl. Her charm was an irresistible magnet, pulling him into an exhilarating exchange of quicksilver wit, unlike anything he’d ever experienced. With every glance, an unfamiliar love blossomed within him, a sensation he thought had withered long ago.

In hindsight, he should have seen the warning signs; no one leaves a mark like that. Perfection isn’t meant for someone like him—so how could she be flawless and radiant?

Yet, she was. With a coy smile, she slipped her number into his hand, a flutter of promise. Gratefully, he greeted her departure with a smile, and just hours later, he dialled her number, setting their story in motion. That initial rush, however, would become the pinnacle, never to be matched again.

As the years wore on, they drifted like autumn leaves, and he found himself drowning in questions. When did it go wrong? When did everything change?

The answers escaped him, slipping through his fingers. It felt like she had drifted into the arms of another, then another, before circling back to him. Why did she toy with his heart? Last night, desperation drove him to follow her, an involuntary urge to uncover why she continued to cheat on him.

He trailed her to a man’s home, where laughter danced in the air, a symphony of intoxication. Parking down the road, he marched forward towards the woman who once held his heart. The cacophony of moaning and thumping reached his ears, igniting fury within him. It sickened him. How could she do this to him? For what? For whom? Because the sounds that filled the night were not those of passion but brutality.

Scaling a nearby tree, exhaustion clawed at him with every branch he conquered, the rain mingling with his tears. And there she was: his girlfriend, his love, entwined with that brute. Helplessness surged through him, wishing he could throttle the man who dared intrude on his world. He lay high above, an unwilling spectator, watching her surrender to another.

He must have been watching for an hour. He couldn't take his eyes off the two of them; even when at one point he needed to relieve himself and had done so unaware. But that didn't stop him; he removed his bottoms, discarded his underwear, and watched as their love came to a climax, watched as she slept, and then as he joined her in rest.

Finally, he fled, a whirlwind of emotion storming through him. The weight of betrayal bore down hard as he sped home, racing through the streets like a banshee. Inside, reminders of her lingered—the birthday card, photos of her childhood dog, shards of a once-happy existence—until despair shattered his composure, leaving him sobbing amidst the remnants of their past.

After he'd settled down, he went into the bathroom, intending to clean himself after his earlier mistake. But when his eyes came across her makeup, her masquerade, her facade, he was sent into a rage. He slammed his fists about the place, breaking all that he could see. If she wants to mask herself behind this, then so shall I, he thought to himself as he coated his figure in her mascara, lipstick, foundation, and eyeliner. He was like a crazed maniac, cackling as he continued.

Emerging from the bathroom, chaotic and deranged, he cackled, cried, and concealed himself—hiding from emotions, anger, and pain while he waited for her return.

Eventually, sleep claimed him in the closet. The simplest place he could hide himself from the world. A good place to cry. He woke when she returned home and heard her lie down in bed. Crawling out from his hideaway, he approached her.

He stumbled onto the bed beside her, silence wrapping around them for a heartbeat. She was bathed in golden light; she looked ethereal. How could she not be his? He slid his hand onto her leg, reclaiming a touch that once belonged solely to him. He uttered a soft greeting, hoping to soothe her tension.

Soon, her man arrived—a storm of fists and fury. The blows landed like thunder, bone-crushing slams that sent him crashing to the ground. Feeling the warmth of blood pooling beneath him, he glanced at Mary, who stood like a ghost, unaffected.

He could hear her lover argue with some other man, perhaps another lover, one he didn't know about. How is it that she was the centre of all their lives? And how deep did her web of lies stretch?

"It was her man; she's the one who ruined my life," Ralph said to his friend.

"What are you talking about?" Riley asked.

"He's lying; I never did anything. I don't even know him," Mary interjected.

"I can't believe you, man; this is the girl you've been raving about? She's a two-bit whore."

"How can you say that? How the hell do you even know her?"

"'Cause I slept with her."

"What?"

"Yeah, years ago. And then Stephanie caught us, and it's all because of her."

"Is this true?" Riley turned to Mary.

"I don't know. I don't remember," she replied. "Now come on. I want to get out of here."

"Oh, no. You aren't coming with me; I'm not taking you anywhere, bitch," Ralph spat.

"Calm down, dude, I'm sure we can talk about this."

"No, fuck her, man. And fuck you if you're going to defend her. I don't care how good she is in bed."

"Can you both relax? We need to leave," Mary said.

"Go down to the car," Riley told her.

"Stay right there," Ralph said to her. "I'm not taking her man."

"You're not?" Riley asked, and when Ralph shook his head, Riley punched him right in the jaw. "Then I'll take her myself," he said before leaving.

*

Mary

They bolted to the car, diving inside like eager swimmers. But alas, the engine had other plans. It spluttered, grunted, and then fell silent—like a curtain dropping at the end of a dismal play. No growl of power, no beloved chug-chug; just the eerie quietness, mingled with Riley’s frantic twisting of the keys.

"Shit!" Riley exclaimed, the keys slipping from his fingers like lost chances. "This is just brilliant! The stingy sod couldn’t buy a better ride. Come on, let's leg it to the station." They burst from the car, sprinting down the street, but they weren’t alone. Ralph had stirred from oblivion, trailing behind them like a shadow.

"You jerk, Riley!" they heard him bellow. "What kind of friend are you?"

With a surge of adrenaline, they left him behind and paused at a park. Riley let Mary catch her breath, keeping watch for anyone following them. "Are you okay?" he inquired, concern etching his features.

"I will be. Once we’re out of here."

"Will you be coming with me after we lose them?"

"I don’t know."

"Seriously? What else are you going to do? Go back to your boyfriend? After today? You'll be safer with me."

"No, but I’m not sure about you either."

"What do you mean? What's wrong with me?"

"I saw what you did to Fabian. Is that how you act when you are angry? Or is this?" She revealed her bruised chest, battered and bruised. "Are you really an improvement for me?"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I don’t want that kind of relationship with you, Riley. And seeing the way you are looking at me, I’m not sure I want to see you any more."

"Are you saying I scare you?" She remained silent, nodding instead. "I can’t believe this… I don't believe you. Mary, I love you."

"But I don’t love you, Riley. I doubt I ever will. I’m sorry."

"But I came to rescue you. I came to make you mine."

"I was never yours." A tear slipped down his cheek like a forgotten promise. He stepped away, further and further, until he vanished from view. The park was left in sombre solitude. She sighed in relief, but it was fleeting. Out of nowhere, he was upon her, dragging her down and tightening his grip around her throat.

And then someone hit him; was it Ralph, or Fabian, or someone else entirely? She didn't know for sure, but what she did know was that she needed to leave regardless. She ran from them, any and all of them. Hoping she'd never have to see any of them again.

But they pursued her relentlessly, shadows chasing the light. Like hungry zombies drawn to brains, or street hounds bounding over each other, desperate for their next feast. And as she ran, all she could think about was how horrible things would be when they finally caught her.

Reyne Derrick

Writer, Hobbyist, Unicorn in Disguise

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