The detective came to get Hollis, who was now ready to answer some questions.
Aubrey needed to be alone to process her thoughts, so she stayed in the interrogation room.
“How did we get here?” She wondered.
Aubrey wanted to say that she was shocked about Foster’s sexual assault on Hollis, but she couldn’t.
Foster had always been a bit peculiar in the sack.
Aubrey thought back to the first time she and Foster had sex and saw him in a whole new light.
Aubrey was twenty-one when she first met Foster; he was twenty-five. She couldn’t help but notice him one evening when she was at the Orchard Park Country Club. He was better looking than every other man there.
Aubrey had joined the country club because she believed it would benefit her when she began her psychiatry practice. She was trying to meet men like Foster, a member of the old money set in Orchard Park.
He was also beginning a career as a city planner for the city of Orchard Park, designing the bridges, outdoor spaces, and buildings that shaped the city’s landscape.
And, he was tall and handsome, with a good build and the classic features that set him apart from other men, including thick, sandy-brown hair and a gorgeous smile.
They met at a country club mixer. Foster introduced himself to Aubrey and struck up a conversation that led to a coffee date. They started dating regularly, but three weeks later, it was Aubrey who brought up the subject of sex.
There was nothing physical going on between them.
Aubrey remembered back to the first evening when she and Foster became intimate.
They had gone to a restaurant for dinner, but Aubrey made sure there was a happy hour before. When Foster seemed a little more tipsy than usual, she invited him back to her apartment. Foster usually left her at her doorstep, but Aubrey drove his car to her apartment, insisting that he was in no shape to drive.
Thinking about it now, she figured that Foster got the hint sometime during the evening and figured that if he wanted to keep dating Aubrey, he would have to perform. The two of them went up to Aubrey’s apartment, where Aubrey insisted he spend the night. A light flickered in Foster’s hazel-brown eyes, and then he turned on the charm, almost like he was acting.
It wasn’t long before they were on their way to the bedroom.
At the time, Aubrey dated guys who thought they were God’s gift to women, leaving a lot to be desired when it came to her satisfaction.
Foster was completely different.
He kissed her in the living room, holding her in his strong arms, just forcefully enough to make her feel desired, but not so much that she felt like she was being pawed at.
Aubrey didn’t like to admit it now, but Foster was a good kisser.
He led her to the bedroom, and as they stood before her bed, he unbuttoned her blouse. Then he unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. He ran his hands up and down her bare back, and as he pressed closer to her, she could feel his cock growing hard in his trousers.
He started kissing her again, this time more fervently. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, and Aubrey was getting in the mood.
Foster broke away momentarily to take off his sweater and then his shirt, revealing a sculpted chest, smooth, muscular, and tan.
Foster always took good care of himself.
He pressed himself onto Aubrey again, this time kissing her deeper and entwining his tongue with hers. Aubrey unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, which fell to reveal his muscular legs. His erection was straining through his boxers; he pressed it against Aubrey to relieve some of the desire he felt for her.
“I want you now,” he said. He unhooked Aubrey’s bra, revealing her breasts. He fondled them while he nibbled on her neck. Aubrey tilted her head back and let out a little sigh of pleasure.
She broke away from Foster, took off her briefs, and got into bed. Foster pulled off his boxers, and a moment later, he was lying next to her.
He caressed her breasts while kissing her neck. His hand went down to her inner thighs, and he gently fingered her pussy.
A small electric charge went through Aubrey.
No man she had ever dated was this direct. Maybe Foster would turn out to be as good a lover as he was a boyfriend.
He might even be husband material.
In their initial encounter, Foster proved to be exceedingly clever at foreplay. Aubrey enjoyed it for a while, but it went on too long.
Aubrey had never experienced such intense stimulation before sex. She wanted to reciprocate, but Foster held her firmly in his arms and seemed bent on pleasuring her before sex.
Aubrey decided to relax and enjoy. But eventually, enough was enough. Aubrey took charge. She got on top of Foster and guided his cock into her wetness. If she had to do all the work, that was okay. Foster had gotten her stirred up to the point where she had to come soon or die of frustration.
She began riding his cock and found she liked being in charge. She realized she could use Foster’s cock as a phallus to get herself off. She rode him harder and felt that familiar tingle in her pussy that would soon explode into a release that would satisfy her.
She was unstoppable now. Foster was gone, and a fantasy man had taken his place. A few more aggressive pushes, and she would be coming. She forgot where she was when the rush hit and cried out in relief as her orgasm shuddered through her.
Foster came too, she guessed, but she didn’t care. This was the most satisfying sex she remembered having.
And this is how it went until they were married. After that, Aubrey let Foster take the initiative. Aubrey would find her pleasure elsewhere. She used to feel guilty, but not now.
She moved into Foster’s family home, which had been given to them as a wedding present. It was exquisitely furnished. Aubrey saw no need to change anything.
The attic was full as well. A few months after they were married, Aubrey went up there out of curiosity.
She found the usual stuff—old lamps, picture frames, furniture, clothes.
Then she came across a box of photos. They were wedding photos. No big deal. She knew Foster had been married. There were no children. He didn’t want to talk about it, and neither did Aubrey. She didn't want to be married to a pantywaist who wallowed in old relationships.
But she opened the wedding album anyway, and there she saw Foster standing next to the most stunning blonde. Carolyn. Then Aubrey found their wedding announcement. They had known each other since grade school and attended NYU together.
Wow.
There were so many pictures of Carolyn that it was nauseating. For someone who didn’t talk about his ex-wife, he sure had an overabundance of her pictures.
Then there was her obituary. Aubrey never knew what happened to Foster’s wife. She had mentioned her to Foster once. She hoped the divorce was amicable. Foster gave her a ‘yes,’ and Aubrey left it at that. He never corrected her that Carolyn was, in fact, dead.
Aubrey had a sickening thought. One time, shortly after their marriage, Foster wanted her to wear a blond wig to spice things up. At the time, it seemed perfectly harmless. Foster took charge this time, and the sex was amazing.
So what if Foster had a thing for blondes? That was perfectly normal. She did think it strange that Foster brought the wig home himself, but looking at the photos, it was the same style and color as his dead wife’s hair.
Oh God.
She had long ago put the blonde-thing behind her. She and Foster were still newly married. She felt like this was Foster having his fun at roleplaying. So what.
But looking back, he had wanted her to dress as his dead wife. Aubrey felt a chill up her spine.
The cause of death was drowning by accident. The two were out on the family boat. No charges were pressed, but perhaps Foster felt guilty for her death and was trying to bring her back?
That made sense at the time. Aubrey chalked the whole thing up to grief and put it behind her. Foster never asked her to wear the wig again. Aubrey filed it away as something that happened before they were married and let it go at that.
But now that it was all out in the open, this ghost wife had ended their marriage and Foster’s life in the public eye.
Now, all Aubrey felt for Foster was pity.
Pity, and a dull, nauseating ache that wasn’t going anywhere soon.
She sat alone in the interrogation room. The silence was constricting. The harsh overhead light flattened everything. There was a bar on the table for handcuffs.
Aubrey guilted herself into wondering how she had missed it for so long.
The way Foster had always seemed slightly removed, as if he were following a script he had written for his next wife. He should have gone ahead and chosen a blonde. That would have made things easier on everyone.
But then Foster would have had to admit his obsession with his dead wife.
And Aubrey didn’t honestly know if she could ever have imagined the lengths Foster would go to pursue his twisted fantasy. Of course, she didn’t know about Hope and the strip club. No one did except for Hope. And Jennifer.
What troubled her most wasn’t the memory of the wig or the photographs or even the quiet deception about Carolyn’s death. It was the realization that Foster had never really been in love with her. She had been a replacement, a wife to keep up appearances without the drawback of someone calling out Foster’s fetish for blondes.
Dead blondes.
Then there was Hollis.
The name surfaced again in her thoughts.
Hollis the victim. Hollis, the frightened little girl. Hollis, whose boyfriend was her patient and was just as fragile as she was.
Hollis, who broke up her marriage. The girl who knew she was messing around with a married man. Had probably stayed up nights wondering how to take him away from her. Imagined herself living in Aubrey's house with her husband.
But if it hadn’t been Hollis, it would have been another blonde. Seriously, why hadn’t Foster married a blonde? Things would have been different for Aubrey, for everyone involved.
Aubrey had to think for herself now, about how the divorce would affect her practice, her book. She would be a divorced psychiatrist now, the one who couldn’t make her own marriage work.
Who had she been married to this whole time? A psychopath with a penchant for blondes. Blondes he could abuse. Aubrey thought back to the original blonde Carolyn. Had she drowned, or had Foster shoved her overboard because he was tired of the outdoors?
Maybe sweet little Hollis had dodged a bullet by speaking up and saying something.
It would explain why Jake had abruptly canceled his psychotherapy sessions.
Oh, Foster, you’ve made such a mess of things, and now I have to clean them up.