Free Apartment Seven by Greg F. Gifune Page A

primarily Egyptian and Ancient Roman and Greek pieces, mostly everyday items mixed in with some weapons and other curiosities. I took it all in while Gwynn closed the door then hobbled back over to me and motioned to a pair of antique chairs facing a crackling fireplace. Leaned against the leg of one chair was a worn briefcase, some papers scattered on the floor next to it, and between the chairs was a small table on which a snifter of brandy and a notebook bulging with papers had been left.
    “Psychology’s my game,” he explained, motioning to a stand where a leather edition of the writings of Carl Jung lay open.
    I looked closer.
    The section was titled On the Psychology of the Unconscious .
    I quickly read the first paragraph.
    ‘It is a frightening thought that man also has a shadow side to him, consisting not just of little weaknesses—and foibles, but of a positively demonic dynamism. The individual seldom knows anything of this; to him, as an individual, it is incredible that he should ever in any circumstances go beyond himself. But let these harmless creatures form a mass, and there emerges a raging monster; and each individual is only one tiny cell in the monster’s body, so that for better or worse he must accompany it on its bloody rampages and even assist it to the utmost. Having a dark suspicion of these grim possibilities, man turns a blind eye to the shadow-side of human nature.’
    “But my personal interest,” Gwynn said, drawing my attention back to him, “is in the various mythologies and rituals found in ancient cultures.”
    “That and married women, right?”
    He sighed. “Would you like a drink? A spot of brandy perhaps?”
    “Nothing.”
    With his free hand he awkwardly straightened his nifty cardigan sweater then motioned to the chairs. “Shall we sit by the fire then?”
    I couldn’t imagine what Jenna saw in this man. Puny and slovenly, with what seemed a rather cold, academic sort of personality, he struck me as a man few women would have interest in. “I’ll stand. I’m not here to socialize, Gwynn.”
    With a muffled groan, he took a seat, carefully sliding down onto it, his broken leg out in front of him. A thin sheen of perspiration broke out along his forehead. He finally settled in and asked, “Why are you here then?”
    I stared at him.
    “You expect an explanation, is that it?” He watched me like he’d been expecting something more. “I’d gone out one evening with the hope of finding some…companionship…and happened to meet Jenna. We became friends. Eventually it led to more, but I assure you it wasn’t what you believed it to be, and there is no longer anything between us, nor will there be again. All things considered, she’s an extraordinary woman, bright and witty, so kind, a wonderful, terribly wounded soul who simply—”
    “I don’t need you to tell me who my wife is.”
    “Of course. My apologies. I meant no disrespect.”
    “Little late for that.”
    “What happened between us is over.”
    “And what exactly did happen between you two?”
    He removed his glasses, closed his eyes and carefully pinched the bridge of his nose. “I admit some of the things we did could be considered somewhat inappropriate, even when Jenna’s present situation is taken into account, but at any rate, I never slept with your wife, Charlie. This is embarrassing to admit, but I’m impotent, have been for more than two years now. With us it was more about the fantasy, really, the concept of sex. It was all fun and games, the chase, the flirt, the banter. It became incredibly addictive for both of us. It was a means of escape, really. Would I have liked it to be more? Yes. Was it? Hardly. I’m simply not capable of it. We did… try …once or twice, but it amounted to nothing. And while Jenna got caught up in the fun and excitement of it the same as I did, she never had any desire to leave you or take up with me. She made that very clear right from the beginning. We