As soon as he walked through the door at home, his wife started on him about, 'What time of night to be getting home is this? Where have you been? Din...er is cold and I'm not reheating it'. And on and on and on.Too shattered to play his usual role in this familiar ritual, he poured himself a shot of whiskey and headed off for a long hot soak in the bathtub, pursued by the predictable sarcastic remarks as he dragged himself up the stairs.While he was in the bath, the phone rang. The wife answered. She stepped in. It was horrible, just short of scalding. She took the soap and started to clean her tattered body. The soap seared her torn flesh as much as the hot water. She wanted to scream. Cry out. Anything! But she was afraid to make a sound. She glanced at Turner standing at the bathroom door. He had the meanest look on his face. Why hadn’t she seen this before? Why hadn’t she listened to Martin? Where was Martin now? As the hot water blistered her broken flesh and the soap heaped added. More

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