Sonne Lore

Dubious Morality

Shiloh watched, breath bated, as her newest pupils danced like puppets on strings. Their movements were jerky but she had expected that, they’d only been with her a week after all and still had quite a ways to go. When she’d recruited them, David and Norah had been on the verge of divorce, their marriage in tatters and their lives following suit quick enough. David yelled at his wife and neighbours, drank heavily and had a tendency for the sweet taste of purchased flesh. Norah smoked a pack a day, read romance novels by the dozen and had undergone enough elective surgery to bankrupt a small principality in an ill-advised effort to boost her self-esteem. The couple had fought, bickered and thrown temper tantrums like spoiled four year olds until Shiloh had gone to fetch them.   ‘It’s not your fault really,’ Shiloh explained gently as she sat them both down on the love seat in the couple’s bare living room, ‘No, the one you really ought to blame is society.’  She glanced sideways at the pair, who sat still and watched her with wary eyes, like one might a pair of Jehovah’s Witness’, and perched herself on the edge of the single seater chair.  ‘Once upon a time, women didn’t need to prove themselves men to get what they needed. Once upon a time, men only needed to provide for their women to feel fulfilled. It wasn’t even that long ago, if you can believe it.’ Shiloh sighed wistfully, pulling off her delicate lace gloves and laying them on the coffee table so they wouldn’t be in the way.  ‘As far as modern society goes, there is nothing wrong with your behaviour, you are simply voices unheard in a throng of voices who go unheard. Your drinking, philandering and self-mutilation are merely expressions of your inner feelings, locked away too tightly so as they might explode. You, Mr Holloway, desire your wife to want you, to need you and support you. While you, Mrs Holloway, want your husband to desire you, to cherish you and honour you as you swore to do in your vows, did you not?’ Shiloh looked pointedly at David and raised a perfectly penned eyebrow.  She took in Norah’s bedraggled appearance, having just returned from a Saturday meeting at the engineering firm that employed her as a site manager. Her shoes were patent leather things with a tall sole and a thin, ungainly heel, and the cuff of her slacks had been caught on a protuberance which had begun unravelling the once fine wool blend of the pants designed to draw the eye to her moderately rounded rear. She had forgotten to brush her hair as she had rushed out the door that morning, choosing instead to pile it on the back of her head in a sad attempt at a chic, messy bun and now it was bursting from its tie and Shiloh could see from her place opposite the woman that it was in desperate need of a trim. Her blouse was revealing, the fabric subtly sheer, and strained around her surgically enhanced breasts. No doubt, it got her all manner of looks on the job sites she must have visited. Her nose was petite, bearing the almost invisible scar of surgery that was becoming quite common place amongst young women. Her lips were stained a vibrant, currant red to match her blouse and her eyes were rimmed with enough kohl to start a mine. No doubt the woman thought her appearance appealing in a recently ravished way, everything about her suggesting that she was young, powerful and self-aware, though failing to quite capture the image with any kind of tact. It made her look cheap, and easy. Norah was workable, though her attitude might prove a handful, and some of her surgeries would have to be reversed. Shiloh tutted, none too quietly either, and turned to face David. In comparison to Norah, her husband was shabby and underwhelming. His shirt was full of holes, the tartan print faded till barely recognizable and well past the point where it should have been tossed in the trash. His board shorts were splattered in paint and all manner of other detritus that a few good washes would never get out, and there was merely a flap of fabric where the back pocket should have been. His forearms were covered in inch after inch of colourful ink, which would have to be removed, Shiloh noted. He might have been a tradesman but there was nothing right about defiling one’s body in such a way. He eyes were sunken slightly, blazing red in a haze of alcohol which was still affecting him slightly, though they were a bright green she had rarely seen before. His dark brown hair was lank and oily, and the scruff around his chin was unacceptable. He was still fit though, and Shiloh thought she wouldn’t have to work too hard to find clothes to fit him. At least, she thought, he hadn’t followed the hideous modern trend of stretching his earlobes to preposterous widths. The pair must have been high school sweethearts, married before they understood what it was to be in an adult relationship and fighting with every breath to get out and go back to the way things had once been.  ‘Don’t fret now dears.’ Shiloh shushed as she noticed the wild look in their eyes, like ear caught in headlights, ‘I’m going to fix everything, you’ll see.’  She smiled brightly and waved for them both to stand and follow her around the side of the house where she’d parked her car. Norah tried to object but Norah held up a dainty hand as she stooped to collect her gloves.  ‘No, you won’t need anything. All of this represents your old life, a life you hate and a life you won’t have to live much longer. Better to just leave it all behind.’ She wisely added.  This was the kind of challenge she lived for. Shiloh’s parents had been much the same as David and Norah, always fighting, always cheating, always yelling and making a scene. She had been disenchanted with love and the idea of marriage from an early age, until she had met Peter. Peter had shown her that real love did exist, that marriage could work, so long as compromises were made and the peace was kept. Now, Shiloh spent her time teaching other couples how to be just as happy. The pair didn’t move an inch as she drove out of their driveway and down the dimly lit street, they just sat and stared at each other. There was hope yet at least, Shiloh sighed.  The week that followed was hard on both the couple and Shiloh as she taught them how to be together again. She sat with Norah and showed her how to curl her hair and pin it up attractively so it looked like a work of art. She showed her how to put on her make-up in a flattering way, instead of looking like she’d applied an entire cake of foundation to her skin. She taught the woman how to dress to flatter her figure and keep herself modest without losing any of the allure she had so naturally. Shiloh patiently instructed Norah how to sew, and knit, and cook and clean. Basic things modern mothers forgot to teach their daughters.  She drilled into David the importance of a clean shaven face and clean hair, daily even till he got the hang of a straight razor. She taught him to defend his wife, to balance the family finances and keep the bills paid so his wife could concentrate on building him a home. She showed him how to knot a tie and shine his shoes. For a while she couldn’t think of a way to fix his arms but finally she found a possible solution. David had objected at first but had capitulated when she explained to him how his tattoos were a reminder of the insignificant, petulant, ignorant child he had been. They simply had to go. His arms were still wrapped in gauze but he would thank her later, she was sure.  There were dancing lessons, piano lessons, etiquette and social morality studies. Shiloh hoped she had enough time. The last couple had been ripped from her nurturing bosom much too early and she had been sad to see them go, but she had no other choice. David and Norah though, she had chosen because there was very little chance that their time would be interrupted, and indeed a whole week had passed with no disturbances.  ‘Don’t cry Norah dear,’ she scolded snappishly, setting down the pistol she had found herself caressing unwittingly. ‘A good wife never cries in front of her husband, she is strong and proud. Not weak and simpering.’  The police scanner which sat beside her buzzed as a report of a break and enter filtered through the muted gloom of the bunker where she was housing her pupils. No sign that David and Norah had been reported as missing yet, though she had covered her tracks well. Mr and Mrs Holloway had left on an impromptu vacation the day after her visit, an effort to save their marriage by all accounts. Technically, it was Shiloh that was saving their marriage as she taught them how to stop being selfish, modern children and brought them up as caring, selfless adults. She always got giddy thinking about the perfect relationship, she was desperate to see it come to fruition. None of her other pupils had been able to make the grade, and she had been reluctant at first to do away with them but there wasn’t anything more important than her goal. She would hate to have to put a bullet in David, she had grown quite attached to him, though she disliked that the fire had left his eyes some days ago. Perhaps, if she was forced to abandon these lessons once again she might just bury his wife and keep him as her own, he was taking quite well to her instruction after all. They could move to Texas, perhaps, where the old values were still practiced and the slick oil of modernity hadn’t tainted the goodness of family life. For a fleeting moment she even considered just doing it anyway, the hell with her plan to save the world, one marriage at a time. She had dedicated five years to it already, wasn’t it her time to have the perfect relationship? Shaking herself out of her day dream, she concentrated on the gagged couple slowly dancing a basic waltz. No, she sighed, they were still married after all, and she had to try and save them from themselves even if she hated the thought of it.   She would find her star couple one day, she prayed, and perhaps then she could forgive herself for forgetting her place and bludgeoning her own dear husband into a coma when he came home one night drunk and reeking of cheap perfume.