Tuesdays at the weekly Foxbury Banner were usually pretty busy. The paper would be going to press at 6 p.m. John Roy Brinkerman, the editor and part-owner, had just finished editing copy on his computer. He waited until lunchtime, when the office would be mostly deserted, to turn to his favorite task as editor—laying out the bridal photos.
John Roy liked to look at each photo and trace with his fingers the outlines of the girls’ bodies. Often after he’d scanned the photos, he’d write on the back of them. Sometimes he’d scrawl "slut" or "whore" on the back; sometimes he’d write a little note to the bride about what her wedding night with him would be like. Brides in Foxbury occasionally complained that the newspaper never returned their bridal photos. They wouldn’t if they knew what was written on the back of them.
John Roy came to a photo of a beautiful blonde. He frowned, staring down at it. The bride’s face didn’t have Conway’s air of sophistication, but there was something about it that reminded him of her. He liked the way the bride was photographed in profile. That would fit nicely with his photo in the—
"Want me to do the bridal page, boss?" asked Joanne, his middle-aged, part-time assistant. "I’ve already been to lunch."
Hastily shoving the photo in his breast pocket, John Roy muttered, "Uh, yeah. The photos have already been scanned. Just lay out the copy. I’m going home for about an hour."
"No problem," said Joanne cheerfully.
John Roy’s glance flickered disdainfully over her sturdy figure in her dowdy clothes. Joanne always seemed to want to help him out.
"If she thinks she’s the best I can do, she’s dumber than she looks," he thought.
Hurrying home, John Roy unlocked the front door of the old home his parents had left him as their only child. Its Victorian exterior had been gracious at one time, but like its owner, it had seen better days. A white poodle jumped up and licked his hand as he entered.
"How are you, cherie?" he said as he lifted the dog to his chest and allowed her to lick his face. "Come see what Daddy has brought home!"
Locking the front door behind him, he proceeded to his bedroom and the large walk-in closet within it. He switched on the overhead light, which luridly lit a wall of photos. Some were bridal photos with parts cut out; some were photos of John Roy himself in various nude poses, obviously taken with the aid of a mirror. One woman’s image dominated most of the display—that of Conway Kelson.
John Roy withdrew the bridal photo from his pocket and tacked it to the wall next to the torn photo of him at his own wedding. The part showing his whore of an ex-wife had been torn off. Standing back from it, he smiled with satisfaction.
"Well, Miss Bride-to-Be. You’ll do nicely until I finally have a bridal photo of Conway to take your place. I’ll take it myself, perhaps after a long night of lovemaking. I’ll make her wear only her veil."
Licking his lips, he turned off the light and headed back to the office.
"Soon, Conway, you’ll be mine. Or you’ll be no one’s. Either way, there will be no more secrets between us," he thought.