For the third time that week, I’d come home late from work. I detected banging sounds from the basement that gave me pause. Tossing my keys on the coffee table, I went to the basement door and shouted for my husband.

There was another bang-bang-bang. Then a pause.

“Babe?” Brian called out.

“What are you doing?” I asked, slowly descending the rickety steps.

I turned the corner into the den that dominated our basement and froze.

“What the fuck?” I asked.

There were red drapes hanging from the wall and a few black ones scattered about. A mound of pillows was piled in the center of the room. I also spied a large book bound in what I assumed was fake leather, a large prop knife and a small smoke machine.

Brian stood there in jeans and... Leer Más