Riddles by the Pool

Marcus sat on the edge of the hotel pool at 2 AM, nursing a flat gin and tonic. The water reflected the sickly **orange** glow of the security lights—like a bruised sunset that refused to die. His corporate ID badge still dangled from his neck, mocking him.

He felt like a **zombie** these days. Three years of mergers, downsizings, and strategic pivots had hollowed him out. Sarah had noticed first. She'd stopped asking how his day was months ago, replacing questions with silence that carried more weight than words ever could.

"Couldn't sleep either?"

Marcus jumped. Sarah stood behind him in her bathrobe, her face inscrutable as the **sphinx** she'd been reading about in her mythology class. She always knew when he was spiraling. That was the problem—she saw everything, said nothing, and let him unravel himself against her stillness like waves against stone.

"Just thinking," he said.

"About the presentation tomorrow?"

"About everything."

She sat beside him, dangling her feet in the pool. "You know what the sphinx asked Oedipus?"

"What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in the evening."

"Man. But the real question was why Oedipus could answer it when others couldn't." She turned to him, and in that half-light, he saw she'd been crying. "Because he knew himself. Do you?"

Marcus looked at his reflection—ghost-white, eyes shadowed with something deeper than exhaustion. He'd been climbing the ladder so long he'd forgotten what he was reaching for. The woman who loved him was sitting two feet away, and he'd never felt more alone.

"No," he said. "I don't think I do."

Sarah's hand found his in the darkness. "Then we have somewhere to start."

The orange lights flickered. The zombie inside him stirred, something other than hunger waking up for the first time in years.