The Sentimental Type

Jack stared in horror at the scene laid about before him. His bedroom was a mess. Furniture was overturned, and drawers and their contents were strewn about the floor alongside Sarah, his beautiful young wife. She was lying on her back, motionless, a pool of blood underneath her head. His girlfriend Roxanne stood behind him smiling and waiting for his reaction.
He grabbed her and shook her.
"What the hell have you done?"

"I've taken care of all of our problems." She wrenched herself from his grip and lit the cigarette that was in her mouth.
"What? Are you insane?" Jack turned away from her, a deluge of mixed emotions washing over him.

"Jack... now we can be together. Nothing is standing in our way. Just like you said all those times, if it weren't for Sarah..."
Jack swallowed hard and spun around, his eyes blazing with rage.

"You stupid bitch! We will never be together... we'll go to prison, that is if we're lucky and they don't gas us both. What the hell were you thinking?" Jack looked down at the lifeless form on the floor. He knelt down beside her and reached out to move strands of Sarah's wispy blonde hair away from her face. She looked so peaceful. The sticky pool of crimson underneath her head made his own blood run cold; she was gone. "Oh Sarah...." he whispered and shook his head. His shoulders slumped and his body seemed to flood with grief; he hung his head and quiet tears flowed from his eyes.

But his moment of silence was broken by the click of the gun in Roxanne's hand.

"No, you're the stupid one Jack. And now it's all poor, poor Sarah suddenly? The love of your life right? And you're gonna sit there and cry over her like the dumb bastard she always took you for. You hated her guts, but you just couldn't leave her. Why was that exactly Jackie? Afraid of being poor?"

Jack stood up slowly and turned to face her.

"So what? You're just gonna kill me too? Is that it? Because I'm not celebrating the death of my wife? You've done something very, very stupid."

"You know Jackie, maybe you're getting smarter, or maybe I'm really not as dumb as you thought I was. I admit, I had high hopes for us though... but you let me down again. If only your reaction had been... oh I don't know, a little less dramatic. A little less... rehearsed, then I might could believe it. But then everything you do has been carefully calculated. You never would have left her, would you? It was all empty promises; stringing us both along for whatever you could get. Sarah's money and my sex."

His face changed from the facade of painful mourning into a twisted grin.

"I never loved her. And you're right, it was always about the money. And you..." he paused and laughed, "thinking I would give it all up for you. Yeah honey, the sex was good, but I didn't love you either."

Roxanne shook her head, but she was still smiling. “Wow, you really are one dumb son of a bitch aren't you? You still don't get it. Get over there.” She motioned with the gun for him to move against the wall.

Reluctantly Jack did as she asked.

“Come on now Roxie, this really isn't your style. I never would have figured you for the sentimental type... killing Sarah out of jealousy, and now me for revenge.”

“Oh, I'm not killing you for revenge... at least not for myself.” She laughed and looked back at Sarah's body. The corpse moved and the color drained from Jack's face. Sarah sat up, wiping the back of her head and looking at the gooey red mess on her hand. She was smiling. And very much alive.

“What? What the hell? What's going on?” Jack's confusion made the two women laugh.

Sarah got up and joined Roxanne on the other side of the room, and Jack still didn't understand what was happening.

“Well Jack, what's going on, is I'm gonna kill you, Sarah is going to collect the insurance and then in a few months, I'll get a percentage.” Roxanne cackled. “And you thought I loved you. Oh yes, the sex was very good darling. But... Sarah's made me a better offer. Cold hard cash is just a little more... tangible. And, well, you know I never was the sentimental type.”

©2013 Garden Summerland

Schooled

"How long have you known?" Caitlin had her hands on her hips, her face screwed into a scowl as panic flooded her body. She was afraid she was going to pass out as the blood rushed to her head making her dizzy. She had Mason backed against the wall in the boys bathroom. Mason smirked. He dropped his backpack on the floor and took out a cigarette; studied it for a moment then stuck it behind his ear. He was highly amused at Caitlin's obvious distress.

"Does it matter?" Mason scoffed.

"Um, well yeah it matters. Have you told anyone else?"

"Why would I tell anyone? Who cares?" He displayed his usual cavalier attitude in spite of the fact that he'd just caught Caitlin and Mr. Garrett in a compromising position in the back of the music room.

"Mason this is serious, have you told anyone?"

"No, geez of course not, it was all of ten minutes ago. Besides, who would I tell?"
"Thank God. Now please... please don't tell anyone, okay?"
"What is your damage? You don't have to get all freaked. I won't say anything. Still don't get what the big deal is." He smiled, "So you're getting it on with Mr. G."
Caitlin slapped him hard on the chest.

"You're kidding right? The big deal is I'm still seventeen, I don't want Mr. G getting hauled in for statutory rape or molestation or whatever the hell the cops would call it."
"As if that still happens."

"Yeah Mase, it does. This is serious... I mean it, you can't tell anyone, okay? You've gotta swear it."

"Um, yeah I guess. So how long has this been going on? And how come you never said anything? I am supposed to be your best friend."
"It's been going on for months... since the beginning of last semester. I don't even know how it got started really... but... I feel so different when I'm with him. It's not like Tyler or Dylan... they're such immature little boys."
"Well no shit... in comparison to Mr. Garrett, geez, what is he like forty?"

"He's forty-three, not that it matters. Look, you don't have to be such a smart ass about it. I'm.... I think I'm in love with him."
"You have got to be kidding me. Oh no. Don't start that crap. You sound just like you did last year... remember when you were dating that guy from the Mission. You only volunteered down there until you got a date and you thought you were in love with him too. And how long did that last? Just call it for what it is.. you think Mr. G's hot and you just want his body." Mason laughed heartily.

"Oh you are a riot. It's not like that... this time." Caitlin turned away from him. "Why are we having this conversation? Just promise you won't say anything to anybody. Tom could get fired.... or... worse than that."
"Yeah, whatever. My lips are sealed. I don't know nothing. Besides, when the two of you get busted, and you will... eventually... I don't want any part of it."

"Well that's not gonna happen. I turn eighteen in twenty-one days, and then I don't care who knows."
"Oh yeah? Well that takes care of the criminal aspect you're so worried about.... but you know he could still lose his job. And isn't he married? I'm pretty sure that's unethical."
"Unhappily married, and from what I understand she's a real bitch. And since when did you get on the ethics committee? I don't think skipping third period to smoke pot with Jeremy Reese is at the top of the ethics list either; that and whatever else it is you do when you're cutting classes."

Mason shoved her shoulder playfully, the way he'd been doing since they were in preschool together. "Yeah whatever, point taken. Don't worry, your dirty little secret is safe with me."

Two seniors came in and glared at Caitlin.

"It's cool guys, she's with me." Mason moved towards her and put his arm around her.

Caitlin pushed him away and gave him a dirty look as he escorted her back out into the hall. The bell rang and kids poured out from classrooms. Caitlin spotted Mr. Garrett at the end of the hall; he smiled at her then he caught Mason's eye. Mason shook his head and frowned. Caitlin nodded her head and turned to chastise Mason but he took off down the hall getting lost in the deluge of students rushing to their first class.

Mason wasn't in French class or second period. Caitlin searched for him at lunch, but he was no where to be found. By the beginning of sixth period she knew he was gone for the day; and by the end of sixth period, she knew why. As the final bell of the day rang, she watched in horror as the police escorted a handcuffed Mr. Garrett from the building. There was nothing she could do and it was her fault. She made her way to the front entrance of the school, pushing through crowds of kids to get to the parking lot. Tears streamed down her face as a tall officer closed the door on the back of the patrol car. Tom was inside, his head hung in shame.

As Caitlin turned to go back inside the school, she caught a glimpse of Mason in the parking lot leaned up against a silver BMW. He was smiling and laughing as a pretty blond woman opened the passenger door for him. He got in and the woman leaned down and kissed him. Caitlin continued watching, shocked that Mason had kept this from her. Then as the woman turned to walk to the driver's side Caitlin saw her face. It was Elinor Garret. Tom's wife. No wonder Mason had kept this from her. It was suddenly very clear exactly what Mason had been doing when he cut class; Mrs. G. 

 ©2013 Garden Summerland

Best Shot

I was trying to ascertain it if was too dark to get a shot of some of the best work I'd done in weeks when I heard the sound. I slid my cell phone back into my sweater pocket and listened carefully. Someone else was inside the restaurant. I heard their hard footsteps on the industrial tile floor and I froze, waiting. The store room door creaked and he saw me, his thickly accented voice booming into the darkness, "Hey! You're not supposed to be back here! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

It was Billy Corrigan, the owner of the restaurant and the uncle of the dead man lying at my feet. He startled me and I dropped the jagged knife I was holding. I had been caught; literally red handed this time. I smeared a handful of blood across the front of my pale pink dress and smiled as he came closer. It was going to be two for one; this was turning into my kind of night after all.

He towered over me breathing hard and taking in the unfathomable scene laid out before him. His rosy cheeks were now even rosier, and the tufts of gray hair on each side of his head stuck straight out. He looked like a mad clown. In just a moment he was going to join his nephew on the floor. I had a quick fantasy about swapping their heads, but I'd left my tools in the car; this had been meant to be a quick in and out job. And I didn't have the luxury of time now, he had probably called the police before he confronted me. I'd have to make a quick concession to my normal routine; a substitute for the ritual. Nothing too elaborate of course; I could take a toe or a finger or maybe just their shoes. Perhaps if I was quick I'd have just enough time to snap that picture with my cell phone; my enjoyment of the present moment was marred, I would have to compensate later.

I couldn't wait to watch the weekend news. Shawna Brighton would rattle off all the gory details with a perfect smile plastered on her face and then with a flip of her bleached blonde hair she'd go straight to Steve Slater with the weather. Just thinking about it made my heart beat faster and a rush of adrenaline dumped into my system.

I was far too pleased with myself. I tried, but I couldn't stifle my laughter and it burst out of me, first as a girlish giggle and then it escalated into full blown wicked scream. His anger flooded full force and he lunged at me, his hands flailing wildly in front of him. I easily dodged out of the way, but as he fell to the floor he knocked over a stack of aluminum pans and sent them scattering on the cement with a loud crash. I managed to regain my composure, looking around in the semi-darkness attempting to find the murder weapon. I certainly didn't have much time now; the restaurant had been closed for hours, but the coffee shop next door was still open and they'd be sure to investigate and call the police themselves.

I caught a glimpse of the knife handle sticking out from under a rack of metal shelves. I rushed to get it, and as I bent over I felt an excruciating fire ripping through my left thigh. I fell to the floor bleeding profusely, the lucky bastard hit the artery; I'd been shot.

As I lay there bleeding to death, I felt the calmness of a job well done wash over my brain. I looked over at Billy and his nephew. Billy was sat upright, cradling his nephew in his arms, holding the gun steady aimed at my head. My cell phone was lying next to me, the blood seeping inch by inch towards it. In a split second, I grabbed it and took a picture of my pain wrenched face. 

It would never be my best shot; Billy Corrigan had taken his, and because of it, this would be my last.

 

©2013 Garden Summerland

A Purpose to Suffering

I was slowly regaining consciousness, a soothing voice brought me back.

"Leelee, come on honey, let's get you home."

I squinted my eyes and looked up, the security light on the side of the building temporarily blinded me, and I couldn't see his face, but I knew who it was. My ex-boyfriend Joe was standing over me shaking his head in disbelief. "What the hell happened to you? I told you not to drink... dammit Leelee. Come on, you're a mess. Let's get you back inside and get you cleaned up."

I'd been lying face down on the pavement for hours, the cold had settled into my bones and I was covered in my own vomit. I sat up and wiped my mouth and tried to straighten my clothes. My t-shirt was ripped down the front and my pants were stained in patches from the wet asphalt. I was a total mess.

Joe stretched out his arm and offered his hand to me. I paused and then sheepishly slid my hand into his and he pulled me up from the pavement. I'd been lying there for at least an hour puking my guts up. It wasn't a pretty sight. I wasn't just drunk, I knew I'd been drugged as well.

I'd come with a couple of girlfriends to a party at Maxie's bar, an "invitation only private party" hosted by the owner, Max Tolliver. He was everybody's friend, still the big man on campus, and everyone called him 'Maxie'.

I had quite a few new names to call him now. He'd made sure I'd had plenty to drink, obviously one of them roofied, and then he'd coerced me into the back of the club where he'd attacked me. Pushing me down onto a roll-away cot and sticking his tongue down my throat. I'd pushed him off and he'd smacked me a couple of times. Then he went insane, tearing my shirt open, and yanking my jeans down. I struggled against him, clawing him with my nails and he hit me again. I knew what was coming next and thankfully, I couldn't help myself as I threw up all over him. But it didn't stop him. My clothes were being ripped to shreds and he was forcing himself on me. There was nothing else I could do but scream. And he let me. I cried out for help, but the thundering music from the party in the next room rendered my screams inaudible. I laid as still as I could, waiting... and then just like that, it was over and he was gone. I stumbled in the darkness out the back door, falling to the ground where I'd been lying for a couple of hours until Joe found me and took me home.

**********

I stood in my kitchen mixing up chocolate chip cookies, recounting the horrible incident to my daughter. Leaving out bit's and pieces here and there, censoring the story, but not so much that it lost it's impact. It had been one of those 'you can't be too careful' conversations we'd had once a little too often. I was determined nothing like that would ever happen to her.

"So whatever happened to him? That guy, Maxie... 'everybody's friend'... did he get arrested? Is he in jail?" Joely's naive face stared up at me, expecting me to confirm that justice had been served.

"I'm not really sure what happened to him. I think he got married, probably had a kid or two. Guess he lives around here somewhere. It's been almost twelve years ago honey, it was nothing to him. I'm sure he's had a nice life."

"You mean the bad guy got away momma?"

I reached over and brushed the hair from her eyes and rested my hand on the top of her head. How could I explain it to her?

"Yeah, baby. I guess the bad guy got away this time."

"No momma, one day something really bad will happen to that man. I just know it. He'll get what he's got coming to him. Like you always say." She looked up at me and smiled.

I hoped she was right; retribution would be a long time coming. Next month it would be twelve years since; October 14th. Joely's birthday was in July, exactly nine months later. That's the part she would never know; no one would ever know.

 ©2013 Garden Summerland

Starving for Attention

Jane folded the white linen napkin twice over and placed it on the table next to her empty plate.

She looked around the restaurant, hoping no one would notice as she opened her purse and heaved into it. Everything came up quickly and she snapped the bag shut folding the leather strap across it. She'd toss it away in the ladies room on her way out like she had all the other ones.

The waiter watched nervously from the kitchen, wondering if he should take her a damp cloth or another soda or.... something. But he did nothing, just watched as her husband John, a tall dark haired man returned from the lobby, his cell phone plastered to his ear as he barked orders into it.

Jane took a sip of water, then retrieved her napkin and daintily wiped the corners of her mouth.

John Murray signaled to the waiter to bring dessert menus. Jane shook her head 'no' as the waiter approached. John looked over the assortment of sweets as Jane kept her eyes averted. Then he ordered two coffees with whipped cream and two tiramisus with ice cream on the side. Jane took on a rather greenish tint as the waiter looked at her sympathetically. He touched her on the shoulder as he reclaimed her dessert menu; she winced and swallowed hard. She was a thin, frail shell of a woman. John couldn't fathom how such a tiny frame could eat so much. He marveled at how svelte she'd stayed after all these years. It was impressive.

John remained on the phone throughout the remainder of the meal. Sipping on his coffee he never bothered touching his own dessert, as he motioned for Jane to continue with hers. She somehow managed to choke it all down, but almost lost it as John pushed his untouched plate towards her.

She hastily excused herself to the restroom to get rid of her purse and the tiramisu that was already on it's way back up. She was proud of herself for not crying as she knelt in front of the toilet; her stomach in knots as the last of the pricey meal was expelled.

A cool paper towel, more powder and lipstick and she looked almost normal. Paler than usual, but John would never notice. She smiled at herself. She had indeed gotten thinner. Not thin enough for John apparently, but she would get there. Even if it killed her.

In the cab on the way home Jane burst into tears. She put on a good show as she explained to John that she'd left her purse in the ladies room. He just couldn't believe how she could be so careless.

This seemed to happen every time they went out. She began to hyperventilate and he stopped cursing.

He took out his wallet and handed her his credit card and several hundred dollars. "Here, go shopping tomorrow and buy you another one, or three or four. Can't have you lugging around a paper sack. I have an image to uphold." He paused as he looked her over, "and buy a dress that fits you for crying out loud. You've lost some more weight haven't you? Looks good Janie, keep it up."

His cell rang and he answered it, picking right up from where he'd left off in the restaurant.

Jane stared out the window. She'd lose even more weight now. She had finally gotten his attention. 

©2013 Garden Summerland

Craving Something Sweet

Grace had left a hand-print in the blood. She stared at it, and then down at her soaked dress; the bottom of it was pink now. He wouldn't have liked that. She smiled. In fact, he would have been furious. She laughed. She had made a real mess of things; her dress, the hardwood living room floor, and most especially Jim. She was sitting just a few inches away from him; from his stiffening body, the body with the crushed skull. The dark crimson pool around his head seeped towards her slowly. She reached her hand out and dipped her fingers into it. Cold and sticky. It sent chills down her spine; in a good way.

The morning had been uneventful, just like every other day of her life. She'd made him breakfast and taken it to him at six-thirty sharp. She had helped him get dressed, packed his lunch and sent him off to work. Then she'd vacuumed, and ironed his shirts; changed the linens on his bed, put a roast in the crock pot and then she took her morning break and had one decaf coffee.

At 12:30 she would have a small salad and a slice of turkey left over from the night before. Then she would mop, and dust and do her laundry which was always done separately from his. She could expect him to walk through the door between five and five fifteen; his dinner would be on the table in front of him at five thirty. It was the same everyday. Except the third Friday of every month when she was allowed the afternoon off, to prepare for a session. Those were very carefully planned out by Jim. It was their intimate time. When she was allowed to show affection, and he expressed his appreciation for her efforts, if they were satisfactory. If they were not, punishment was doled out and instruction was given as to what improvement she needed to make so she could get it right next time.

Today was Thursday so he would bring her a gift when he came home. Usually it was a scented lotion; but sometimes it would be an article of clothing he expected her to wear for the session. Once he'd brought chocolates, and she'd been ecstatic when she opened the gold wrapped box. She soon learned they were not for her. She was to feed them to him after the session; he needed to recoup his energy, and she wasn't allowed sweets. She had been foolish; sweets were forbidden, they would make her fat.

She sat next to him at the dinner table, waiting for him to finish his meal. She would be allowed to eat after she had opened the present he'd brought, as long as she expressed the proper appreciation. He let her remove his plate when he was done, and he asked her to sit down again as he set the box in front of her.

She unwrapped the gift slowly, being careful not to rip the paper. He hated that. Then she slid the ribbon off gently, making sure to keep it intact with the huge red bow still tied. She gently lifted the lid from the dark red box, and rustled the crimson tissue paper folded across the gift inside.

She unfolded it, and peered inside. She sat motionless staring at it, unable to speak.

"Don't you love it?"

"Yes, it's beautiful."

"Say it, say 'Thank you Jim my love', like I taught you. Don't you dare forget your manners girl."

Fear over came her as she reached in and touched the ivory lace dress. It looked almost identical to the wedding dress she'd begged for years ago, but didn't get. It was the dress she'd be buried in. She'd seen it in her dreams. Not once, but several times in the last few years.

He'd make her wear the dress as she performed for him, and then he'd kill her. She swallowed hard.

"Don't you recognize it? It's the wedding dress you wanted eight years ago."
"Where... I mean, how did you find it Jim. It must have been so difficult for you to find one now."

He laughed.

"Oh Gracie! You are a silly girl. This is the dress. I bought it eight years ago, I've been saving it for just the right time. You have finally proven yourself worthy of it. You may wear it tomorrow evening." He smiled wickedly. "Now, shouldn't you go try it on? Give me a preview of what I'll be getting tomorrow night?"

Grace shivered.

He came over and helped her out of her chair, then gave her a shove towards the bedroom.

"I'll wait for you out here, now go on, go try it on. And you better hope it fits."

It didn't. She couldn't quite get it zipped in the back, and when she'd asked for help, he'd laughed at her. She started to cry, and he held out his arms to her. She did what she always did, she ran to him. But she accidentally knocked him down; right in front of the fireplace. She saw the vintage iron she had on display on the hearth; her hand automatically went to it. It had belonged to her great grandmother.

She didn't hesitate; she snatched it up and hit him in the side of the head; once, then twice. He didn't move and blood poured from the wound. She fell back onto the floor beside him.

Eight years of hell was over, and she was craving something sweet.

©2013 Garden Summerland