Author: angryoldguyblog

(This is one of my many attempts to start\write a mystery that’s been knocking around in my head for thirty years.)

The air was cool and still when Wilson stepped out of the house into the morning darkness. He paused for moment and breathed deeply, taking the heavy rain smell deep into his lungs. “Shit” he said, shaking his head, and continued to walk to his truck.  “Just plain shit.” He got in the truck, started it, backed into the empty street, and drove through the dark and quiet town. He turned the radio on, hoping to get a weather report. The drone of country music filled the truck.  The music stopped and an announcer started in on the news. His attention drifted until he heard the magic words “And the now panhandle weather..” He turned the volume up.  “We should see clear sky’s today with a high around 65 and a low of around 50.  Forecasters have put the chance of rain at 30 per cent.” Shit, he thought and turned off the radio.

At the farm he pulled into the packed dirt turnabout, killed the engine, and got out of the truck.  He looked up into the clear night sky. “No clouds.  Nothing.” He thought, seeing the broad umbrella of stars overhead. But the smell of rain seemed even heavier here. The full moon was low in the sky and illuminated the colorless land like a pale sun. He walked to the tractor and climbed inside the cab.  He started it and the sound of Jazz filled the cab. Flicking the lights on, he put the tractor in gear and steered towards the first row of cotton. He lined the tractor’s stripping chutes with the cotton rows, engaged the stripping mechanism, and moved forward into the field.  The gentle shake of the tractor and the smooth melody of the music lulled him into a hazy relaxed state. Off in the distance he saw vague flashes of illuminated clouds.  He counted out loud. “Twenty one…twenty two…twenty three…” The low rumbling of distant thunder echoed through the cab as he counted twenty nine.  “About two miles.” He thought, and hoped it was moving away. He turned his attention back to the cotton.

Fifteen minutes later he saw the clouds flash again and started to count. He had only counted to twenty four before hearing the thunder’s rumble. “Shit” He said.  “Getting closer”. Turning his gaze back from the clouds he squinted at something ahead in the cotton. The cotton was high enough so that he couldn’t see what it was, only the depression it made among the closely planted rows, and a vague white shape. He slowed, and then stopped the tractor till the huge headlights bathed the depression in harsh white light.

“An animal.” He thought, part of him knowing the white shape on the ground was not an animal. He killed the engine, opened the door of the cab, and stepped down to the cotton. The plants had grown high, just above his hips.  A slight breeze waved and rippled the cotton stalks as he walked slowly towards the strange white shape outlined in dark green.

His mind blanked and his mouth went dry as he stared at the impossible thing lying in the green waving stalks.  It was a naked, sheet-white body lying face down.  “Not face down.” He thought. “Not really”. He thought this as there was no face.  No face, no head, no hands, and no feet.  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath of the heavy morning air, and held it. After a few moments he slowly breathed out and opened his eyes.  The body was still there. Still real.

Wilson shook his head and reached into his jacket pocket for his phone.  A cool breeze seemed to float through the cotton, causing it to whisper in the night air.  A flash of nearby lightning froze the whispering cotton and the white body in harsh light and was followed almost immediately by the crack of thunder. He heard the soft sound of heavy raindrops on the cotton and on the tractor and felt the splashes of wet cold against his skin. He climbed inside the cab of the tractor and dialed a familiar number. He heard the low ring and then the sleepy voice on the other end. “Wellington Police department. Is this an emergency?” the words were spoken in a rote and mechanical manner.

“Frank.  This is Wilson.  Wilson Porter.  I’m at the farm.” He closed his eyes and tried to find the right words for the impossible situation.

The voice on the phone immediately became real and animated with concern. “Wilson!?  You ok? What’s wrong?”

“I’m ok. I was stripping. Trying to get it done before the rain.  There’s something here in the field.  A body.  A man I think.  It’s naked and… Oh sweet Jesus Frank someone’s cut off his head, his hands, and his feet. Please get someone out here….I… “ his voice trailed off.

The distant voice on the phone stammered instructions and assurances.  People would be there soon. Wilson nodded, as if Frank could see him, broke the connection, and put the phone back in his jacket pocket. He closed his eyes and several more deep breaths.

The rain began to fall heavily, an insistent tapping on the tractor’s cab. Opening his eyes he looked out over the field.  His brow furrowed and he turned on the rain wipers to clear the front window. The depression made by the body was the only disturbance in the vast cotton field.  There were no tracks of any kind.  He wondered. “Whatever had brought the body here had dropped it out of the night sky.”

It was morning, a wet, rainy daylight vaguely filtered through the dark clouds when the first car arrived, the sheriff, Dan Perkins.  Wilson had donned a yellow rain slicker he kept in the tractor cab and watched as the car came to a stop on the dirt path.  Perkins, wearing his own yellow rain slicker, an ancient Stetson, and mud boots made his way towards Wilson.

Perkins was a tall lanky man with a relaxed easy stride. “Hey Wilson” he said as he approached. Wilson nodded, heard tinny voices, and saw the portable radio in the sheriff’s left hand. The man brought the radio up to his face as he walked.  “Yeah.  I’m here.” An intelligible burst of chatter. “Don’t know yet. Haven’t see it. Gimme a bit.” Dan barked lowly and lowered the radio.  He stuck out his right hand, Wilson met it with his own, and they shook hands. Wilson started to pull away but the sheriff held firm.  Wilson looked up into the man’s dark clear eyes underneath the brim of the Stetson. The concern there was real and it made Wilson feel a little better. “You ok?” Dan said softly.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Wilson said, nodding. “It’s just a hellulva thing.” Perkins nodded, gave Wilson’s hand a quick squeeze, before letting go.  He looked over towards the dark indention in the cotton and jerked his head. “Well.  Let’s take a look” The big man turned and started walking towards the body. Wilson turned but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to look again.” Wilson shook his head. “It’s ok. I’ve seen it.  Can’t be any worse that the first time. Perkins nodded and they walked on.

They came to the edge of the cotton and both looked down at the body. Perkin’s gaze tracked around the perimeter of the body, then from one end to the other.  Finally he shook his head. “Jesus….sweet baby Jesus.” He muttered.  “Never seen anything like this.” His voice was low and breathy. “I been doing this thirty years and nothing like this.” Wilson nodded.

“That makes two of us.” He said, nearly whispering, as if afraid to frighten the corn. Perkins looked at him.

“Even in Dallas?” he asked. Wilson shook his head.

“I saw plenty of bodies.  People killed in all kinds of different ways.  But nothing like this.” Wilson said. Perkins shook his head and looked back to the body. He cleared his throat and turned to face Wilson.

“I gotta ask you, you know how it is. Did you touch anything? Move anything?” he said, shaking his head, knowing the answer.

Wilson shook his head. “No. I saw it while I was stripping.” He said looking back to the tractor, shielding his eyes from the bright floodlights. “I couldn’t see it that clearly from the cab.” He said and shook his head again. “Or maybe I could and just didn’t want to believe it.” He said, turning back to Perkins.

Perkins nodded and turned back to the body. He raised his gaze to look out over the cotton.  He looked all around the cotton.  “No tracks. Not from a vehicle anyway.” He turned to Wilson. “No tracks coming up the row you were stripping I guess.”

Wilson shook his head. “Nothing. Just like the rest of the cotton. If someone dumped it  here they didn’t use a vehicle.” He looked to Perkins. “At least…” he looked down.

“What?” Perkins asked.

“At least not a ground vehicle.” Wilson said, looking into the cloudy morning sky.

Perkins looked up.  Water poured off the back of the Stetson. “Shit.” He spat. “Helicopter.” He cursed, shook his head, and looked back to Wilson. “A fucking helicopter.” He turned away, started walking away from the body, and brought the radio up. “Frank. You there?” He barked loudly with some anger. There was a burst of intelligible chatter from the radio as Wilson turned to follow. The dirt in the field, now mud, sucked at his boots, and made walking difficult. He trudged on following Perkins.

“Call Harris in Amarillo. We need to get the state team on this.” Perkins barked. More chatter from the radio. Wilson smiled.  He couldn’t make out the words but could hear the all-too-familiar argumentative tone in Frank’s voice. Perkins stopped, looked up, again causing a minor cascade of water from his hat, and dropped the radio to his side.  “God damn Frank. Not now. Not fucking now.” He brought the radio back up. Wilson stopped, knowing Dan would appreciate as much privacy as he could get. He could hear the effort in the big man’s voice to control his frustration. The big man’s words and tone were careful and controlled.

“Frank.  Please listen carefully…” Another protracted burst of animated and somewhat loud chatter from the radio.  Dan took a deep breath and continued. “Frank. Please.  I’m trying here. We’ve got a body here and…” More radio chatter.  “Yeah, it’s just like he said. A naked body, probably a man, no head, hands, or feet. You get it?  This is too much for us.  We can’t take the chance of somebody fucking it up.” More loud animated chatter from the radio.  Dan dropped the radio to his side and jerked his head as he spoke. “Shit!” He took a deep breath and brought the radio back up. “No Frank, I didn’t mean you.  I didn’t mean anyone in particular. I just want to make sure this is done right. You can understand that, can’t you?” The radio chatter again but the tone was lower and even. “Thank you Frank.  I’ll be in shortly.” He dropped the radio to his side, looked down, and then turned to Wilson and smiled.

“Dan, that was one impressive display of composure.” Said Wilson, smiling as he trudged up to the big man’s side and slapped him on the shoulder. “Remind me again why you made Frank a deputy and gave him the run of the county jail?” He said, unable to contain his laughter.

Perkins smiled as he answered. “Hell Wilson, he’s your best friend. You know him better than I do.”

“Which is exactly my point. I love Frank like a brother, but deputy?  And running the county jail? Really Dan?” he said, nearly choking on his own laughter.

Dan looked away, shook his head, and chuckled as he turned back. “Well… I guess I figured it’d be better for him if he was a deputy and running the jail.  Give him something constructive to do with his time.  Otherwise he’d probably spend all his time in the jail. This way at least he can draw a paycheck.” He said, laughing. “I mean you know him.  There’s not a mean bone in him.  He’s not the brightest bulb, but he’s… he’d dependable.  You know what I mean?”

Wilson nodded. “I do. I could always depend on Frank. To get me in trouble. To give me terrible advice and to try to steal my girlfriend.  I could always depend on him for those things.”

Dan nodded. “Well, that’s something.” His laughter died out and the smile faded as he looked back into the cotton. Wilson looked back as well and cleared his throat. The body wasn’t visible but the memory of what he had seen was fresh and heavy on his mind.

“Funny how you can turn it off when you need to.” Dan said, his face solemn. He turned to Wilson.

“I’d forgotten how easy it is to forget something like that.” Wilson said, his voice low, almost a whisper. He raised his gaze to Dan. “Been awhile since I needed to.”

Dan looked down at his mud covered boots then back up. “Yeah. Listen, why don’t you go home and get some rest.” He looked back towards the cotton.  It’ll be a couple hours before the Amarillo boys get here.  They won’t need you. I’ll get Frank to call some boys over to watch till Amarillo gets here.” He looked back to Wilson. “You can come into town later to make a statement. Lunch maybe?” He said nodding.

“Sure.” Wilson said looking towards the cotton, then back at Dan. “I guess we’ll need to talk more, won’t we?” He asked.

Perkins turned and looked at the cotton for a long time. Finally he turned back.  He smiled, but his eyes were serious. “Yeah. We will.”

Wilson opened the back door and there was his wife, Shirley. She was glaring at him, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, hands on her hips. Her expression was not happy.

“Wilson Porter. You are not tracking mud all over my kitchen.” Her voice was strong, loud, and very direct.  She had taken one hand off it’s respective hip and was pointing to his feet, accentuating every salient word with another deliberate point. He felt a small, but significant terror, the same one he had felt as a little boy when his mother had chided him.  He had long experience in not thinking too much about the similarity in those two relationships.

“Yes maam.” He went back outside, removed his boots, and returned.  As he stepped inside Shirley met him at the door and embraced him.  She hugged him hard and he reciprocated.  As always when they embraced, he felt something deep inside telling him everything would be ok.  She pulled away, kissed him, and looked into his eyes.

“Are you ok hon?” she said, her voice now soft.

“Oh yeah.  It was…” he shook his head, searching for the right words.  “It was just so unexpected.  You know?” She nodded, pulled away from him, and crossed the kitchen.

“I made a coffee.  You want some?” She said, turning her head back to him.

“Please.” He said as he crossed to the kitchen table to sit. She poured two cups and brought them to the table to join him.

“Donna called about an hour ago.” She said.  She didn’t need to say that Donna, the jail’s unofficial den mother and Frank’s on-again, off-again girlfriend had pried every iota of information from Frank with the efficiency of a CIA interrogator and then (probably) informed every other member of the town, or at least the ones with whom she was still speaking.

“Shit!” he said. “Do you know if she…” Shirley cut him off with raised hand.

“Frank told her to keep it to herself.  She interpreted that to mean she could only tell me, seeing as you were going to tell me anyway.” She said, a slight mischievous smile growing on her lips.

“Oh I was, was I?” he said, trying hard to sound indignant and doing a pretty poor job of it. The grin on Shirley’s face grew into a full smile and she raised her hand to her mouth to contain her growing laughter. “Oh hell.  I guess that’s about right.  You would have wormed it out of me anyway.” He said, through his own laughter.

His face grew more serious. “What’d she tell you?” he said. Shirley nodded and reeled off the information flatly, as if relaying points on a power point presentation. Wilson nodded when she finished.

“Hell, you know as much as I do.” He said.

“You ok to talk about it?” she asked.

“Sure, Dan didn’t say not to.  Not yet anyway.” He said.

“What was the skin color like?  I mean it was white, is that right?” she said, her voice now curious and questioning.

“Yeah, it was white.  The body looked really white…pale.” He said, looking into his coffee as if the memory lay there.

“Was there any blood?” she said.

“I didn’t see any.” He said, looking up.

“The hands and feet…” she said, letting the words hang.

“No blood there either.” He said.

She turned her eyes away and began to tap the tips of her fingers against her lips.

“Humph.” She said, her eyes distant and unfocussed. “No tracks?” she asked, not turning back to him.

“Nope. Nothing” he said.

“Helicopter.” She said, a statement, not a question.

“Yeah, that’s what I figure.” He said. She turned back to him.

“Who around here owns a helicopter?” she said.

“No body that I know of.” He said. She turned away again.

“Yeah.  Me neither.” She said. She looked back to Wilson. “You have to make a statement?”

“Yeah.  Dan asked me to come back into town after while.  The Amarillo guys won’t be here for another hour or so.” He said.  She nodded and looked away again.  She sighed and looked back to him.

“Well, nothing to do till then.” She smiled, reached over, and squeezed his hand. She pulled back and took a long sip of coffee. “Still raining?” she said, looking to the back door.

“Yeah. Coming down in sheets.” He spat, disgusted.

“Heard a weather report on the radio.  It’s supposed to rain off and on for the next couple days.” She said and reached out to touch his hand. “I guess that means no more stripping.”

“Yeah.” He said, his voice dejected and defeated. “No more stripping.”

The Rocking Horse Café sat at the north edge of town on a lot that had been a cotton field.  It was part of the “New Money” that come into Wellington over the last five or so years. Like the other “New Money” additions, it was just a bit too big and fancy for the small, formerly rustic town, like a diamond tennis bracelet carefully placed among ancient, worn, and broken costume jewelry.

Wilson walked in and saw Dan waving from a back booth. As he walked, he nodded at, and otherwise greeted familiar faces around the room.

“Hey Wil.  Thanks for coming by.” He said, popping a french fry in his mouth.

“Sure.” Wilson said, sitting down, and picking up a menu.

“You eaten here yet?” Dan said before popping another fry into his mouth.

“Couple times.” He said, looking at the menu.  “What do you like?”

“BLT’s good.” Dan said, nodding at his nearly empty plate. Wilson skimmed the menu for the BLT.

“It’s also cheap.” Wilson said, smiling at Dan.

“Well hell!” Dan said, smiling. “Cheap and good! Sounds like a winning combination to me!” Wilson smiled and nodded.  The waitress came and took his order. She then turned to Dan.

“You need a refill Dan?” she said, smiling her young and just slightly flirtatious smile.

“No thanks Loretta.  I’m good.” He said, returning her beaming smile. She nodded and walked away. Dan watched her walk away, tossed his napkin onto the plate, and turned back to Wilson.  The smile left his face. He retrieved a small digital audio recorder from a jacket pocket, switched it on and set it down on the table.

“Ok. Wil.  Let’s get this part done…” he asked the same questions he had asked earlier and Wilson gave the same answers.  Before Wilson knew it they were done and Dan had picked the recorder up, turned it off, and returned it to his pocket. He leaned forward, his elbows down on the table and spoke in a low voice. “And that pretty much concludes my official involvement or responsibility in this matter.” His tone was final, but there was something in his eyes that practically begged more questions.

“Just what exactly does that mean?” Wilson said, matching his low tone and trying hard to keep the confusion and rising frustration out of his voice.

“Just that.  I’m no longer the lead on this particular case.” He said.

“Well then who the hell is?” Wilson said, struggling to keep his voice low.

“Interesting story there..” he said, leaning back as if to start a long tale.

“Dan.. don’t you..” Wilson’s objection was cut short by Dan’s raised hand.

“I’ll keep it short. About an hour after I got back to the office I got a phone call…” he said.

“Before the Amarillo crew arrived?” Wilson’s question cut Dan off.

“Before the Amarillo crew arrived.  That’s correct.” Dan answered.

“From whom? The phone call I mean.” Wilson said.

“The phone call was from special agent Walter Henderson of the F. B. I.” Dan pronounced the three letters slowly and with special emphasis. “Special agent Henderson thanked me very kindly for the work I’d done on the case..”

“Which added up to jack squat.” Wilson spat.

“Which added up to jack squat and said he would be assuming all responsibility for the case effective immediately.” Said Dan, his smile fading just enough for Wilson to see the hint of outrage in the man’s eyes.

“And that’s that?” Wilson said.

“That’s that.  End of story as far as far as the Wellington Sherriff’s department is concerned and as far as I’m concerned.” Dan said, fixing Wilson with a peculiar stare. His emphasis on the work “I’m” begged Wilson’s question.

“As far as you’re concerned…just what the hell does that mean?” There was an angry edge to Wilson’s question.

“Just what I said.  We’re out of it. Done with it.  Special agent Henderson is in charge.” Dan said.  He cocked his head slightly to one side and squinted slightly.

“Well that doesn’t to make any sense at all.  Why would they…” He was cut off by Dan’s raised hand.

“To radically change the subject… do you remember that Thompson your dad sold me?” Dan said.

Wilson’s mind reeled slightly at the sudden change of direction. “Sure. I remember.  He let me shoot it a few times before you bought it.” Wilson said.

“I’m having a little problem with it.  Wondered if you’d come out and take a look.” Dan said.

“I’m not a gunsmith Dan. I wouldn’t know…” Wilson said.  Again he was cut off by Dan’s raised hand.

“I know, I know, but I’m sure you’ll be able to help.” He said flatly, his eyes staring through Wilson.

“Well sure.  I’ll take a look. Do you want to bring it by my place?” he said.

“Be better if you come by my place.  How around eight tonight? That work for you?” Dan said, smiling and nodding.

Wilson nodded as he replied. “Sure.  I’ll be there.” He said, the confusion evident in his voice.

“ I appreciate it.” Dan said.  His face brightened as he looked up slightly and to his right, just over Wilson’s shoulder. “Why hello Miss Renee.  Always nice to see you.” The man’s voice was warm as he beamed a wide smile at the approaching woman.

Wilson turned his head slightly to his left and watched as the tall woman walked easily to Dan, putting her hand on his shoulder.

“Dan, Wilson” She said turning her full attention to Wilson as she spoke. “Mind if I join you?” she said, directing the question to Wilson.

He started to answer but was cut off by Dan. “I’m just leaving.” Dan rose and held his chair out for the woman who sat and glanced up at him with a warm smile.

“Thanks Dan.” She said, turning her attention to Wilson.  She leaned forward on her elbows and rested her chin on her hands.

“I’ll see you later Wilson.  Don’t forget.” Dan said tapping Wilson’s shoulder as he passed.

“Hello Mr. Porter.” She said, cocking nodding her head slightly forward and smiling.

Wilson found himself returning the nod and smile. “Mrs. Madison” he said, trying not to smile too big.

She clocked her head to the right and nodded again, correcting him. “It’s Miss Sommers now. Shirley not keeping you up with the latest gossip?” She said, teasing him.

Wilson stammered his response and took a good look at the woman.  They had attended the then small Wellington schools together from first grade through high school graduation.  She had always been tall and athletic, with a smooth easy way about her, not walking or moving so much as gliding.  He had always thought of her as some enticingly dangerous feline, specifically a Jaguar.  He wondered if she growled in bed and then immediately wondered from where that thought had originated.

“Haven’t seen much of you since you got back into town. Yall been back..what, six months now?” she said.

Wilson nodded.  “Little over eight. I’ve been busy with the farm.” He said running out of words.

Renee nodded. “I see Shirley from time to time shopping.  She’s so sweet.” Her way of saying “sweet” made it sound positively horrific, like a dread disease she could never think of catching. She glanced outside, nodded at the clouds and spitting rain. “Guess you won’t be doing any stripping till it dries up a bit.” She suddenly looked back to him, a concerned look on her face. “I forgot all about this morning.  What happened I mean.  Sorry.” Her turn to run out of words.

Wilson looked down and shook his head. “Thanks.  Hell of a thing.” He looked up at her. “I guess Donna filled you in on all the details. “ook on her facain. ”

m time to time shopping.  She’iding.  He had always thought o

Renee chuckled and shook her head. “She’s the town crier, I guess.” She was interrupted by Loretta returning with Wilson’s order.

“Hey Renee.” Loretta shot her a quick smile while setting the food down.

“Hey Loretta” Renee said, smiling.

“What can I get you honey?”  Loretta said. Renee ordered, Loretta nodded and walked away.

“What do you think of all this?” Renee said, waving her hand around, indicating the café. “You ever think Wellington would have a place like this?”

Wilson shook his head.  “Nope.  When I left for school it was.. well you know what it was like.” He said.

“I remember.” She said, sighing and looking around the room.  “When we graduated high school in 2004 Wellington was 2500 people and dying a slow death. I couldn’t get out fast enough.” She said.

“Same with me. “ he said looking down at his food. “Do you mind?  I haven’t eaten since breakfast and..” he said.

“Oh go ahead honey.” She said, waving at his food. Wilson began to eat. “You went to Abilene Christian right?” She said.

“Right.” He spoke between bites. “I got a BS in Criminal Justice.”

“Then you moved to Dallas?” she said.

He nodded. “Yeah.  Well, I met Shirley at school.  We got married right after graduating and then we moved to Dallas.” He said.

“Why Dallas?” she said. His answer was interrupted by the arrival of Loretta and Renee’s order.

“That’s where Shirley from and I’ve always liked Dallas.” He said.

“You worked with the Dallas police?” she said.

Wilson shook his head. “Richardson.  It’s a suburb to the north. I’d heard it was a better place to work than Dallas. The degree put me on the fast track to detective. I liked it.” He paused and smiled at her. “Most of the time.”

“What made you come back? She said, her eyes curious.

He chuckled before speaking. “Huh. You get right to it, don’t you?” She answered with a smile and a shrug. He shook his head. “ Well  when dad got sick…” His words trailed off.

“I’m sorry Wilson.  I didn’t think.” Her voice was soft as she reached over to touch his arm.

“It’s ok.  Anyway..we came back to see to him and  of course saw how Wellington had changed.” He looked around the care. “It really is like a different town.” He said.

“It really is. I felt the same way when I came back.” She said, looking around.

“How about you?  You went to Tech didn’t you?” he said.

She nodded. “Yeah.  A bunch of the old gang went there.” She said.

“What did you study?” he said.

“Mostly beer and boys.” She said with a mischievous grin. “Actually, I graduated with a degree in interior design.” She shook her head.  “Didn’t do much with it.  But my house looks real nice.” She said with a laugh.

“You met your husband..sorry, EX-husband there?” He said.

“Tommy Madison.  Yeah, I did.” She said, her voice flat. “He was studying oil and gas or something like that.  His dad was real big in that.  We got married after graduation and lived in Lubbock for about a year and then his dad wanted him in Austin so there we went.” Her voice had the hollowness of a very old bitterness.

“Ausitin’s a pretty good place.” Wilson said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh yeah.  I loved living there.” She said smiling back at him. “Tommy’s dad wanted him to be a lobbyist and that basically meant Tommy got to do what he did best..party.” the smile had faded from her face.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

She sighed and smiled at him. “Me too.  He was really a very sweet man when he wasn’t drunk or coked out of his head.” Her smiled turned sad. “But those times just seemed to go away.” She sighed and took a deep breath, as if blowing away the bad memories. “On the bright side, he was very rich so the divorce settlement was very generous. “

“And you came back to Wellington? About two years ago?” he said

“More like three.  I liked Austin but it seemed to sour a little after the divorce. It felt right coming home.  Especially when it’s a new and improved home.” She said smiling.

He shook his head.  “I still don’t quite understand what changed.  I mean how big is Wellington now, ten thousand?” he said.

“More like fifteen, I think.” She said, looking around.  “I don’t quite understand either. About five years ago ..” She paused and leaned in towards him, her voice low. “Now don’t quote me on this, this is what I heard.”

Wilson leaned in slightly too and matched her low tone. “Donna?” he said with a hint of a smile.

She smiled and replied. “right.  Donna. Anyway, about five years ago a man called Wilbur Jenson moved to town. He bought up a lot of the land east of town.  You remember where the old Lancaster wrecking yard was?” He nodded.  “He built a huge battery manufacturing plant and hired just about everyone in town who wasn’t already working.”

“Battery plant?” Wilson said.

She shook her head. “Not like the kind of batteries you put in stuff.. electric car batteries.”

Wilson nodded.  “How many people work there?” he said.

“I think like a thousand people work there now.  It’s grown some.” She said. “Then about four months later, another new guy moves into town.  Don’t ask me his name, I don’t know it.

 

The heavy rain sheeted across the windshield, causing Erika to switch the wipers to their highest setting.  The rhythmic slap of the wipers allowed only momentary peeks onto the empty and dark two-lane road.

“She’s at the lake house.” Her dad had said.  “We weren’t expecting you till..” his voice abruptly cut off.

“Daddy?  Daddy are you there?” His voice, choppy and indistinct finally solidified.

“I’m here.  You’re driving I guess.  We didn’t…” She cut him off, not wanting to lose him again.

“I know you weren’t expecting me.  I wanted to surprise her.  For her birthday.” Her voice was not loud, but firm and just a little too calm.

“Sure.  That’s a great idea.  She’ll like that.  I’m sure she will.” His voice was flat and unconvincing.  “She’s at the lake house with the girls. Her friends.  ” his voice again flat.  “I think she said she’d be back sometime Monday.”

“Ok Daddy.  I’ll let you go now.  It’s starting to rain and I…” she heard the line drop and tried to get him back without success.  “Shit!” she spat, tossing the phone into the passenger seat.

The rain eased up and she saw the familiar road sign; Pilot Point 15 miles. She’d be at the lake house soon.  A glance to the wrapped gift in the passenger seat and all of the feelings, old and new, flooded through her mind; hope, fear, the yearning for acceptance, for something like peace.  “The book will help.” she thought, hoping.  “It will pull us together.”

“It worked wonders with my mom.” Her roommate had gushed. “We get along better than we ever have.  It really helped.” Joanie had said.

Erika had nodded and wanted so very much to believe.  She had wanted to press the questions that rang through her heart and demanded to be asked.  “Where you a disappointment too?   Did you never measure up to her friends, to her sisters, to other daughters?”  She kept them to herself.

“This will be different.” She thought.  “I’ll be honest and I’ll ask her to be honest.” Her internal voice rang hollow and she struggled to find the courage to believe her own thoughts.

Her mind was cluttered with worry and doubt, she nearly missed the turn off and braked hard, causing the car to slide slightly on the wet road.

Her heart was hammering.  She checked the rearview mirror; no cars in sight.  Closing her eyes, she took a single deep breath in and out.  She opened her eyes and steered into the lane.

Five minutes later she stood before the front door of the lake house.  The porch light was on and she tried to find the courage to knock.  Ringing the doorbell would be wrong, too formal.  They had been coming to this lake house since she was little.  She’d knock.  Soon she would knock.  She took one last long breath and knocked.

Time slowed down and she found herself hoping the door would somehow never open, that the situation would never be resolved.  The hope, the fleeting, immaterial and vague hope would become eternal.  She would at least have the hope. Her hopes were dashed as she heard the muffled thumps of approaching footsteps.

The door opened, a widening crack revealing cautious eyes that quickly gave way to confused surprise.  Her mother quickly and in one continuous motion opened the storm door, stepped out, and closed the front door to stand smiling blankly at Erika.

“Hello mother!  Happy Birthday!  I thought I would…” Her speech, composed and written over long, painful hours to say just the right thing, to have just the right mix of daughterly love, correct grammar, and firm, clear thought faded from her lips as her mind absorbed the condition of her mother.

Her hair, eternally perfect was in total, impossible disarray. She wore an old white cotton robe, firmly held together by the white-knuckled fist of her right hand. She was barefoot and her makeup was smudged.  Erika’s eyes seemed to lock on the bright red lipstick, very badly smudged, only half covering her lips. It was several seconds before she realized her mother had begun to speak.

“..expecting you.  I…really had no idea you would…  Why didn’t you call?  I…” her mother stammered. Her eyes darting like cornered, frightened animals.

Erika turned her eyes to meet her mothers and offered the wrapped gift.  “Happy Birthday mother.  I’ll see you soon.” She said, her voice flat and mechanical, and she turned away, not hearing the continued chatter behind her.

As she walked to the car, she heard the door close behind her, like the sound in some half-remembered movie, playing in another room.

“She’s the one who made the mistake, who didn’t measure up.  This time.” She thought,  A grim smile growing on her lips as she clicked the car remote.

A flash of lightning exploded silently above, causing her to stop and look up.  The rain came immediately along with the booming thunder.  The cold raindrops splashed onto her upturned face and mixed with the hot tears flowing from her eyes.

 

Marsha enters Tom’s apartment and is immediately immersed in the sounds of explosions, alien death cries, a man’s voice shouting and cursing, and the various staccato pops, booming thunderous reports, and high-pitched laser droning of futuristic weapons.  The air is warm, stale, and filled with the odor of not-fresh pizza.  Tom is sitting on the couch, his complete attention focused on the big screen TV.  He’s wearing threadbare workout shorts and a dirty white t-shirt with the words “Welcome to Minneapolis” emblazoned across the front.  He’s also wearing a headset and is occasionally shouting “Die lizard die!” at the green scaled lizard men on the tv.  Marsha notes the lizard men appear to be complying.

In her mind, she fantasizes about walking to the coffee table, picking up the remote, and turning off the tv.  Tom then smiles, removes the headset, puts down the game controller, stands and greets her warmly.  Instead, she sighs, crosses the apartment till she’s standing just to his right, puts her coat and purse down on the coffee table, crosses her arms and stares at him.  She says nothing.

For several uncomfortable (for Marsha) seconds, he does not appear to notice.  Then he glances over at her and then back to the tv.  He says “Hey Babe!” in between various shouts to team mates and lizard men.  Marsha still says nothing.

He glances at her again, risking his virtual life to actually observe her.  He looks back at the tv.  Trained by hours of searching every nook and cranny of ancient castles and futuristic dungeons, he has completely observed Marsha’s appearance.  He mentally ticks off several salient points from the image in his head: full evening makeup, hair carefully styled, black party dress, red high-heel shoes, arms crossed, and an unhappy expression.  His mind races and uses this raw data to calculate the conclusion: He’s forgotten something.  He glances at her, smiles, and begins to respond when she cuts him off.

“I take it you’re not ready?” she says, smiling the same smile an executioner might right after saying “Any last words?” His mind freezes in confusion.  The worst possible reply is uttered from his lips, like an accident in slow motion over which he has zero control: “Not ready for what?”  Inside his brain, one part slaps another part in frustration.

Marsha cocks her head slightly to the right and smiles.  Tom swears the temperature in the room has dropped by at least 40 degrees.  “Jay’s party.  It’s tonight at 7.”

Again, he says exactly the wrong thing. “Is that tonight?” He just nearly slaps himself.

Marsha’s smile slightly shrinks and her voice is very controlled. “Yes.  Tonight”

He grimaces slightly.  “Oh hon… the guys and I are on a really important mission in the game. Do you really want to go?”  Three for three.  Part of his brain seriously considers escape, perhaps through the ear canal.

Marsha closes her eyes and sighs.  Then she picks up the remote and turns off the TV. Amazingly, Tom does not even attempt to argue.  He removes his headset and places it and the game controller on the coffee table.  He gives Marsha his full and undivided attention as she speaks.

“I have spent $75 getting my hair styled, $250 on this dress, $175 on the shoes, and then I spent 45 minutes putting on my makeup. “ She pauses and stares at him.  Tom is afraid to blink and his eyes feel very dry.  She leans in till her face is inches from his. “So yes.  I want to go.” She smiles and nods.  He smiles and nods.  Then he says very softly: “Well I’d better get dressed then.” She smiles and nods then backs up to let him leave.  Tom quickly retreats the bedroom.

“Hey!  I just remembered!  Jay called today!  He said Harold would be there tonight.  Jay wanted to make sure you’d be ok with that.” Tom shouted from the bedroom.

“Harold?  Harold my EX Harold? She says closing her eyes.

“Yeah!  Jay just wanted to check.” Tom says entering the room.  He’s partially dressed with dress slacks, no shocks or shoes and a white t-shirt.

Marsha, her eyes still closed, sighs and then takes several deep breaths.  Then she plops down on the couch, removes her shoes, and sits back.  After a second she leans forward and takes one of the game controllers.

“Get your ass in here and show me how to kill these fucking lizard men.”

 

(WARNING: Explicit and very dark. Proceed at your own risk.)

The room was dark and nearly empty. There was one door, now closed and locked, and no windows.  The walls and ceiling were painted gunmetal grey. There was a brand-new, ebony-black torchlight in the corner.  The harsh blue light from the halogen bulb was the only source of light. It threw harsh and distinct shadows from the few pieces of furniture in the room. There were two brand-new Teak hardwood folding chairs, sitting about four feet apart in the center of the room.  The folding chairs were somewhat unusual as they had arms. Along one wall was a brand-new folding card table.

There were three items on the table; a 13 inch gross anatomy knife with a light green plastic handle, a spool of black #3 stranded silk suture thread, and a #3 half-moon shaped suturing needle. They were laid out carefully in the center of the table.  The knife was pristine new and spotless.  The spool of thread had been opened and a strand of thread circled the spool loosely, like a small thin snake encircling a barrel. Next was the suture needle. There was a 6 ¾ inch strand of suture thread attached to it.

The perfection of the needle and suture thread was marred by nearly imperceptible traces of blood.

The blood had dried so that it was nearly as black as the thread.

Francine sat in one of the chairs. She looked down to the left of her chair at the small brand new plastic pail and then at the items on the table. She had taken her time buying them. She had originally looked at scalpels, but soon discovered even the largest would not be appropriate for what she had in mind. The anatomy knife appeared to be perfect. She found the sharpness of the knife exciting in a way that terrified her.  She felt the same way about the suture needle and thread. In thinking of the needle and thread, she felt just a hint of wistfulness that she was done with them and would not be using them again.

She crossed her legs and thought again how the Teak chairs had been a much better choice than the metal folding chairs.  She had no doubt that the metal chairs would be much colder than the wooden ones, even in a warm room.

She was naked.

She heard a small moaning sound and looked over to the other chair.

Erik was waking, slowly and shakily raising his head.  He shook it briskly and let it loll back before raising it up and opening his eyes. He seemed to have trouble focusing and squinted at Francine for a few seconds. Then his eyes opened wide and his gaze darted around the room, pausing on Francine, the table, its contents, and finally on himself. His attempt to scream was quickly cut short by the multiple bee stings in his solidly-shut lips.

Francine had sutured his mouth closed. She had also bound his legs at the ankles and the knees to the legs of the chair and his arms at the wrists and elbows to the arms of the chair. The chair itself was bolted to a six-foot square piece of ¾ inch plywood lying flat on the floor. He was also naked.

She watched and could almost feel the different phases of emotions racing through him. Confusion, perception, denial, painful understanding, anger, rage, a forced, difficult and controlled calm, a hint of pleading, and finally a very quiet and waiting fear.

Francine smiled softly. “Good.  We can begin now.” Her voice, normally soft and throaty, echoed back from the walls and sounded too loud and harsh. She lowered it slightly as she continued to speak. “I received your letter Monday. Of course I read it immediately and I want to thank you for at least taking the trouble of signing it.” Her smile widened and a dark hardness came over her eyes. “Let’s not pretend you wrote it.  I could hear the hateful edge of Sharon’s voice in the carefully chosen words.” Francine saw the words wash over him like a bucket of ice-cold water.

As she continued speaking, she rose, walked halfway between the chairs, and began to pace back and forth, to the right and then to the left in front of Erik.  “I’m not really surprised. You’ve made it really clear lots of times that I’m not the one.” She paused to look at him directly. “That perfect one that you keep talking about and, I guess, thinking about.” She continued to pace. “Of course, for a long time, you said I was. Not at first.  You liked me. We got along. You liked most of my friends and I liked most of yours.  Things worked. We moved on.”

She paused; standing directly in front of him, turned her body to face him, and looked directly into his eyes. Her eyes closed and her hands seemed to involuntarily rise, coiling into fists till they were level with her head. “Then one day.  One wonderful, wonderful day. You said I was the one. I was the perfect one.” Her voice seemed to catch and die in her throat. She breathed deeply, willed her eyes dry, and forcibly pushed back the searing pain in her soul. Her eyes slowly opened, still, calm, and empty. “You remember saying that, don’t you?” A hint of sadness in her smile. Nothing in her eyes. Erik’s single nod was almost imperceptible.

“Good” she said, lowered her hands, and continued pacing.  Her hands swung easily as she paced. They gestured smoothly and gently as she spoke. A casual observer, ignoring the nakedness of the two figures and the surreal quality of the tableau, might think her a strong and confident CEO speaking to a single stockholder.

“Those were the best times.  I can honestly say I’ve never been happier. I saw a future for me, for us.  It was real, so very, very real.  And so very, very good.” She looked at him, not pausing in her pacing. “And then it changed. Just a little at first.  You didn’t say anything. You didn’t criticize.  There was just the look.  The attitude. You’d see something I did or hear something I said, or hell, I don’t know. There’s no… For so much of it and for so long I just thought it was me.  I was..I don’t know..paranoid.  Something.”

Again she stopped directly in front of him, turned to face him, and looked, unblinking, directly into his eyes. “And then you did start to say things. I didn’t do this quite right or that.  My understanding of a play or song or whatever the fuck just was not quite right.” As she spoke she leaned towards him. Her hands, reaching out, had begun to shake.

She leaned back, coiled her hands into fists, pulled them back to the center of her chest, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.  She exhaled slowly and began to pace.

“That went on for awhile.  And then it stopped.  No more criticism. No more attitude. No more nothing.” Her voice was calm and controlled but there was a steely edge to it. “Two months, three weeks, and four days.” She glanced at him casually. “That’s how long that lasted. In case you didn’t know. I knew. I felt every minute.  Every second. I felt it.” She looked away from him. “And then you left.  You needed your space…time…whatever. You left.”

She breathed deeply and sighed.  “It hurt like hell at first.  I knew it was over, but I just didn’t know why.  I didn’t know what changed in you or me that made it break.  That made it stop. I just didn’t know. And that was really, really hard.”

She stopped pacing. She stood with her back to the table standing just to his left staring at the wall.  She looked at the closed door and her face softened. “And then it actually got better. It took time but I got over it, more or less.” Joyful memory filler her face as she smiled, not seeing the door, Erik, or the harsh room. “I met a guy. A really great guy. Phil.  He understood. He really did. And it was ok. Not fireworks.  Not the moon and the stars but ok. He wasn’t you but he wasn’t bad.  And he was THERE!  He listened and he loved me and…..” The memory left her like air flooding out of a dying balloon.  She closed her eyes for a moment. “No.  We won’t talk about Phil.  He’s not a part of this.  This is us.  This is only us.” She continued her pacing.

“And then I got the letter.” She continued to pace but stopped speaking for a few seconds. Her voice was low and flat when she resumed speaking.

“I must have read that fucking thing a thousand times.  I just didn’t get it.” She stopped to look at him. “At first I mean.  I didn’t get it at first. But the more I read it, the more I heard a voice in it. Her voice. Her voice came through loud and clear. And that made me think about the whole time we were together. All of it. I thought about it for a long, long time.” She looked at him and smiled. “I haven’t slept since getting the letter. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.” She looked away. “And then I got it. I got it all. Sharon.  It was Sharon.  It was her voice.” She nodded. “Now it all made sense.  All of it.” She looked at him while she paced.

“Even in the beginning. When you first started to change. It wasn’t you.  It was her. She was there before, during, and after.  She was one of your friends that just didn’t quite click with me.  You remember.  You said it was no big deal.  She was a just a friend.  And every time she was around, she’s have the look, the attitude. The forced smile. Then it seemed like she wasn’t around.” She looked away. “And right about the time she stopped being around is when you started changing.  The looks, the attitude.  Then the criticism and the rest.  And then you were gone.”

She stopped in front of the table, reached down with her right hand, and touched the needle. Then she looked at Erik. “I knew what I had to do but I wanted to make sure you couldn’t talk me out of it.  I had to be sure.  You understand that. I’m sorry about your mouth.  It was the only way I could be sure. “She looked down, moved her hand to the knife, and picked it up.

Erik’s gaze was locked, unblinking onto the knife.  From the moment she touched it, it became the only real thing in the room.  She walked over to him slowly, holding the knife gently by its handle, like a feather.

She stood in front of him, the knife raised.  She looked at it for a long time and then to him. “You may wonder why I’m naked.” She nodded. “When I was remembering it all I realized the one thing you never criticized or complained about was this..” She gestured towards her naked body with the knife. “You never complained about my body. You were always complementary.  You got a lot of pleasure with my body. We both did. I got a lot of pleasure from yours.” She looked back at the knife. “That’s why I wanted to be naked.  I wanted you to see it one more time. Before I mean.  After I do what I have to do, you won’t be able to.” She looked back into his eyes. “Not my body. Not any body.”

The knife seemed to move of its own volition. First up in front of her face where she carefully examined it, first one side and then the other. It moved down to the left side of his head, just below the jaw line. Erik began to involuntary make a kind of muffled “Uhhhhhh uhhhh” sound that seemed to rise in pitch as the knife came closer to his face. He moved his head away as far as he could.

She brought her other hand to the right side of his face and began to gently push his face back to the left. “Careful.” She said softly. “It’s very sharp.”

Erik forced himself to move his gaze from the knife to her eyes.  He found them empty of hate or anger.  Her eyes contained only gentleness, love, and compassion.  For an instant, he thought it would be ok.

Her eyes did not change as she brought the knife, blade up, to the side of his face and scraped it upwards slowly, as if shaving him. She did one side and then the other. His breathing was quick and shallow. He tried to force his eyes closed and found that he could not.

She knelt down.  Erik grunted with effort as he vainly tried to close his spread legs. She looked at his eyes, smiled, and shook her head.  With her left hand she gently took the head of his very flaccid penis and stretched it towards her. Erik began making the “Uhhhhh uhhhh” sound again. It became much louder when she placed the blade of the knife at the root of his penis and gently scraped it forward to the head.  She moved the blade very slowly. The tension and fear just very nearly caused Erik to faint.

She slowly rose and looked into his fearful eyes.  Her left hand reached out and gently touched his face. Her voice was very soft.

“Don’t worry Erik.  The knife isn’t for you. It’s for me.” She gently and almost demurely smiled and turned away. Erik watched, confused and somehow even more terrified as she crossed the room to her chair. She sat and looked at him for a few seconds.

She then sat back, closed her eyes, and took several slow, deep breaths. Her eyes slowly and her face was empty and grim as she looked at him. Her voice was flat and expressionless. “This is the hard part. For me and for you.” Her face softened and her head cocked just slightly to the left. “Despite appearances, harder for you than for me, I think”.

She sat back and spread her legs. She turned her gaze down and with her left hand, took hold of her left labia lip. Her concentration was fierce as she stretched it out. She began to breath in through her nose and out through her mouth rhythmically as she reached down with the knife and began to sever the extended labia as closely as she could. Her brow furrowed as she continued.

At first, Erik watched in disbelief.  Then he closed his eyes as if that would erase the horrific reality. He heard the hard intake and outtake of her breath as she continued her self mutilation. He heard her breath slow and become normal and a soft plop sound as she dropped the wet, severed skin into the pail.  He shook his head, unthinking.

He heard her breath change and knew she had resumed.  After a time he heard her breath relax and another soft plop into the pail.  Her breath was oddly both relaxed and labored.  It seemed to last for a long time before changing into the terrible rhythmical intake and outtake. Her breathing suddenly changed into a cry, a sharp shriek of pain. Erik shook his head and willed his eyes to stay closed.  Her breath was quick and shallow. Slowly her breath slowed and became more relaxed and regular.

Erik labored, but his will finally broke.

He opened his eyes.

He had thought that knowing what she had done..knowing it..understanding it, would somehow prepare him.

The sight, the harsh, bloody, and unknowable horror of what she had done brought his mind to the very brink of madness. He looked up at her face.

Her eyes were closed and her concentration on her breathing was fierce, fighting the pain with a terrible and determined concentration.

She looked down, opened her eyes, and quickly looked away from what she had done. Looking at her knees, her voice was shaky and ragged. “That was hard. Very hard” She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breath.

A wry, weak smile grew on her lips. “But really…” she said, raising her eyes to his.

“That was the easy part.” She said.

Erik felt a growing, unfocussed terror rising within him.

The smile left her face as she switched the knife to her left hand, looked down, and slightly to the right. Her right hand took hold of the front of her right breast, at the root of the nipple, and raised it up slightly.  Her breathing became the same rhythmical harsh grate as she brought the knife blade to her chest under the breast and began to saw into the soft flesh.

Erik closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. “Anything. Anything” He thought. “Anything would be better than this.” He screamed internally. He wished. Part of him begged.  Better for her to have sliced his face to ribbons. Better for her to have cut off his dick and stuffed it into his severed throat. Anything would be better.

He kept his eyes closed, listening to her harsh breath for what seemed like forever.

Finally her breathing became relaxed.  He did not open his eyes.  He heard a much louder sound as something was dropped into the pail.  He shook his head.

Again her breathing changed and something, some realization, image, or sound pushed Erik’s mind too far.  He passed out.

He woke with his head down, not initially remembering where he was.  Horrible realization rushed in the he clamped his eyes closed and listened.

He heard nothing.  No…something.  Breathing.  Very soft.

He opened his eyes and slowly carefully looked up.

Francine had slumped back in her chair, her head lolling off to the right side. She was breathing softly and slowly.  He forced his gaze to her chest.

There was a hideous circle of gore where her right breast used to be. Both hands hung loose at her sides.  The knife was lodged halfway through the left breast.

Erik reasoned that she had fainted from the pain.

He looked around.  Nothing he could do. He waited.

After half an hour his eyes drooped and he slept from sheer exhaustion.

He was awakened by her breath. Looking up, he saw her body shake and quiver. Her breath seemed to catch and pause. Finally the shaking stopped and so did her breath.

No movement.

No sound.

A new terror found its way into his heart.

He closed his eyes and shook his head.

They will come. He thought.  Someone will come. He once again looked around the small room and waited.

Francine had pre-paid the rent for the climate-controlled storage unit for an entire year.

She had done the same for every unit that was adjacent to the sides, above, and below.

The police found the bodies seven months, two weeks, and six days later, after several workers and customers had complained about the smell.