The Tragedy Man: A Serial Killer Thriller

by Staci Layne Wilson

  Then he started to cry.

  Diana and Marlisa were already at the breakfast table drinking coffee when Cary came downstairs the next morning.

  "Good morning," Marlisa said coolly. Everything in her face and posture told him she had heard him last night.

  Diana said nothing, but Cary noticed the blonde wicker picnic basket all ready to go sitting by her feet. Cary thought she might have decided to ignore the whole thing but on the other hand, she might just be waiting to get him alone before laying into him. He cringed at the thought; he deserved every horrible thing she was thinking about him. He knew that. But how could he explain? He had no idea why he had done what he did.

  Cary had spent the whole night thinking about it. He could have killed Diana. Of course, what he had done was not unheard of. He knew there were certain people with the fetish of sexual asphyxia. It was supposed to enhance the climax of the person whose blood supply to the brain was being altered...but it sometimes killed them, too. That was the ultimate climax, Cary thought humorously. But just because other people had a sick twist, why should he all of a sudden develop it? Diana obviously hadn't enjoyed it, either. He was nauseous with worry and guilt, wondering how he could possibly explain his actions.

  Not the least of his worries was Marlisa. He knew she must have heard him, moaning and crying out with the selfish abandon of an animal in heat. Then the retching and vomiting...he wanted to hide under a rock. He decided he had no choice but to take the path of least resistance and just pretend it hadn't happened.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Moon," he said, mustering a jovial smile. "Hi, sweetie," he bent down to kiss Diana and couldn't help noticing how she almost recoiled at his touch.

  "I'm going to get started on my cleaning now," Marlisa said. The animosity coming from Diana was almost palpable. She got up and went into the kitchen, where she kept her cleaning supplies. She passed through the room again and said, "See you two later."

  Diana rolled her eyes skyward, looking at Cary. She picked up the picnic basket and got up from her chair. Cary was still standing. "Let's go," she said flatly.

  Cary followed her through the solarium and out into the backyard. Diana marched ahead of him, her back straight and her shoulders held stiffly. Cary had never, ever, seen her so angry. He couldn't help glancing over the tops of the hedges as he passed. There was no dog in the neighbor's yard, nor evidence of one.

  Suddenly, Cary realized that he had forgotten to take his antacid...he would definitely be needing it. "Just a minute," he said to Diana's back. "I forgot something in my room." She did not stop or even slow down.

  Cary raced in through the solarium, through the sitting room, up the stairs and into his lodgings. He grabbed his medicine from of his overnight bag and raced back downstairs. Marlisa looked up sharply from her dusting as he ran by her but didn't say anything.

  Luckily, Diana had eventually stopped for him. Cary ran to her side and she immediately started off again without acknowledging him in any other way. After about ten minutes of walking--Cary jogging at times to keep up with Diana's purposeful stride--they made it to the lake. Diana set the picnic basket down beneath a jacaranda tree and opened it. She extracted a checkered table cloth and laid it out over the wild grass. Still saying nothing, she began to take the bread and fruit out of the basket. That done, she sat cross-legged on the ground and stared out across the lake, still not acknowledging Cary's presence. She wasn't making it easy for him.

  Cary sat beside her, but not too close. He picked up a piece of bread and began to butter it with the elegant silver blunt-knife Marlisa had packed. As his hands worked, he said quietly, "I'm so sorry about last night. I don't know why I did it." He laughed softly and added, "Maybe the devil made me do it."

  Diana, still focusing on the lake, said, "That is not funny. You have a problem." A single tear trailed her peachy cheek, but she did not actually cry.

  Did the tear stand for anger? Was it for pity? Sadness? Cary wondered with worry. "I don't think so," he said carefully. "I don't think it's really me. You know how I've always been. I've never done anything even close to that! The pressure is just catching up with me. The lack of sleep."

  "Lack of sleep!" Diana spat. "Lack of sleep?" she repeated incredulously as she turned to face him. "I think the problem goes far beyond lack of sleep, my dear." Her face was flushed almost as pink as the pastel short-sleeved sweater she wore and her hair was dull and mussed, as though she hadn't even bothered to comb it.

  "You're right," Cary said miserably. "I don't know why I did what I did, and I don't know why I've been acting so strange lately."

  "That's putting it mildly," Diana interjected venomously. "It hasn't been easy living with you. At first, I thought maybe you were punishing me for breaking up with you, but it really didn't make sense. You said you forgave me, and I believed you."

  "It wasn't that. It's nothing you've done. It's me. All me," Cary said miserably.

  Diana nodded and went on. "Yes, I figured that out after a while. At first you were just really pessimistic and didn't want to do anything. Sometimes you were like that before I married Dick, so I should have expected it. Then the nightmares began, and then the mood swings came. And now...well, now you seem like a completely different person." Diana's lower lip trembled, but she took a deep breath and composed herself. "You are not only paranoid, you're rude and hurtful, too," she cocked her head, changing gears. "But then again, you might be sweet and funny, too. From one minute to the next, I never know if I'm going to facing Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde."

  Wow, I thought I was holding myself together better than that. "I really don't have any excuses, but I do have a few things to say in my defense. First of all, I have been the target of some strange fan...I didn't want to worry you, but there's more to it than just the photographs."

  Diana started to interject, but Cary put up a finger to silence her. "This person is really screwing with my head." Either that, or it's all in my screwed-up head. "It hasn't been easy, but I can deal with it." He threw his hands up in the air. "If only it was that alone! I've been undergoing incredible stress over the success of my book, and yet having to apologize for it at every turn. I can't even enjoy my triumph. And it is a triumph. I'm a bestselling author. Do you know how many writers dream of that? But I can't enjoy it. Not only is my book a piece of trash," he spat, "but Carousel won't even let me talk about writing another kind of book. Susan Montgomery hasn't even called me since that initial time when I first got in from the tour. That's not good," he took a deep breath and continued, looking Diana intently in her brown eyes.

  "Well, I've come to a decision. I don't care what they say. I'm through with them. I'm going to write the book I have always wanted to write, and to hell with them. I'm going to write for me for a change--not to please the public, not to pacify a greedy agent, or line some publisher's pockets."

  Diana was confused. She thought Cary had already made that decision some time ago. "That's good, Cary. Honestly, I am happy that you've come to that decision. I think it will help a lot. But I don't think it can erase the pain you've caused me. That's not to say I'm ready to give up on you yet, but let's talk about you and me some more."

  Yet? Cary didn't like the way she was talking. He was ready to propose marriage, and she was ready to walk away. "Okay, that's what we're doing. Now, I'd also like to bring up the point that I did go to the doctor. He found nothing wrong with me."

  "Maybe you went to the wrong kind of doctor," Diana said softly.

  "Maybe," Cary agreed after a short pause.

  Diana was right; who was he to judge his own mental state? Maybe seeing a therapist or even a psychiatrist wasn't such a bad thing. Millions of people did it every day. "I'm so sorry for everything. The last thing I want to do is lose you. Can't you understand that? You're my whole life." He was unable to stop the tears once they started. He was so ashamed of his behavior, but he didn't know how to stop it.

  Damn. He's crying, Diana thought. How could I have b
een so insensitive? He's just been crying out for help and I'm ready to dump him. She turned to Cary and put her arms around him. "It's okay," she said softly, her own voice breaking a little. "I'm not going anywhere. I just wanted you to see yourself as I've been seeing you."

  It wasn't a pretty picture, Cary had to admit. And she didn't even know the half of it. She must never know...he could not bear to reveal the things he had been thinking to her, or anyone else. He hoped that a psychiatrist could help him, even if he didn't tell all. But what if the psychiatrist made him? What if they hypnotized him? What then? He pictured a Nazi standing over him saying, "Vee have vays of making you talk..." He smiled to himself. At least he hadn't lost his sense of humor, such as it was.

  He turned to Diana. He was going to go for it. "Diana, I was going to wait to ask you this, but now seems right." He took her hand in his. "Diana, I want you to marry me."

  Maybe a month ago she would have said yes. Maybe even yesterday...before last night. But now, although she was determined to stick by him, it didn't seem right. She knew they would get married someday, but she wanted Cary to get help first. "I don't know what to say," she adjusted her clothing, squirming. "You know I want to be your wife." She looked into his pale gray, bloodshot eyes. "But I want our marriage to be a happy event. I'm not happy right now, and I don't think you are, either."

  "It's the sex, isn't it? I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me. I promise--no, I swear on my mother's grave--I won't do that ever again."

  "The sex?" Diana blurted. "Do you really think I'm that shallow? Haven't you been listening to a word I've said?"

  Diana couldn't stay another moment. She got up and ran back toward the house, leaving Cary and the picnic sundries behind. She had to get to the house. Its spires loomed in the distance and it looked so very far away. Diana ran and ran, only dimly aware of Cary's voice calling after her. She had to get into her bedroom, shut the door and think. If only she could confide in her mother. She desperately needed someone to talk to, but there was no one.

  Diana raced into the solarium, then immediately slowed down. She mustn't let her mother know that anything more was wrong.

  She walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water but didn't see her mother around. "Mother?" she called. "I'm back." She really didn't want to see her mother just now, but she knew that simply running to her room and slamming the door closed would be met with disapproval to say the least.

  There was no reply. Diana got her glass of water, then went through the dining room and into the sitting room. Marlisa was there in the sitting room, with a feather duster in her hand. But she wasn't dusting.

  She was on the floor lying on her back, her face fixed in a stiff grimace.

  Chapter 11

  Cary reached the house shortly after Diana. He made a beeline to the sitting room, almost as though drawn by instinct.

  He saw Marlisa Moon sprawled on the floor, one hand clutching a feather duster, the other balled into a fist on her chest. Her face was a mask of horror. Marlisa's bulging eyes were fixed and her lips were a sickly looking purple. Cary knew instantly that she was dead and beyond any hope of revival.

  Diana was crouching over her. "Mother?" she mewled softly, as though Marlisa was just asleep. Cary walked up behind her and bent down to touch her shoulder. Diana startled, and whipped around to face Cary.

  They stood there, staring at each other for a moment, then Diana let go of a strangled sob and threw her arms around Cary's waist. Tentatively, he put his arms around her as she cried.

  The next day Cary and Diana sat in the local mortuary, discussing Marlisa's funeral arrangements with the Director, Eidigg Graves. Marlisa had not made any provisions in advance, and Cary, trying to assuage his guilt over all the distress he had caused, was paying for the whole thing.

  Diana, being the only child, would of course inherit the house. But there was little actual money. Marlisa, though surrounded in opulence, had simply lived frugally off the pension her late husband's veteran's benefits allowed her, plus whatever the elderly Moons sent her at the holidays. The antiques were definitely worth money, but Diana hadn't yet decided whether she would sell them and the house, or neither.

  Graves, aside from his apropos name, also fit the stereotype of the creepy mortician that spooky legends were made of: he was tall and bone-thin, about seventy years of age with threadlike, yellow-white hair, and had a long, morose face. To complete the look, he wore an old-fashioned faded black suit and dusty, scuffed black patent-leather shoes. He moved very deliberately, and chose his words carefully, speaking with just the right mix of familiar sympathy and stiff professionalism.

  "As requested, the body shall lay in state for three days and the service will allow an open casket so that dear Mrs. Moon's many friends may say good-bye to her properly," Graves said quietly as he rustled through the paperwork. "You may contact me with a list of the persons whom you wish to attend the services and funeral, and I will take care of everything."

  "Thank you," Diana said softly from behind her sunglasses. She knew Graves probably saw puffy-eyed, tearful people all the time, but the truth was, they were for her benefit. She felt better looking at the world through the dim, smoky lenses. The thought of light, sunshine and bright colors sickened her.

  Cary held Diana's hand, as he had almost constantly since the previous morning when she had discovered the body.

  It had been a blurry nightmarish whirlwind; it seemed like weeks had passed, not just a single day, since the discovery. First Cary had given Diana one of his sedatives, then called Marlisa's personal physician after finding his number by the telephone in the kitchen. Dr. Kolter had come over immediately, and officially pronounced her dead. Since she had not died while under his care, he arranged for an autopsy as well. After Marlisa's body was removed later that afternoon, Cary woke Diana. He'd made her a nice, strong cup of tea and brought one of her mother's homemade scones to her. Tears continually ran in rivulets down her cheeks as she dutifully ate and drank. Then she'd lain down again and gone to sleep.

  Cary was fascinated by her behavior; when his own parents had died, he'd felt nothing. Nothing except disappointment that he would never be able to show them when he became a world-famous playwright. Of course, like them, that dream had died long ago, too.

  Diana had slept all through the night. Cary hadn't been able to sleep himself, so he busied himself by watching television and checking on Diana every hour.

  Thankfully, he was spared from any hallucinations or warped phantasms. In fact, he didn't think about them. He felt quite content having the run of the house, and even jotted a few ideas down for his novel.

  The next morning, Diana awoke looking as though she hadn't slept at all. Her skin was sallow and she had dark circles beneath her eyes. Her hair was lank and her shoulders were hunched over. She said little, but the tears at last were gone. She seemed to accept the reality of her mother's death and forged on with the arrangements.

  She called Marlisa's doctor, who in turn called the morgue and found out from the coroner that Marlisa had died of a heart attack. The coroner surmised from the expression on her face that some fright had brought it on. Perhaps she'd fallen from the step-ladder while dusting. He released the body to Graves Mortuary at noon. At 4:00 P.M. Diana and Cary were sitting in Mr. Graves' office going over the details of Marlisa's funeral with him.

  "My deepest sympathies are with you," Mr. Graves intoned solemnly as they got up to leave.

  And my deepest pockets are with you, Cary thought darkly as he rose and stuffed the itemized invoice into the breast pocket of his jacket.

  That night Diana went through the names and addresses in her mother's telephone book and realized just how little she knew about her mother's life. Which ones were close and which ones were acquaintances? Were there some special friends whose numbers she had memorized and not put in the book? Diana decided to call the pastor at Marlisa's church and ask him if he could help.

  Meanwhile, Cary was feelin
g impatient and uncomfortable. He wanted to be there for Diana when she needed him most, but she'd seemed to turn away from him now more than ever before. She immersed herself in funeral arrangements and all but forgot him. Cary spent most of his time reading and sleeping in the time that led up to the funeral. He was bored, but in a way, he welcomed the lack of excitement...it seemed his nightmares and hallucinations had finally gone for good.

  On the day of the funeral Cary had to rent a black suit because he hadn't brought one with him. Diana wore the dress her mother had worn to her father's funeral. At noon they got into the burgundy BMW and drove wordlessly to the cemetery.

  The memorial service and viewing had been held the night before in the church. Cary had been afraid to look at Marlisa's dead face. Afraid that perhaps her eyes would snap open and she would have feasting maggots writhing in the black sockets...or perhaps he would see a ligature around her throat...blood dribbling from her grimacing mouth.

  But he saw nothing at all like that. What Cary had seen when he looked down in the open casket had been the serene countenance of a very pretty woman. Cary wondered with morbid curiosity how they had managed to erase the expression of horror she had worn the last time he'd seen her.

  Cary parked the car at the top of the hill in the cemetery's lot and then helped Diana from the car. She was silent as she stepped onto the pavement. Her eyes were hidden by the ever-present dark sunglasses and her face was further obscured by the black netted veil of her pillbox hat. She took Cary's arm and they walked into the graveyard together. There were already a few people milling about the graveside and the casket was there, but the pastor had not yet arrived. Cary stole a glance at his watch; the funeral wasn't scheduled for another fifteen minutes yet.

  The cemetery was very quiet that morning. Sherwood Heights was a small town and the cemetery was small as well. Cary looked with interest at the few crypts with exquisitely carved stone gargoyles and cherubs stationed at the entrances, poised in flight as though protecting their domains from evil-doers. Cary had seen a horror movie once in which gargoyles on an ancient castle had come to life. The gargoyles killed everyone in the village. He stared intently at one of the stone creatures, as though challenging it to flap its wings or turn its scaly eyes his way. It remained as still and lifeless and the shapeless rock it had once been before the sculptor's chisel had struck. Cary's brow furrowed; could his problems really be over, or was this only a brief respite? He was afraid to let himself relax and believe it was really over.