JUSTIFIED

by Danielle James

  “I have money,” Jon replied. “We can go anywhere you want.”

  “I’m supposed to pay you,” she rebutted. “Not the other way around.”

  “But you need some pants that fit,” he argued.

  “No I don’t. I will be going back tomorrow and I won’t need them. I’m perfectly content to run around all day in shorts and a t-shirt. You are not buying me anything and that’s final.”

  Jon shrugged his shoulders. So much for that idea. “Well, we have to go to the grocery store or else there won’t be anything for dinner. Unless you want to go out for dinner?”

  “No, the grocery will be just fine.” Sarah was reverting back into herself again, and Jon wasn’t going to have it. He would have to think of something to get her out of the apartment.

  “Why don’t we call Jenny today?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Jon. I think I’m just going to keep this story for myself. I don’t think anyone wants to read about a woman who kills in cold blood. No one wants to hear my story.”

  “I do,” he said, clearing the dishes off the table.

  Sarah’s head snapped up. The look in her eyes told Jon that she was less than happy about his remark. Why that was, he didn’t understand. But then, he never really had understood women and figured he probably never would.

  Sarah felt something inside her snap. She had been silly to entertain the fantasy that Jon was different from everyone else. He just wanted to know about William. Just like everyone else. What was it about people and hearing a sick, twisted story? Is it like when they passed a car accident and they have to look? Why were people so interested in the morbid? Well, if he really wanted to hear it, she was going to give him what he wanted.

  “You want to know what really happened?” she snapped. “Well then, I will tell you. I’ll tell you the whole bloody fucking story!”

  Jon stood there, mouth gaping as she yelled at him. He hadn’t meant to anger her, but that was exactly what he had done. Sarah launched into her story, wild with all the emotion she had kept so tightly in check for nearly three years.

  TEN

  Two years and five months earlier…

  Sarah had had enough. William was constantly berating her about the condition of the house, the unkempt yard, and the overflowing laundry. He made it perfectly clear that Sarah wasn’t doing her job as a wife. She was tired of hearing about his house, his money, his car. So what if Sarah wasn’t working? So what if she let the housework go? Her son had been buried only a few months and she was depressed. Her whole life had been shattered! It was shattered so badly that she didn’t know if she could ever put it back together again. Couldn’t he see that?

  Sarah had been raised in a family where the father, or husband, worked, and the wife and mother stayed at home. It was old fashioned, but it was rooted deep in Sarah’s mind. Her father had seen to it. She was also raised to believe all money belonged to both parties in the marriage. Not just the one who earned it. Sarah hadn’t taunted William that way when he lost his job and Sarah was forced to work as a waitress to pay the bills. She had simply done what needed to be done in order to survive. The fact that William was ranting all the time and complaining about how Sarah spent his money was growing old on her. Fast.

  When she had finally had enough of his insults and accusations, Sarah snapped. “If you think you can do so much better, why don’t you try paying the bills yourself?” she yelled at him. “I will gladly give you the checkbook and you can figure out who to pay and who not to pay. You can decide how much goes on food or your damn beer!” Sarah knew he wouldn’t do it. He never had and never would.

  “The least you can do is get off your lazy ass and wash the damned laundry!” he snapped back.

  “I don’t feel like doing it,” she said.

  “Of course not!” he countered. “All you do is read. When you’re not reading, you’re writing that stupid book! I don’t know what you think it’s going to accomplish. No one is ever going to publish it. It’s nothing more than a waste of time. And when you read, you shut everyone else out. You won’t talk to me, you won’t talk to anyone.”

  “Maybe there’s a reason I won’t talk to you,” Sarah said in a low voice. “Maybe I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “I swear!” William shouted. “I should have killed you too when I had the chance!” William shouted again as he stomped off into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Sarah was stunned. Killed you too, he had said. Everything Sarah had suspected in the past was now confirmed in her mind. He may just as well confess to killing her son. Sarah had known that William wasn’t overly fond of Jamie shortly after they were married. She thought maybe given time, that he would come around. Apparently not. At first, Sarah was unable to move. Then slowly emotion began to take over. It was a slow simmer that was spreading out and taking over her whole body.

  Sarah made no move to follow her drunken husband to the bedroom. She sat in her chair and picked up her book. She wasn’t really reading it, though. Even though she stared at the printed words through narrow eyes, Sarah was no longer angry. No, she was way past angry. She was so fumed that she had turned calm. Like the eerie calm that settled over the ocean before a wicked storm hit. A very dangerous calm that was just waiting to explode. She was a woman who had been pushed over the edge. She was forming a plan in her mind. A plan that would change her life forever. A plan that would see that justice was served.

  The first part of the plan was set in motion when William hollered for Sarah to bring him another beer. She knew it would eventually happen. It always did. Oh, how she hated when he yelled for her from the back of the house. He was too damned lazy to get up himself and get his own beer. He thought he was so proper and oh so much better than Sarah. He thought she was his serving girl. Well, if he wanted Sarah to get it for him, she would do it.

  It would be the last time.

  She took the can from the refrigerator, opened it, and sat it on the counter. Sarah opened the cabinet where she kept the medicines, and took out a bottle of generic Benadryl. She crushed four of the small pills in her fingers, and then dropped the powder into the can. Given the amount of alcohol in his system, Sarah believed four pills would be more than enough. She stirred it gently with a straw, and then took it to her husband.

  After about thirty minutes, Sarah went back to the bedroom to find William passed out cold on the bed. He was still half sitting up, his chin resting on his chest, a thin line of drool escaped his mouth, and the TV was still on. Smiling to herself, Sarah stretched his body out on the mattress. Many times over the course of their marriage Sarah had to put her husband to bed. He never woke up and this time was no different. He didn’t even crack an eyelid. But this time would be different. Sarah had already been anticipating this and had gathered some useful supplies before coming to the bedroom. Using the bungee cords she found in the tool shed, Sarah bound his wrists and ankles to the bed posts. She wrapped the cords meticulously and tightly, checking to make sure there was no room for wiggle. Then she proceeded to cut his clothes off of his body, making sure that she used his favorite scissors. The ones he spent a ridiculous amount of money on for his upholstery business that never saw one customer. It had been one of his many hair-brained ideas to get out of getting a real job. And he just hated it when Sarah used those scissors for anything! She got a small satisfaction out of using them, knowing she would dull the precious sharp blades.

  When that task was finished, she moved on to the grey duct tape she also found in the shed. Sarah covered his legs, arms, and stomach with strips of the tape. Then, for good measure, she covered his pubic area as well. It wasn’t like he was using it or anything. At least, not with her. He hadn’t touched her in months. The whole time William never stirred. Too much alcohol mixed with allergy medicine had put him out cold. It was just as well. Sarah went about her task with a steady hand and even heartbeat. The dreadful calm stayed with her. She worked methodically and with purpose. When Sarah was done with her
task, she sat beside the bed with her favorite book and waited.

  When William woke, it was nearly dawn. Sarah should have been sleepy beyond any reason. She had been awake for nearly twenty-four hours. But she wasn’t. She was wide awake and still deathly calm. Sarah allowed him to struggle against his restraints for a few minutes before she made her presence known to him by clearing her throat. “Untie me,” he spat at her.

  Sarah shook her head. “What really happened to my son?” she demanded her voice low and placid.

  “I told you already! Now, let me up!” He jerked against his bonds, but Sarah had tied them well.

  “You will tell me the truth,” Sarah demanded. Her voice sounded strange even to her own ears. Creepy even.

  “You bitch,” he spat, “let me up! I will call the fucking cops!

  “Wrong answer,” Sarah said calmly. Of course he would threaten to call the police. That was what he did. He liked calling the cops to snitch on people. Their own next door neighbor had dealt with the police on more than one occasion courtesy of William. It wasn’t a threat that Sarah would heed. He wouldn’t be using the phone, not now, not ever. She reached for a piece of the duct tape on his ankle. She ripped it back with a sharp jerk of her arm, removing it along with the hair that was under it.

  William screeched in pain. “What is wrong with you?”

  “I want the truth. What happened to Jamie?” she replied, still so very calm. She leveled her gaze with his, her eyes expectant, her jaw taut.

  “I don’t know!” Rip, another piece of tape off the other leg. William cursed.

  “We got all day,” Sarah said. “Tell. Me. The. Truth.”

  William wasn’t cooperating. Sarah had removed all the tape from his legs and stomach, questioning him between each strip, until the only tape left surrounded his manhood. “Are you ready to tell me?” she asked, gripping the tape with her fingers, but not really pulling.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say! You crazy bitch! Let me go!”

  Sarah tisked at him with her tongue. “Wrong answer, again,” she smiled. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that it was wrong that she was enjoying causing him pain, but the front of her mind had full control of her actions. Sarah debated a moment on the scene before her, knowing that there was no going back. Then she ripped off the tape.

  William screamed in agony.

  “I did it!” William screamed out. “I stabbed the little brat and then myself to cover it up! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Why?” she cried, her dead calm faltering and the fury that had been pushed deep down inside threatening to bubble over, “Why would you hurt my son?!”

  “I got tired of the little brat not listening to me, I hate the way he talked about his daddy and how great his daddy is and daddy this and daddy that! I hated how he could so easily tell me that I am not his daddy! I hate that he lived and my child was never born!” William tested the strength of his bonds once more without success. “So yeah, I killed the little fucker, and when I get free, I’m going to kill you too, Bitch!”

  Sarah fought back the emotions that tried to take over when he said the words she had known in her heart to be true all along. When she pushed the pain down, something took over in Sarah’s mind. It was a cold, calm, fury. Deadly. She turned slowly to the dresser and picked up a knife that was identical to the one that killed her son. It had a long blade and a simple wooden handle. It felt cold in her hand and weighed heavily on her heart. Her body hummed with her emotions but Sarah was too far gone to notice.

  “I don’t think so,” Sarah said so coldly that she couldn’t recognize the voice as her own. “You won’t be getting up.” Sarah grasped the blade in both hands and raised her arms. The sharp point was hovering over William’s chest. She saw the fear on William’s face half a second before she brought the knife down with all the strength she had in her arms. It pierced his abdomen easily, sliding through the skin and muscle with ease. Sarah jerked it back when she felt it hit the mattress underneath, slinging blood across the bed and her clothing. She raised the knife again. And again. She no longer heard her husband’s painful screams. She no longer saw the blood splattered across the room. She did not see that her bedroom, the room where she once found solace, now resembled a kill floor in a meat processing plant. She didn’t see her bedroom or anything in it. All she could see was Jamie’s innocent face, his sweet, beautiful face. All she could hear was his chiming laughter that this man had so callously taken away from her forever.

  Sarah came to her senses some time later, standing over William’s dead body, knife still in hand. The mattress was shredded and soaked in his blood. The walls were splattered and sticky. A sick, metallic scent filled the air and turned in Sarah’s stomach. The stench of blood. Oh what had she done? There was no wondering who or how this had happened. Sarah knew without a doubt. She then knew just what kind of monster she really was. Horrorstruck by what she had done, Sarah dropped the knife and picked up the phone.

  “I have killed my husband,” she told the 911 operator in the same calm, unfeeling tone she had used with William. “No, I’m sure he’s dead. I’ll wait here.” She snapped her phone shut and sat on the porch to wait for the police.

  ELEVEN

  Jon was stunned into silence. He had known that Sarah had killed William with a knife. He had read the autopsy report. Only, the report said cause of death was blood loss from multiple lacerations. It said nothing about him having been bound and tortured. Sarah had not told the police all of the gory details and so they never made it into the police report. The only thing she had said was that she did it and she would take responsibility for her crime. It amazed Jon that the woman standing in front of him had been capable of so much blind rage.

  “Now you’ve heard my story!” Sarah shouted, still raging. She was shaking from head to toe and tears ran down her face. “You see why I have to stay in prison? I’m a monster! A cold blooded killer! I can’t be trusted to be out in public where I might snap on someone else! You have to take me back. I have to go back right now. I need to go back to where I can’t hurt anyone else.”

  “Sarah,” Jon said as calmly as he could, “You are not a monster.”

  “Yes I am! You have to take me back. You have to take me back right now!”

  Jon closed the distance between them in two strides. He grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to hold her close, but she twisted and slipped free. “No,” she shouted. “I don’t want to hurt you too.” She hid her face behind her hands and turned her back to him.

  “I am not afraid,” he said. Jon grabbed her by the arms, this time harder, and pinned her body against his chest. “I don’t think you could ever really hurt anyone.”

  “Weren’t you listening?” Sarah was struggling to get away from him but Jon held her tight.

  “Yes, and I know exactly how you feel. But Sarah, William pushed you. For years. Then he killed your son. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t have snapped under that kind of stress.” She stopped squirming and began to cry. He kissed the top of her head, and then tipped her chin up so he could see her face. “Sarah, look at me.”

  She reluctantly raised her eyes. “You. Are. Not. A. Monster.”

  Her eyes dropped back down. “I wish I could believe that,” she whispered. Jon let out an exasperated sigh.

  “Oh, Sarah, don’t you see? No one thinks of you that way.”

  “I see the women at the prison. The way they look at me is exactly that way. They keep their distance, stare at me from across the room, and whisper behind my back. Sure, some of them think of me as some kind of hero, but those are the ones who are really sick.”

  “That’s because you let them,” Jon told her. “If you would tell them the truth, they wouldn’t have to make up their own theories.”

  “But I don’t care what they think of me,” Sarah said. “What those women think of me doesn’t amount to a hill of beans as far as I’m concerned.”

  “I think it do
es,” Jon interjected. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “Whatever,” Sarah said flippantly. “Don’t we have things to do today?”

  Jon smiled and released her from his hold. She walked away from him quickly while wiping her eyes. He felt much better now that she was calm and had stopped yelling at him. But really, he knew, she was yelling at herself. He knew she was angry with herself, and until she worked it all out, she would never forgive herself. If it took hours of screaming and crying at Jon, he would endure it. If she needed a punching bag, he would do that too. He would do anything to help her. The truth in that struck him hard. Before his brain could analyze it too much, Jon turned to find his clothes. They had things to do.

  The trip to the grocery store was quick. Sarah didn’t feel right being out in public. It was a common feeling for those who were recently released from incarceration. She had worn her own jeans, secured to her waist by one of Jon’s belts. They picked out enough food to last the weekend and went straight back to Jon’s apartment.