What if a loving couple answered the door, their arms wrapped around each other, smooching?
Mostly though, I was more scared of what Brad might do if he found out about me and his wife. It was better for all if I just flew back to Canada and stayed there. In the end, I chickened out about confronting Ronni, as was my signature or MO when it came to dealing with women. I headed towards the airport, relieved to be avoiding an explosive threesome.
I was again on a flight back to Canada, my doomsday flight. I sat slumped in first class, imagining Ronni waiting for me at a restaurant, looking at her watch, her face red with embarrassment.
I munched on airline peanuts practicing what I would have said. “Hello, Ronni, I’m your ex-husband’s brother. You do not know me, but you do know me. We have shared many intimate, loving moments. The sex was good and the company. We have a lot in common, sort of. Well, Brad for one.”
Yeah, I was creative. I mixed my own AMFs on the plane, a miniature each of rum, tequila, gin, and vodka mixed with a splash of 7-Up in a water bottle. There was no Blue Curacao liqueur on the plane so I made do with Triple Sec which is a Curacao liqueur only clear in color, nothing a few drops from a blue fountain pen wouldn’t fix, if you’re drunk enough to not mind the taste of ink. There was no Sweet and Sour Mix either but a hard sourball candy shoved in the bottle substituted.
“Adios, Ronni,” I toasted and swallowed my fourth AMF, which became a hallucinogenic. Ronni actually appeared on my lap on the plane.
“I want you to get to know me, the real me, not the pretender to my brother’s marriage,” I slurred at her.
“I do know the real you,” she moaned and wiggled her butt against me, pushing her rump into my crotch.
I grabbed her hips, pushing her more tightly against me until the throbbing became so painful I felt like drilling her on the airplane seat, regardless of the other passengers.
My fingers slipped beneath her skit. "What do you like?" I groaned in her ear and kicked off my shoes.
She began to unbuckle my belt, flicking her tongue in my ear and whispering, “Having out-of-this-world makeup sex on a plane could get us arrested, Brad.”
The plane hit some turbulence and pouf, Ronni vanished.
A flight attendant, a burly male, handed me my shoe. “Throw your shoe across the aisle again, and I’ll deck you,” he said, showing me a hairy fist.
I shoved my chin at him, egging him on to hit me. Even the imaginary Ronni called me Brad! She probably stomped out of the restaurant by now, a place where I would have shown her that I was not such a bad guy. But now...now....Crap! I should have called her instead of standing her up. Come on, hit me, but the flight attendant refused to beat me up. I ordered another miniature, yelling at him to “Mind your own business. I’m not frigging drunk!”
Then it hit me with sobriety that surely an annulment must take awhile. Brad must have pulled a few strings.
Yeah, it happens. I never said that my brother was not connected.
Chapter 55
JAYDEN
Brad seemed genuinely happy to see me. “Let me buy you a drink,” he offered. “There is a bit of a delay for both our flights.”
I dragged my feet to a bar where we both ordered drinks.
“How did it go with Vanessa? She must not have given you much trouble,” I said.
“Vanessa is an angel,” he answered.
“How did you manage to get an annulment so fast?”
Brad cleared his throat. “The U.S. Embassy helped pull some strings for me.”
“I didn’t know the embassy ever got involved in marital disputes.”
“When was the last time you went to your embassy for help?” he said, sounding defensive.
“Never.”
“I rest my case. Do not look so glum, you are a single man again. Let me buy you another drink. Ah, come on, you have time for one more, who knows when we will see each other again, brother. You’re going home to your empty house and I’m going home to my loving wife.” He locked his eyes with mine and I tried hard not to squirm. I looked away first and finished off my drink, coughing and choking because I drank so fast.
Brad patted me on the back and then rubbed my shoulders. “So did Ronni ever talk about me?” he said.
“Talk about you? Ronni thought I was you, bro. Why would she talk about you to me?”
“O-kay,” he said, as in have it your way. “Ronni thought you were her husband the whole time you were sleeping in my bed, didn’t she?”
“Your bed has got a loose spring that poked me in the middle of the night right here.” I rubbed my lower back.
“Really, I’m surprised you didn’t find a more comfortable bed then to sleep in while you were living in my house.” Brad smiled coldly.
“I suppose I could have slept in the guest room,” I mumbled.
“There are two guest rooms.” Brad banged his empty glass on the table. He stood up to leave. “I’m glad you told me about the loose spring. I’ll be sure and sleep with my wife tonight.”
I spilled my drink, the whiskey splashing across the rim of the glass.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m sick to death of separate bedrooms and decided to give it a go with Ronni again. I forgot how good she is in bed.”
I raised the glass of AMF to my lips.
“Your hands are shaking,” he commented.
“Well, I’ve had too much to drink.”
“I wonder why.” He crashed his glass of AMF against my glass. “Have a good flight.” Brad grabbed me by the neck, and kissed my lips.
Yeah, I saw The Godfather movies—sleep with the fishes, Jayden.
“Hey,” I yelled at his back, “you’re limping.”
He turned and chuckled. “I kept my promise to you and got kicked for my efforts.” He waved and disappeared through the gate to board his plane to Austin.
I had no right to be upset. Brad had every right to sleep with his wife.
With a wet paper towel, I wiped my pale face that stared back at me from the bathroom mirror. Better get back to Canada, Jayden. You have patients to see.
I lay back against the plane seat, closed my eyes, and tried to sleep, but all I could see was Ronni’s face.
Chapter 56
JAYDEN
Vanessa’s pink Porsche was parked in my garage. So Brad dumped her—not by a long shot.
There was an eerie silence in the house.
Maybe she is meditating, I thought.
“Vanessa?” I hollered out.
There was no answer.
Perhaps her car could not start and a friend took her home.
In the den, a talking Toy Story Woody bobblehead doll wiggled its head from a fan hitting it, causing the head to talk, saying repeatedly, “This town ain’t big enough for the two of us.”
I snorted, Brad and his jokes.
There was a faint sound of music playing from the master bedroom.
I pushed open the door and flicked on the light.
What the...?
I swayed on my feet holding a hand to my stomach. Oh, God! No. No.
Vanessa lay on the floor soaked in a pool of blood. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling. The killer had spread her mouth into a gruesome mask to make it look as if she was laughing.
The murderer had spread her arms above her head. In each hand, he placed a heart-shaped pillow, in her left a pillow with the name Vanessa stitched on it and in her right hand a pillow with the name Jayden. The killer had stabbed the Jayden pillow and some of the cotton was in Vanessa’s hair.
A video played on the television set hanging on my bedroom wall. The video was of Brad standing over Vanessa’s dead body. He had set up a camera on a tripod and filmed himself stabbing her repeatedly. He was bare-chested.
Brad killed Vanessa in the kitchen and she screamed, dragging her body across the floor, trying to get away from him.
Oh, God, in the video she is screaming my name!
Brad smiled for the camera as he li
fted the dead Vanessa in his arms. He carried her into the bedroom, leaving bloody footsteps.
He then clothed her in her wedding dress.
He went to the closet, got a shirt, and put it on, leaving the shirt unbuttoned.
He walked closer to the camera, pointing to the initials on the shirt, moving in for a closeup. The initials on the shirt were mine!
Brad flipped off the camera, a subtle message for me.
Music accompanied the video, a song playing repeatedly on the DVD player—a song from the album Make Them Die Slowly by a group named White Zombie. The song was called Revenge and the lyrics blared:
Revenge is better than love.
Frankenstein was built for you.
But he must be destroyed.
Cut him down yeah in his prime.
And let the party begin.
Police sirens wailed down the street, and I grabbed a red Spiderman mask from a dresser drawer. I was adlibbing it—the killer in the video was my identical twin.
I pulled the mask over my face and ran to the car.
I roared out of the driveway, with me disguised as Spiderman behind the wheel.
If I could make it to the ferry and across to Seattle, there might be a chance. My passport and wallet were still in the car in my carryon bag.
I pressed the pedal to the medal.
I had no clue what to do once I reached Seattle, drive to Austin, and kill Brad probably.
August 27, 2015
BRAD
OH, MY GOD, ONLY IN CANADA! Not only are police cars chasing my brother, but Mounties on horseback clip clop across the highway, adding to the sound effects of a television at the Austin Airport. “Sh,” I tell the crowd standing near the screen. “I’m listening to this.”
A female broadcaster is speaking on CNN: “This is the most bizarre police chase since OJ. A live feed from Victoria, British Columbia, Canada shows a man wearing a Spiderman mask speeding in a Mercedes. He is believed to be Dr. Jayden Tremblay, a suspect in the murder of his newlywed, pregnant wife.”
Really brother, Spidey, an arachnid is the best you can do?
During my stints in Canada, I never once saw a Mountie. Seeing some in red now bouncing in the saddle, wearing Smokey the Bear hats, and going after my brother, is like a dream come true.
Only you could have prevented this forest fire, Jayden!
A Mountie is pointing some sort of staff at my brother’s car, like a pool stick. Pow! The Mountie is going to scratch my brother into a corner pocket.
Jayden’s flight from justice must have interrupted a parade. The Mounties are all carrying staffs. They are going to beat Jayden to death with sticks.
Jayden, having grown up on a farm, is a horse lover. Dumb ass slams on the brakes rather than slamming his car into a horse. Really, and he was so close to jumping his car onto the ferry and escaping to Seattle.
Mounties quickly surround Jayden and then shove him up against his car with two guns pointed at his face. They unmask him and arrest him for murder.
A fat mustachioed detective spins my brother around and frisks him while his partner, a big-bosomed woman with sideburns reads Jayden his Canadian arrest rights.
They cuff him and drag Jayden over to a Victoria black and white police car.
My brother’s white face stares out of the window in shock.
Okay, the fun is over. I have proven to Jayden that I am a man of honor and a promise is a promise. I vowed to rid him of an unwanted woman. I have kept my word and he must now face the consequences.
I grab Jayden’s leather bag from the luggage carousel. The bag contains a souvenir from Canada, a bloody knife. Quick, I rip off the paper identification the airline slapped on the bag with my name on it.
I sling the bag across my shoulder and pop my earplugs back in. I swagger towards the airport exit, feeling pretty good about myself, while listening to some lyrics from my new favorite song Revenge by White Zombie.
Another cosmic monster spits his teeth in your eye.
More dead than alive.
Revenge is better than love.
* * *
Part Seven: Oh, the Web We Weave
Chapter 57
RONNI
Mr. Hyde is back with a vengeance, and I am too scared to ask any more questions about the bloody knife in the travel bag Brad brought home from his recent trip.
He slouches in the den his brooding face staring at the television like a zombie. He drums his fingers on his head, mumbling to himself and then barking at me or Traci. He eats in, mostly TV dinners, leaving the empty trays in the sink for me to throw away, the hypocrite—he screamed at Traci for leaving a toy in the den. He threw Pussy against the wall for leaving cat hair on the carpet. My daughter’s hair is thinning and so am I; my belt buckle has a new hole poked with a screwdriver.
This morning in the basement while helping me sort the clothes for the wash, Traci pats my hand. “Don’t worry, Mommy, he’ll be back.”
“Who’ll be back, Traci?”
“My daddy.”
“Your daddy didn’t go anywhere, honey. Your daddy is in the den reading the morning paper.”
Traci vigorously shakes her head no. “My daddy will come back with more flowers. Daddy left his clothes, see.” Traci points to a white shirt on top of the laundry basket.
Someone else’s initials are on the white shirt. Besides, Brad’s initials are never stitched on his shirts, his towels yes, because he does not want anyone using his towels.
Traci caresses with her finger the letters JT.
“J T,” I mumble. J might stand for Jayden, the name Brad called out in his sleep last night claiming he was Jayden. JT could stand for Jayden Tremblay, the same name on Brad’s travel bag, the one with the bloody knife. The name had a Victoria, British Columbia address.
The color drains from my face—the shirt has specks of blood!
Oh, my God! There is a pair of jeans stuffed in the washing machine with blood on the legs, lots of blood.
Traci spins in the direction of the basement stairs and says, “Come on, Victoria.”
“What did you say, Traci?”
“About what, Mommy?”
“Why did you say Victoria? Why would you say that name, Traci?” It feels as if a spider dances up my spine as I wait for her answer.
“Oh, Victoria is the name of the baby seal daddy gave me. See.” She holds up a stuffed white seal.
I am chasing goblins and laugh self-consciously—Brad is limping. He must have cut his leg or stabbed himself while cutting a steak, hence the blood on his pants.
“So your seal is a girl, Traci? How did you figure that out?” I smile at Traci. She has such an imagination.
Traci shrugs her shoulders.
“Then why name your seal Victoria?”
“That’s her name, Mommy. See.” Traci pushes her seal at me and points to a tag hanging from the rear: Victoria Airport.
The laundry room spins around me. Brad never said he had business in Canada. True, nowadays with the internet one does not have to physically travel to purchase stuffed animals from other countries. However, another curiosity is the travel bag with the words Air Canada embossed on the leather and in the little plastic window the name Jayden Tremblay with a Victoria address.
Perhaps Brad picked up the wrong bag at the airport.
Traci skips up the basement stairs.
I continue separating the wash and empty several of Brad’s pants pockets. There are crumpled tissues, chewing gum wrappers, the occasional change and a prophylactic or two that irritates me. I never minded Brad’s in-case-I-get-lucky rubbers before but we actually had a physical relationship for about three months. I am more furious with myself than with Brad for trusting him.
A pair of Brad’s Levis has a picture in the pocket. My jaw drops open at a photo of two Brads. There is a bronze Rocky statue in the background, proving the picture was taken in Philadelphia. Two men are standing, one on each side of the statue. One man is a happ
y-go-lucky, carefree Brad. The other Brad looks a bit more serious. One Brad wears a dark blue shirt. The other Brad is dressed in a yellow shirt. One Brad wears a wedding ring. The other Brad’s ring finger is naked. One Brad is laughing, and the other Brad is sort of looking at the camera in surprise.
One of the Brads has the look of the man I have been married to for over six years. He appears cocky and cruel around the mouth with a defiant look in his eyes as if the world owes him. The other man has a more sensitive mouth, kinder eyes, less cockiness, and a caring demeanor about him.
One man appears to be a dark soul and the other man a light soul. Jekyll and Hyde.
“What are you looking at?” Brad stands behind me and I nearly jump out of my skin. He was quiet walking down the basement stairs, as if he tiptoed to sneak up on me.
It is suddenly freezing in here, and goosebumps erupt on my skin. “This picture was in your pocket.”
Brad snatches the photo from my cold fingers and grasps the picture so tightly, a fold forms at the end. He stares intently at the photo, appearing sad. “Remember how I always wanted to clone myself?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I did.”
The news recently bragged about successful cloning of sheep, kittens, etc. and claimed even human embryos have been cloned. The embryos were then destroyed after producing stem cell lines. Even embryo cloning has not been used for reproduction purposes and of course, a man cannot clone himself as a full-grown man.
“You’re joking, Brad.”
“Do I look like I’m laughing, Ronni? The cloning was done with computer software,” he confesses. “Two of me was superimposed in this picture at the medical conference in Philly where a company demonstrated the technology.”
“Well, it’s not really cloning then. It’s a trick.”
My comment starts a fit of giggles. Brad doubles over with laugher. “A trick. Good one, Ronni. It was a trick.” He wipes tears of laughter from his eyes, looking happier than I have seen him in a long time.
Dishonor Thy Wife Page 20