Dishonor Thy Wife

by Belinda Austin

  “Jayden,” I snarl and bring the knife down, repeatedly stabbing the mirror. Click. Click. Click. Tiny mirror shards accumulate in the sink until I finish killing my imaginary brother.

  It is now I looking back from the mirror, no longer kind, sensitive, or beloved, no longer loving, but alone. They are all gone, my wives. Vanessa, my second wife is dead, her throat sliced by Jayden, a fitting end for a number two.

  And Ronni will soon be dead.

  I stroke the initials JT on my brother’s shirt and smile at Ronni’s bloodstains. Vanessa needs company. Once Ronni is dead, the icy hand will quit stroking me. Vanessa will quit singing to me. I can sleep on my bed again instead of under the bed. I will not jump every time a phone rings nor duck my head when a police car pulls up beside me in traffic.

  A perfect murder is all in the planning. In Canada, I met a man at a bar who knows some people, who knows some people who can forge some documents. I have his card and he will create Jayden Tremblay’s passport with my picture. I will fly to Victoria as myself and then fly back to Austin as Jayden to commit another perfect crime. I already have a history of flying to Canada on business. Or was it Jayden who always flew to Canada while I flew to Austin? The logistics matter not. We are the same, with identical DNA.

  I dress for work and then stroll down the stairs, whistling.

  A man with a plan does not have panic attacks or need anxiety medicine.

  Chapter 64

  JAYDEN

  “Well,” Frisco said as if surprised, “your story seems to check out, Dr. Tremblay.”

  “You and this Brad O’Boyle left a travel paper trail behind you,” Lead-Belly added.

  “It seems you were in Austin when your wife was killed.”

  “Brad’s wife,” I repeated like a scratchy record.

  “We dusted your house for another suspect’s prints and it seems that’s where the suspect stayed while in Victoria.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You say your house guest, the suspect, is this O’Boyle guy.”

  “You’re free to go, Dr. Tremblay, for now.”

  I’ve got to get to Ronni and Traci!

  “Not so fast.” Lead-Belly pushed me back in the chair.

  “You’ll be released as soon as we get the paper work to the judge,” she said.

  “The courthouse closed about six minutes ago so I’m afraid you’ll have to spend one more night in jail.”

  “You’ll be free in the morning, Dr. Tremblay, after the judge signs the papers.”

  “I need to make a phone call. It’s urgent!”

  “Until the judge has signed the papers, you’ve got to abide by the same rules as before,” he said.

  “But...”

  “No buts,” Frisco said.

  “Don’t worry about your sister-in-law. We plan to work with the Austin police to investigate Dr. O’Boyle. The police need to fingerprint him to verify he is the same Brad O’Boyle who was posing as you in your home. If he is a suspect, then we can talk extradition as soon as red tape is cleared both here and in America.”

  “It sounds like the process may take awhile,” I muttered.

  “Just don’t leave the country, Doctor. You’re not home free yet,” she said. “We first have to check out this Brad O’Boyle to confirm his DNA is a match.”

  “And just because O’Boyle was in Canada doesn’t mean he killed Vanessa,” Lead-Belly added.

  “You know, Dr. Tremblay, it’s against the law to fly under someone else’s name and identity.”

  “The airlines might want to press criminal charges.”

  “And you’re both doctors. Isn’t there some crime about that?”

  “Could be.” Frisco shrugged her shoulders.

  As if I gave a crap. I was more worried about Ronni.

  The detectives escorted me back to my cell and walked away.

  Frisco spun and marched back to the cell. “What’s odd is that Air Canada has four reservations for next week. Two reservations are in your name and the other two are in O’Boyle’s name. O’Boyle is to fly from Austin to Victoria, and then you are to fly on a round trip to Austin afterwards. There is an additional ticket for O’Boyle to fly back from Canada. They’re not coordinated trips like before where you met up.”

  “But I didn’t make a reservation. I got back my passport from Brad the last time I saw him. Why would Brad still be impersonating me?”

  “Why indeed?”

  “Hey, Frisco, I’m starving. Let’s get lunch,” Lead-Belly hollered.

  “Coming, Lead-Belly.”

  The detectives walked towards the exit.

  My mind churned away. The time lapse in the travel itinerary would allow Brad to fly to Canada as himself, and then hop on a plane and fly back to Austin as me.

  He must know that the police are going to free me.

  I pounded on the bars of my cell and yelled at the top of my lungs. “He’s going to kill Ronni. He’s going to kill her!”

  The main door slammed behind the detectives.

  I crumpled to the floor, sobbing, “He’s going to kill her.”

  September 5, 2015

  BY MY CALMNESS, YOU WOULD THINK I HAVE FRAMED SOMEONE FOR MURDER BEFORE when I myself am the killer. The secret to my serenity is in the zygote, a shared experience with my identical twin. I can feel his presence in the plane as if my brother is sitting beside me. He is my navigator as I fly into the abyss. I see his face in the mist and hear his voice. Why didn’t you love me? Why, brother?

  * * *

  Part 8: A Funeral in Austin

  Chapter 65

  JAYDEN

  They released me from jail and my lawyer read me the riot act about how I should not leave the country. Naturally, I caught a taxi and told the driver, “Ignore my lawyer. Try not to run over his toes.”

  “But he said that’s his cell phone you’ve got there, buddy, and to give it back.” He looked at me with suspicion having just picked me up from jail where I had stood waiting at the curb beside my lawyer and holding a small suitcase.

  “Just drive,” I barked. “Get me to the airport as fast as you can.”

  I dialed my lawyer’s cell phone.

  The answering machine picked up at Brad’s office and recited a message about the office being closed for a funeral. My first thought was that Brad murdered Ronni and got away with it.

  His cell phone went straight to voice mail.

  There was no answer at his house.

  I took a deep breath and dialed Ronni’s cell phone.

  Come on. Come on. Pick up. Somebody pick up the damn phone.

  But nothing.

  I blinked back my tears, trying to calm down.

  Later, it felt strange flying into Austin as me, departing the plane, claiming my luggage.

  I kept trying and trying to reach Ronni by phone as I wheeled my suitcase.

  I turned a corner at the airport and ran smack dab into this morning’s news. I would never have even noticed the Austin American Statesman had the picture of Brad on the front page not been so large.

  The headline screamed bloody murder, or was it an accident as the killer claimed?

  “I’m too late,” I mumbled and dropped my lawyer’s cell phone. The battery had run down. The cell phone was dead.

  Dead.

  Dead.

  With a hand that had to try three times before I could sink a quarter into the slot of the machine, I finally opened the little door and grabbed a copy of the Austin American Statesman.

  Everything turned black and I almost did not make it to a chair.

  I sat down so hard on my butt I might have chipped my tailbone. The only pain I felt was in my heart.

  It felt incredibly eerie to see my face staring out from the front page stating that the man who looked exactly like me was dead.

  A picture of the murder suspect was on page two, Barbie Simpson. She was barely recognizable because the photo was of an ugly woman with a crooked nose and uneven jaw. One eye was half-closed.

&
nbsp; Millionaire’s Wife Kills Lover in Revenge Murder, the article was entitled. Next to Barbie’s picture was a photo of Bubba Simpson, a 70 year-old man with beady eyes who ate too much rich Texas barbeque and resembled a balding, red-headed hog with streaks of grey in his hair that he combed from one side of his head to the other. From the way he dressed, the man had the class of trailer-trash and the look of a used car salesman, which he was though he now owned a chain of them.

  The article stated that early in the morning two days ago someone shot Dr. Brad O’Boyle at Barton Springs Pool. The gun had her prints on it but Barbie claimed she was innocent.

  It was surprising her husband was not a suspect since he had threatened to kill Brad.

  Bubba Simpson had lots of money to pay for the best lawyer for his wife but he refused to pay a plastic surgeon to fix her ruined face. Considering how rich and powerful he was, more than likely Barbie would get away with murder.

  There was a news report on the television screen at the airport. Barbie stood on the stairs of the courthouse, straightened her peroxide blonde hair, and winked at the press with her good eye. “I’m a former Texas beauty queen,” she purred, though she was a bit hard to understand because of her wired jaw. “I barely knew the doctor, what’s his name, Bad O’Boyle.” Barbie deliberately mispronounced Brad’s name. Already, she was painting him as a bad man. “He did this to me.” She pointed to her face and then tried to blow kisses at the press but her mouth was puffed up with lip fillers.

  There was much speculation in the press as to why Barbie would kill Brad O’Boyle. Was the murder the result of a jealous spat or her man done her wrong? City Confidential already swooped down on Austin, Texas preparing to film a documentary of the sordid mess. The fact that the scandal involved a love triangle with a former Texas beauty queen, a bigamist doctor, and her millionaire husband ensured a movie of the week—Sex, Texas and Death. In addition, there was the added bonus that Dr. O’Boyle had been living a double life in Canada and murdered his second wife. The dead wife in Canada had been pregnant with his baby.

  I sighed with relief that the paper mentioned Brad’s wife and daughter survived him in Austin. The paper did not mention that Brad had a long lost identical twin brother. The police in Canada were keeping quiet since Brad posing as me was part of their murder investigation, and they did not want any leak to the press.

  No wonder Ronni was not answering her phone. The article mentioned her as part of a love quadrangle.

  I darted into a gift shop and purchased a Texas Longhorns baseball cap, which I yanked over my forehead. I placed some sunglasses over my eyes and walked with my head down.

  I darted into the airport bathroom and splashed water on my face, barely recognizing the man staring back at me from the mirror. My face was pale from time spent in jail and worry about Ronni.

  I threw a balled up paper towel at the mirror. So now what do you intend to do, fool?

  Here I was in Austin all ready to play the hero with Ronni but she was no longer in any danger from Brad.

  So now what?

  Obviously, my sister-in-law’s bed with me posing as her husband was out of the question since Brad was now dead. I intended to do the honorable thing. I would hole up…hide out in a hotel until my brother’s funeral, which I had every intention of attending.

  Honor they brother. Honor they brother.

  I called my housekeeper and asked her to send a black suit to Austin, Texas along with some additional clothing.

  Chapter 66

  JAYDEN

  The funeral home was a brown, one-story brick building on First Street, west of Congress Avenue. How a devil like Brad O’Boyle ended up at a mortuary named Angel Funeral Home was beyond my comprehension. The funeral home blasted organ music from a speaker mounted on a painting of heaven’s pearly gates and I imagined Brad with a shovel, wearing a Canucks baseball hat, digging a hole under the fence so he could sneak into heaven.

  The white French paneling and living room decor was supposed to make a mourner feel at home while inhaling the smell of death—formaldehyde mixed with orange furniture oil, and antiseptic.

  I signed the guest book of Brad’s viewing and took a seat at the back in the shadows. No one paid any attention to me, even the news media. I was a stranger with a fedora hat tilted low on my forehead and wearing black shades. My invisibility was comforting while at the same time uncomfortable, as if I did not belong here.

  I had as much right as anyone to be at Brad’s viewing, more than most!

  Ronni sat with the woman who hung out with her that night at Lovejoys when we played pool.

  Across the aisle from Ronni sat Brad’s mother crying on her husband’s shoulder. There were others seated behind Viola and Ethan who may have been members of Brad’s adoptive family, aunts, uncles, second cousins, etc.

  Ronni turned her head slightly and I pushed my hat lower on my forehead, sliding my rear down the seat.

  Ronni seemed transfixed by the black coffin.

  What must she be feeling about Barbie murdering Brad? She must know about her husband marrying another woman, a wife he killed in Canada. The morning news revealed that Frisco and Lead-Belly found the murder weapon and closed the case, excluding any mention of me. Frisco had told me they already did enough to tarnish my reputation.

  Even so, my own trial was just beginning. It felt as if a noose was tightening around my neck every time I glanced at Ronni.

  When the women from Brad’s office stood up to leave, I placed my face in my hands pretending to cry.

  Do not look at them. Be invisible. They are grieving. Fade into the pew.

  It was harder to avoid Ronni. I rolled my eyes to the right when she walked by with her friend. Luckily, she was distraught and did not look my way. Her friend supported her arm. Ronni sniffled and I fought the urge to go to her.

  And do exactly what? I thought. She would think Brad’s corpse climbed from his coffin.

  Traci was not at the funeral.

  Everyone trickled out and the room emptied.

  I walked with slow deliberate steps towards the coffin decorated with gold-colored trim. White lilies draped the lower half.

  A white satin pillow supported Brad’s head. The mortician had closed his eyes, of course, and made up his cheeks and lips with pinkish makeup. Powder lightly dusted his face. His hair was combed perfectly and appeared plastic. His hands were stiff, the skin stretched, and folded serenely on his chest. A small Bible rested between his hands.

  Same old Brad, even in death his smile was mischievous as if he was playing a joke and would rise any moment from his coffin.

  It was morbid to see what my own corpse would look like. I cursed myself for coming to the funeral home but had to see for myself that Brad was dead. I cringed and poked his ribs just to make sure he would not chuckle in his devilish, charming way.

  Unexpectedly, I broke down and wept at the coffin of my twin. We had once been one a fertilized egg in our mother’s womb, and then split in half. A part of me had always been missing and then I found Brad and was whole for a few months, sort of. Brad was mentally ill. Given the same circumstances and raised in the same environment, it could have been me in the coffin instead of my brother. Every man had a propensity for evil because along with the good, evil was in our nature. Humans were a mix of opposites. I both loved Brad and hated him at the same time.

  “He’s my brother,” Brad had bragged to the flight attendants on the planes from Philly, as if we were the best of friends, as if we had been raised together as brothers.

  Oh, God, I did not want to remember the good times with his corpse in his coffin, making me feel vulnerable and guilty.

  My chest tightened as if rubber bands dug into my ribs and I could not breathe. It was ironic, given the circumstances, that I felt closer to Brad in death than I did in life. It was as if the coffin was our mother’s womb and I lay beside Brad’s corpse, hugging my brother.

  “Twins have this unexplainable bond,” Br
ad once said. “It’s telepathic, as if our minds and hearts are joined since our minds and hearts are duplicates. Think of it, brother. You and I were one zygote, the same, you and me, me and you, even in death.”

  Brad was sucking me into the coffin. Join me, Jayden. We can spend eternity together.

  I took a step back, spun on my heel, and ran.

  I could have sworn Brad was nipping at my heels and I crashed out the back door of the funeral home.

  I leaned against the building with my eyes closed, breathing heavily. Oh, God, oh, God! I had to confess to someone!

  Shall I tell you how I killed Brad O’Boyle, my nemesis, my archenemy, my beloved twin brother, my other half?

  Yeah, I framed Barbie Simpson for Brad’s murder. After all, I am like my brother, my identical twin.

  Chapter 67

  JAYDEN

  Once upon a time, I saved the life of the sister of a man who had the skills to make me a fake passport. The forger only needed a small photo and a few hours. He, also, gave me a disposable credit card with the same fake name as my phony American passport. He, also, printed me a pilot’s license under the assumed name.

  I once gave a man a steep discount on his wife’s medical bills. This man operated a ferry between Victoria and Seattle. He took me across the water to Seattle alone, late at night when the other ferries were not running.

  Whereas Brad played golf, I flew as a sport and rented a plane at Paine Field Airport under my fraudulent passport name. Just like my passport photo, I wore a blonde wig and glasses. I paid cash giving the bogus credit card number as a deposit for any overcharge.

  I flew into Lakeway Airpark located in Lakeway, Texas near Lake Travis. The airport was so small that picnic tables were located outside. There was only one runway.

  When I returned to Canada after stashing Barbie’s gun in a storage facility, everything blew up, what with Brad really being married to Vanessa and us having to switch again, and then Brad returned to Canada and killed her.