Hank and Jodi had both finished their first glasses of sparkling wine, so, without asking, I refilled each of their flutes.
“Drink up, y’all,” I said. “This shit was expensive, and we are not going to waste a drop!”
“What about you?” Jodi asked.
“You read my mind, milady,” I replied, as I refilled my own glass. “I’ve never been known to shy away from an opportunity to drink excessively, and tonight should be no exception. Cheers!”
Chapter 63
On the opposite end of the deck from the outdoor kitchen area and the patio table on which I’d served the meal, there was an assortment of patio furniture.
“Why don’t you two go have a seat over there while I pick up the dishes? It’ll just take me a few minutes. I brought some cigars, if either of you are up for one. What do you think?” I said.
Hank and Jodi both indicated their interest in an after-dinner stogie. Jodi, however, confessed that, as far as cigars go, her only experience in smoking was when she’d periodically smoked a Swisher Sweet or Black and Mild cigarillo with her ex-husband. I’d lied to her that the cigars I had were just about the same and that I knew she’d enjoy one. In reality, the cigars I’d brought were the real thing, and I knewt, for someone unaccustomed to their potency, puffing on one of them for just a few minutes could lead to feelings of lightheadedness and queasiness. Any additional discomfort I could cause Jodi would only amplify her need for antiemetic injection, so I certainly did not want to talk her out of participating.
They agreed to go have a seat on the plush patio furniture while I picked up the assortment of dishes and carried them inside to the kitchen sink. Along the way, I dumped my mostly full second glass of sparkling wine over the edge of the deck. No more booze for Marky-Mark. I had regained my buzz from the first pour, and I was not about to get sloppy due to excessive intake. Hank and Jodi, on the other hand, seemed to be feeling the effects of their own alcohol consumption, exactly as I’d hoped. They had both plopped themselves down onto separate padded deck chairs, where they were sitting quietly as I went about the business of cleaning up.
I ran out to my room above the garage and returned with three cigars, a lighter, and a cigar cutter.
“Okay Jodi,” I said, “now we’re going to introduce you to a real stogie, not one of those pansy-ass pretend cigars that you get from a convenience store.” I will freely admit that I enjoy a flavored cigarillo like the ones she’d mentioned from time to time, but I wanted to offer a bit of a challenge to her to make sure that she stayed up and continued to interact with us. Having successfully gotten her drunk, I didn’t want her to wander off and pass out, which would make the next phase of the plan more difficult for me.
I clipped the cigars and Hank demonstrated for her the way to get the cigar lit evenly. Before long, we were all puffing away, and a large plume of smoke was drifting off the deck and into the darkness. It was at this point something occurred to me for the first time. I had somehow failed to consider the fact that there was three of everything that we’d used that evening. Three sets of dishes, three champagne flutes, three cigars with three clippings, which had been allowed to fall randomly onto the deck. Thankfully, this realization had come to me while there was still time to correct my oversight. First off, I spotted one of the cigar clippings on the deck. I bent down and pretended to tie a loose shoelace. While I was kneeling, I grabbed the cut tip of the cigar and shoved it into my pocket. As soon as an opportunity to return to the kitchen presented itself, I’d be sure to make the appropriate changes to the scene which would erase any evidence of my presence there that evening.
*****
“Does smoking a cigar for the first time tend to make someone a little nauseated?” Jodi asked.
“Only if you are inhaling the smoke. That’s why I told you not to inhale it and to just hold it in your mouth,” Hank said. “It’s probably time to put that out. Don’t forget that you still owe me some good sex tonight. We can’t have you partying out and getting sick on me. I’ll tell you what, I’ll put mine out as well.”
Good old Hank. Always showing his selfless concern for his loved ones.
“I’m sorry if you’re not feeling well,” I lied. It’s probably just due to a bit of nicotine absorbed through your mucus membranes. I think you’ll feel better if you just sit and breathe some fresh air for a few minutes.”
“Whoa,” Hank said, just after he’d stood up and started walking toward Jodi to collect her cigar. “Major head rush—and now everything is starting to spin.”
He looked unsteady on his feet and I thought that he might actually lose his footing, so I jumped up and grabbed his upper arm in order to help steady him.
“Careful, big guy,” I said. “You’re suddenly looking very pale. You feelin’ alright?”
“Just a little dizzy and nauseated all of a sudden,” he answered.
“Me too,” Jodi said.
“Let me get you both a cool washcloth to put across your foreheads. Come over and lie down on these lounge chairs. I think you both just need to chill out and breathe the cool air for a few minutes. Neither of you are that drunk, so it shouldn’t be the booze. I’ll be right back.”
I helped Jodi to stand and guided her over to the lounge chairs that were set up in a line, overlooking Hank’s pool.
Taking the remainder of my cigar with me, I walked quickly to the kitchen. Once there, I collected up my plate, napkin, cocktail glass, silverware, and champagne flute and placed them with my cigar in my cooler, which was much faster than washing them and putting them away.
I ran to the closest bathroom and fetched two washcloths, which I wetted with cool water. As I expected, Hank and Jodi both looked worse when I returned to the deck and laid the damp washcloths across their foreheads.
“Feeling any better?” I asked, knowing what the answer would be.
“Much worse,” Hank replied.
“Let’s get you both inside and next to the toilet before someone makes a big mess,” I said. “Damn, y’all, I’m sorry you are feeling so bad. I think I’ve got some Zofran in my bathroom bag if you need it. I usually keep it in there just in case I get hungover when I’m out of town, which has happened once or twice, believe it or not.”
“Do me a favor, dude,” Hank said. “Help Jodi to the hall bathroom and then go grab it. I’m gonna go and puke in the master bathroom. If that doesn’t take care of it I’ll definitely want to use some Zofran.”
“No problem,” I replied.
I helped Jodi up and escorted her inside. At one point, she broke away from me, ran to the side of the deck, and prepared to vomit into the flower bed that ran the length of the deck.
“False alarm,” she said, after waiting for about twenty seconds. “Let’s go.”
The next wave of profound nausea apparently hit her right after I got her to the bathroom and helped her into position with her knees on the cold tile and her arms resting on the toilet seat. As I closed the door, I heard her begin to wretch.
So far, so good. Guess I’ll go get that Zofran.
Chapter 64
When I returned from my room to the main house with my bathroom bag in hand, I found Hank laying on his back on the leather sofa in his great room.
“What the fuck, Mark?” he asked. “Do you think we have food poisoning? You ate everything that we ate, right? How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling just fine,” I said, “and yeah, I ate everything that I made. None of that stuff would be particularly prone to causing food poisoning, anyway, except maybe the sweet potatoes, which I started preparing last night. They should have been fine, though, since they were twice baked, so any bacteria or exotoxins that could have contaminated them would have been killed and inactivated by the 400-degree oven. How are your bowels feeling, by the way? Did you have any diarrhea? Are you having any cramping? Maybe this is just a stomach bug that you and Jodi had already been exposed to, which would explain why I feel fine.”
Foo
d poisoning typically starts out with nausea and vomiting, but usually it leads to crampy abdominal pains and profuse liquid bowel movements shortly thereafter. Of course, I knew for certain that neither of them were currently afflicted with food poisoning, but I wanted to give the impression that I was surprised and somewhat confused by their sudden onset of symptoms shortly after eating the meal that I’d prepared for them. Also, I thought that planting the idea of their symptoms being the result of viral gastroenteritis would help Hank to make sense of the timing of his and Jodi’s rapidly developing symptoms and my lack of symptomatology.
“Let me go check on Jodi,” I said.
“I hope she’s feeling better than I am,” he said. “I’m definitely going to be needing some of that Zofran when you get back”
“No problem, dude,” I said, and took off down the hall to fetch Jodi.
When I arrived at the hall bathroom door, it was closed, and I heard the faucet running. I knocked on the door and called out to her.
Then I heard her shut off the water and, a few seconds later, the door opened.
“Sorry, Mark,” she said, as she opened the door, “but I just puked up all of your delicious food. It tasted much better going down!”
“Well, look at it this way,” I said, “you got to experience a great meal passing through your lips, without having to worry about it spending a lifetime on your hips.”
“Very comforting,” she said. “Unfortunately, I still feel like hammered dog shit.”
She was such a classy dame.
I explained on our way back down the hall to the living room that I had retrieved my vial of Zofran from my room and I was prepared to give her and Hank injections which would most likely help them to feel a whole lot better, essentially right away.
As we entered the spacious living room and saw Hank seated on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his head hanging down in a telltale fashion that made it clear how awful he was feeling, I felt instantly guilty. I had caused this misery, and I was about to do something infinitely worse to him and to Jodi. I knew they had brought this on themselves and I was unwavering in my belief that I had no choice, but I still felt like a terrible person for even being able to conceive of a plan which would result in the death of two human beings. The nervousness I had felt in my stomach earlier seemed to have expanded to fill my chest cavity, where a heaviness now existed that made it seem difficult to move air in and out of my lungs. I had also begun to shiver uncontrollably as if the temperature in the room had dropped below freezing. I was increasingly worried that my outward manifestations of nervousness were going to give me away and that Hank would be able to tell that I had other things in mind than trying to provide comfort to my friends.
“Oh, I hate to tell you Mark, but you look like shit,” Hank said, as he looked up. “I think you are about to start feeling as bad as us. You’d better make sure to save some of that for yourself.”
“He’s right, Mark,” Jodi said, as she placed a comforting hand on my arm and felt my nervous tremor. “You are as pale as a ghost and you are shaking like a leaf. Get ready to start blowing chunks. I’m sorry this is how the evening is ending up—especially after you prepared such an awesome meal.”
“I do feel very weird, but I’m not feeling sick to my stomach just yet. You’re probably right, though, this is no coincidence,” I said. My nervousness seemed to be helping create the illusion that we were all victims of the same pathological process, be it a rapidly developing viral illness or food poisoning—or, whatever. I figured that my aversion to committing acts of violence and my body’s outward display of the extreme emotional stress I was experiencing was going to work in my favor as I proceeded with the next step of my plan, from which there would be no turning back. I just needed to get the medicine drawn up and administered without somehow broadcasting my venomous intentions to Hank, who knew me as well as anyone on earth, and who could normally read me like a book.
Chapter 65
Fortunately, succinylcholine comes in two standard doses—100 mg/mL and 20 mg/mL. Prior to obtaining the vials that I needed, I’d done my research on proper dosing for the purpose of inducing flaccid paralysis, which was necessary to facilitate placement of an endotracheal tube in the operating room, and to prevent patients from responding reflexively to all of the oftentimes brutal stimuli that the human body, despite being adequately anesthetized, endures during the course of a surgical procedure.
Typically, sux is administered through an intravenous line and it manifests its physiologic effects almost immediately. The concentration of the drug, in such cases, is less important than it is if a medical provider needs to administer it intramuscularly. This is because it is easy to inject whatever volume of the medication is appropriate directly into the bloodstream. When utilizing the medication in the absence of a functioning IV line, however, it is necessary to use the higher concentration formulation, since it is impractical to inject more than two or three milliliters into a muscle at one time. Large intramuscular injections, besides being quite painful, are less predictable regarding the absorption of medication into the bloodstream. With a medication like sux, anyone administering it is counting on it to have a rapid onset of activity and a completely efficacious pharmaceutical effect. In other words, it does little good to only partially paralyze a patient when a provider is about to try to insert a plastic tube past the larynx and into the trachea. Just think, for instance, about how your body responds if you wander a little too far back on your tongue with your toothbrush. Anesthesia providers cannot have patients gagging and bucking when they stick a laryngoscope on the base of the tongue and, literally, jerk it forward while they visualize the vocal cords and push a semi-rigid plastic tube through them into the airway below. Not only would a gagging patient make this nearly impossible, but the regurgitation of stomach contents resulting from this maneuver, would likely be aspirated into the airway, where the acidic fluid would wreak havoc on the pulmonary system.
I knew that I’d have to deliver an adequate dose via an intramuscular injection into my unsuspecting victims, so I made sure to obtain the higher concentration formulation. I also predicted that Hank, being an anesthesiologist himself, would likely inspect the vial from which I’d be drawing up his medication. It was not that I expected him to be suspicious of my intentions, but it would be habit for him to double check that the proper medication was being utilized for any indication. It was for this reason that I had drawn up all of the Zofran out of the ten-milliliter multi-use vial and disposed of it. I then proceeded to transfer the succinylcholine from the two stolen vials into the Zofran vial. As predicted, after I drew up Hank’s medication on the fateful evening and set the vial down, he picked it up and inspected it before offering me access to his butt, where I intended to administer his dose. He also grabbed my hand and inspected the syringe in order to confirm that I’d pulled up the proper dose. Seemingly satisfied, he stood up, lowered his jeans below his buttocks, hooked the elastic band of his Calvin Klein briefs and slid them downward, exposing an adequate portion of his right buttock. After cleansing the area with isopropyl alcohol, I pinched up his gluteal tissue and administered a lethal dose of succinylcholine. The site did not bleed when the needle was withdrawn, so I told him that he didn’t need a bandage.
I immediately discarded the syringe and picked up the second one that I’d already drawn up. “You’re next, Jodi,” I said. “Don’t worry, you won’t be feeling sick much longer. This typically works almost immediately.”
Jodi stood and lifted the back of her short skirt, exposing her spray tanned tushy. There was no need to lower her underwear, because she was wearing a black thong, which left her buttocks exposed. I cleansed her skin and injected a mortiferous dose of succinylcholine into her right gluteus maximus muscle as she let out a quiet whimper. I withdrew the needle and saw that, as with Hank’s, her injection site did not bleed and she did not need a bandage.
“Okay,” I said. “have a seat by Hank on th
e couch and try to relax.”
Jodi sat by Hank and asked if he was feeling any different yet. He said that he still felt very nauseated, but he knew it would take several minutes to kick in. My research had indicated the onset of the paralytic medication was expected to be two to three minutes after injection. I tried to appear normal as I picked up the supplies that I’d gotten out. I carefully recapped the used syringes and replaced the vial of medication into my bag. I took the syringes and used alcohol pads into the kitchen, where I placed them in my cooler. I tried to slow my nervous breathing and calm my quaking body as I removed the latex surgical gloves from the inside of the cooler and placed them on my hands. I took my remaining supplies out of the cooler and grabbed Jodi’s champagne glass, which I’d be needing in the great room in the next few minutes. I could barely resist the urge to break down and let out a wailing sob as I pictured in my mind what I had done and what I was about to do to my former best friend.
Suddenly, I heard Jodi cry out, “Mark, get in here! There’s something wrong with Hank!”
I jogged to the great room, stopping briefly to deposit the items I’d retrieved from the kitchen just outside the entrance. As I entered the room, I immediately noticed the confused look on Hank’s face as he looked down at his arms and legs which seemed to be twitching uncontrollably. The movements were growing in magnitude and his expression changed from confusion to panic as his neck seemed to spasm and his head jerked backward.
“What the fuck?” he screamed. “What the fuck is hap—”
Fatal Flaws Page 40