His diaphragm seemed to have seized mid-sentence, and he tried to gasp, but was unable to re-inflate his lungs.
Jodi screamed and looked from Hank to me as if she expected me to take control of the situation, which, of course, I already had.
“Oh no!” She cried out. “Now there’s something happening to me! What the fuck is happening to us? Why aren’t you helping us?”
The onset of the neuromuscular depolarization, which resulted initially in partial activation of muscle fibers throughout the body known as fasciculations, and progressed to complete muscle group contraction, followed by complete paralysis, progressed more rapidly in Jodi. It was as if she had begun to experience a grand mal seizure, complete with its characteristic tonic/clonic musculoskeletal activity and clamping down of her jaw muscles. Within several seconds, however, she completely collapsed and fell to the side, across the lap of Hank’s now flaccid body. After a few last, labored breaths, her diaphragm lost its ability to contract and her fate was sealed.
I knew that I had to work fast in order to complete my sequence of tasks before either of them actually perished due to asphyxiation. I rushed to the couch and sat Jodi back up. I could feel the stare from Hank’s eyes and knew that he was still conscious. I looked into his eyes and saw him glaring back at me. I knew at that moment he understood what I’d done to him and he was doing his best to shoot daggers of hatred into my own eyes.
“Listen, asshole,” I shouted directly in face, “you made this choice, not me! You think this is what I wanted? Do you?”
I wiped the tears from my eyes and broke his gaze, which was fading anyway due to his progressive hypoxia. I looked to Jodi, whose eyes were also glaring at me.
“You, missy, can go straight to hell!” I said calmly. I didn’t feel like wasting a second more interacting with her. She was no longer on my list of problems, and, although I hated I was forced to take another life, the world would be a better place without her. Even her kids would grow into better people without her influence on them. I would waste no tears on her.
It was very important that I proceed, without delay, with the execution of my plan. I could not wait for either of my victims to succumb completely to the poison I’d injected into them. I needed to stage a fictitious fight between them, which would result in injuries to both that would tell the story of what had happened according to the script that I had written in my head. For the injuries to look authentic, they had to occur while they were both still alive. If their circulatory systems were to stop functioning prior to the creation of Jodi’s injurious scratches, gouges, and bites, Hank’s blood would not flow from his wounds and it would be apparent that his attack had been post-mortem. If Jodi were to die before experiencing the series of Hank’s punishing blows and strangulation, the characteristic swelling and bruising would not occur and an experienced investigator and medical examiner would come to a similar conclusion regarding the timing of her attack.
I grabbed Jodi’s right hand and pulled it toward Hank’s face. I raked her long, polished nails across the left side of Hank’s neck. As I did so, his skin welted up and several areas where the epidermis was torn started to ooze bright red blood. I next pressed her nails into the insides of his forearms and made sure to puncture his skin as if she had clawed him with all her might. Blood was drawn at each puncture site and I made sure that there were both blood and skin tissue fragments on her fingertips and behind her nails. I then smashed the top of the champagne flute I’d brought from the kitchen on the end table adjacent to the couch and used the jagged remnant of glass coming off the intact stem to forcefully stab Hank in the left side of his neck. I rubbed her hand across the bloody wound and pressed the stem of the glass into her bloody hand and then set it on the couch cushion next to the armrest. I collected some more of the blood seeping from Hank’s neck wound into my cupped hand and flicked it onto Jodi’s face and chest, onto Hank’s neck and chest, and onto the furniture and floor around the couch.
Next, I sat Jodi up again and leaned her against the back of the couch. I walked around behind them, took Hank’s arm, and smashed it backhand into Jodi’s nose a half dozen times. As predicted, her nose started bleeding after the first few blows, and blood splashed onto his hand and arm as the repeated blows crashed into her face. I tipped her into his lap and positioned her face upright. Next, I came back around the front of the couch, grasped his forearm, and hammered his elbow down onto her mouth. I then placed the outside of his forearm between her teeth and forced her mouth closed as hard as I could while I pulled his hand away from her, making sure that her teeth dug deep into his flesh and his blood oozed into and around her mouth.
I figured that I’d created ample evidence that there had been a brutal fight between them, and I had no desire to continue mutilating their dying bodies. It was time for me to perform the most sickening acts that I’d ever conceived of in my life, the acts that would snatch the remaining life out each of their bodies. I grabbed Jodi’s limp legs and pulled her off of the couch and across the floor. Then I returned to Hank’s body to collect some of his blood from the bite mark on his forearm. I smeared it around his right hand and onto the pad of his left thumb. I then sampled the same blood specimen and spread it across my gloved right hand and my left thumb. I returned to Jodi’s body which I’d left lying supine on the floor. As I knelt astride her waist, I wrapped my hands across her throat with my thumbs pressing into her trachea. Initially, it resisted my pressure, but eventually collapsed as I squeezed as hard as I could and leaned my weight onto the stranglehold I had placed around her neck. As I held my deadly embrace my mind traveled back to the only other time that I’d taken a human life. I remembered dragging the knife across Brandon’s throat as I grasped the hair on the back of his head and lifted his face off the ground. That time, I’d been able to avoid looking into the face of my victim, a fact I’d always been grateful for. Returning to the present and looking into Jodi’s bloody face with its crushed nose and lifeless eyes, I knew I would be haunted by what I saw and what I’d done for the rest of my life.
There was no time to lose, so I stood up. Making sure not to step in any blood that had splattered on the floor, I walked out of the great room and down the hall to the foyer, where I’d earlier confirmed the presence of Hank’s double barrel shotgun.
When I returned to the scene of the fatal domestic dispute, I donned the surgical gown and head cover that I’d previously stashed outside the room and put on my goggles. Once again, I made sure not to step on any pooled or splattered blood as I approached Hank, who was collapsed on the couch. I was unsure if his heart had stopped beating, but I knew the wound that I was about to inflict on him would be considered instantaneously fatal. Therefore, lack of persistent bleeding from this type of wound would likely not be scrutinized. Besides, I was about to create a huge fucking mess, so there would be no lack of blood and tissue injury suggesting a staged murder scene. Arriving in front of him with the shotgun in hand, I grabbed the hair at the top of his head and pulled his upper body toward me. I set the butt of the shotgun on the floor directly in front of him and brought his face to the ends of the barrels. I eased open his mouth and placed the ends of both barrels within his oral cavity as far as they would go. I then grabbed his left hand and brought it up to the barrels, where I wrapped his hand around them as if he was grasping them approximately 12 inches from where they entered his mouth. I held his hand firmly in place by clamping my own hand around it from the opposite side of the gun. Next, I made sure that his right arm was long enough for him to reach the trigger. It was just barely long enough. Although it was unnecessary for the trigger to be activated by him, it was imperative that it was anatomically possible for him to operate the trigger mechanism.
I promised myself I would not pause to consider any of the what-if’s or if-only’s which might naturally come to mind at this emotionally-charged juncture. I hesitated only long enough to review in my mind that I had all of the preparations made in order to be able to grab my cool
er and backpack, which contained all of the personal items that I’d arrived with, and get the hell out of the house immediately following the discharge of the weapon and the ensuing explosion of Hank’s head. I mentally retraced my steps and convinced myself adequately that all bases were covered. I confirmed the proper placement of the barrels in Hank’s mouth and the plausible placement of his left hand on the barrels. Ducking my face, I pulled the trigger.
The sound was deafening, and the shotgun recoiled so severely that it was ripped out of Hank’s, and thus my, hand. His body jolted backward, and I felt his left hand rip free of my grasp. Thankfully, the majority of Hank’s disintegrated head blew out the back of his skull through the hole that resulted from the blast and the supersonically accelerated shot which erupted from the end of the barrel. As anticipated, however, a small amount of blood and vaporized tissue fragments shot forward out of his mouth and struck the top of my head cover. I was thankful I’d had the forethought to duck my head.
In order to deny my subconscious mind any additional grisly memories with which it could torment me in my future dreams and nightmares, I purposely avoided looking at my dead friend’s face or inspecting the mess the shotgun had created behind his corpse. I slowly backed away from the couch, making sure not to trip on the shotgun or displace it from where it had naturally come to rest on the tile floor after being torn free of Hank’s hand by Newton’s Third Law.
The evil deeds were done, and it was time to exit the scene. I retraced my steps out of the great room, making sure I didn’t tread on any drops of blood, which would reveal to the investigators that someone had left the room following the demise of this unfortunate woman and her suicidally remorseful boyfriend, at whose hands she had perished. Before leaving the room, I inspected the soles of my shoes and found them to be devoid of blood smears. Next, I removed my goggles, head cover, and surgical gown and wrapped the former two items into the latter. I then exited the room and overcame the almost irresistible urge to glance back to examine my nefarious handiwork. I knew the sound of the shotgun blast would probably have been heard by Hank’s closest neighbors and they’d probably be dialing 911 within the next few seconds. I stopped in the kitchen long enough to stuff the bundle containing the gown, goggles, and head cover into the cooler. Next, I removed the latex gloves and added them to the other items I was removing from the crime scene, then slammed the hinged cooler lid shut. I glanced around the kitchen and found no evidence indicating that anyone had been present in the house other than the two victims. Once I was satisfied that I hadn’t overlooked any incriminating details, I decided to get the fuck out of there.
Before I had returned to the great room to find my friend and his panicking girlfriend, I had flipped the switch that controlled the outside lights. I knew I wouldn’t want any nosy neighbors to see someone leaving the house after the gunshot rang out. I glanced through the glass panes of the door leading to the back patio and deck, and confirmed that the coast was clear. Upon exiting the house, I crossed the unlit driveway and donned my camping backpack, which I’d stashed behind the garbage cans situated at the end of Hank’s driveway. I had hardly even opened the backpack since arriving, so I knew that there was no chance that I’d left something behind in the apartment. Pulling the rolling cooler behind me, I then ran past the detached garage, with its upstairs apartment, and entered the bike path which Hank had habitually maintained in order to facilitate his passage to the small unnamed lake less than a mile away in the surrounding nature preserve, which provided him and his neighbors a variety of challenging off road bike trails they could access on an unlimited basis. I’d ridden this trail countless times with my former buddy, so it was in no way formidable to me that night in the dark, despite the fact that I was wearing a 50-pound backpack and pulling a wheeled cooler filled with all kinds of illicit paraphernalia.
My eyes soon adapted to the darkness and, despite the limited illumination provided by the crescent moon, I efficiently made my way down the trail for the next 15 minutes. At its head, the trail opened to a small clearing, where sat several picnic tables which were arranged haphazardly. Across the clearing was a small, gravel parking lot where I spotted something that made my heart first skip a beat, then accelerate as if I were a twelve year old boy laying eyes on the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, and knowing, without a doubt, that she was his soul mate.
It was my lovely bride Mandy, who was there to retrieve my villainous ass and get me the hell out of the godforsaken town of Paris, which I would, hopefully, never again lay eyes upon. I could not contain my emotions as I ran into her arms. Hot tears began to stream down my cheeks, and I tried in vain to control the quivering of my bottom lip as I reported, “It’s done, and they’re gone. It was fuckin’ awful and I’m probably going straight to hell when I die, but they’re gone. I think we’re gonna be okay. I think we’re all gonna finally be okay.”
Chapter 66
It’s funny how we sometimes end up in places that we never would have anticipated, for purposes we’d never even dreamed of. For instance, you may find yourself in a town you’ve not previously visited, preparing to watch your daughter deliver her wedding vows to a man who would soon become your son-in-law. In doing so, she would become part of his family, whose local roots were deeply embedded. I found myself in just such a place less than a year after I had stolen the life of my former best friend Hank.
Ryan and I were standing just outside of the double doors of the chapel at the The Villagio wedding venue in Burleson, Texas. We had been precisely positioned there by the wedding coordinator and we were awaiting our cue to enter into the rear of the chapel, where we would begin our slow stride up the aisle. The rear doors had been propped open and we could see Eddie, the groom, standing to the side of Pastor Jim, who was there to perform the ceremony. As we listened to the music from within the chapel, we stood arm in arm and tried to enjoy the moment. As I turned to Ryan to give her one last reassurance that she was the most beautiful bride in the world, I noticed her bright blue eyes were focused on her future husband and she had a genuine smile on her lips.
“You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” I said. “I’m so proud of you and I’m so happy that you’ve found a guy who loves you almost as much as your papa does.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” she replied. “I know the last time you gave me away it was much harder. You somehow knew that Brandon was not the love of my life. What you don’t know is how right you were about him. I never wanted you and Mom to know, but he was not a nice guy. I feel like Eddie has given me a second chance to be happy, and I know, this time, I will be.”
Before I had time to reply, the wedding coordinator, who was standing just outside the chapel door and out of sight from the wedding guests, said, “Okay, here we go.”
The prelude to The Wedding March came through the speakers and everyone seated within the chapel suddenly stood and turned to see the bride stepping through the rear doors and into the central aisle as she ventured to meet her groom before the altar at the front of the beautiful auditorium. It occurred to me that not one of them even noticed the guy who was escorting her toward her betrothed. The asshole within me, for just a moment, asked the question, “Hey, shitheads, who do you think is footing the bill for all this?” Then, I chastised myself and reminded my inner narcissist that it was Ryan and Eddie they were all there to see. Sheesh, I can be such an egomaniacal dick sometimes!
As we began to rhythmically stride toward the front of the auditorium, I realized that, although Ryan was incorrect in believing that Mandy and I were unaware of what an asshole Brandon had been, she was right about one thing—I had, in fact, felt completely different the last time I prepared to escort her on the fateful walk, to ‘give her away’ to a man that I did not approve of. As we took the first few steps along the walkway surrounded by friends and family members, my mind flashed back and saw Brandon watching me accompany a younger version of Ryan toward him and his minister, who would ask me the fateful question, ‘Who
gives this woman to this man?’
I remembered the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and the substantial effort it took to force the phrase, ‘her mother and I do’ from my mouth.
Really? I remembered thinking. I just gave my daughter to a man who I do not even like, and within a few short minutes, he’ll become part of my family. Talk about a lose-lose situation.
I remembered that I couldn’t keep this thought to myself and, upon taking my seat next to Mandy, I’d whispered to her, “Give away a perfect girl and receive a horse’s ass of a son-in-law—now that’s a shitty deal!” Not surprisingly, at the time, Mandy had told me to adjust my attitude and shut my damn mouth. I could always count on her to keep me in line and prevent me from making a spectacle out of myself!
As we progressed up the aisle, I looked at Eddie, who couldn’t take his eyes off of Ryan. I don’t believe that I’ve ever seen such a look of adoration on another man’s face. He looked as if he could, literally, not believe his good fortune. I knew at that moment that he had not deceived me when he had come to ask me for my blessing regarding his marriage proposal. During that conversation, he had told me that Ryan had inspired within him a love that he had never known, or even realized existed. He had gone on to promise that, if she were to agree to marry him, he would devote his life to her and to the family they would, hopefully, create together.
Again, my mind flashed through a slide show of my former son-in-law displaying his egocentrism and his lack of devotion to Ryan’s happiness as we plodded toward her destiny. I’m sure that as I’d accompanied her up the aisle during her initial wedding ceremony, my face must have reflected, at least transiently, the disgust I had felt for Brandon. Furthermore, it must have evidenced the foreboding I’d experienced as I had, over time, gained increasing insight regarding the notions of disappointment, shame and eventually, fear he would instill in her.
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