by Joseph Souza
“Don’t be ridiculous, Russell. That white bitch next door is crazy and you know it.”
“Please don’t try to deny what you’ve done.”
“Okay, I won’t. But look how everything turned out. I’m moving up in the world and making a name for myself, and you’ll soon be back at Chadwick, a celebrity professor in your own right. It couldn’t have turned out better for us.”
“But how can I ever trust you again?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Russell. It’s not like you didn’t want to screw every female student who waved her ass at you.” She sits down on the mattress.
“Sure, I fooled around a little. It’s how I met you, isn’t it?”
“Lucky me.”
“It’s no reason to kill a man.”
“Come on, babe, there’s no need for you to worry about that. I got what I wanted and now I’m done.”
I hear her push off the mattress, but Russell pushes her back down on it.
“You were ready to cash in on my life insurance policy.”
Clarissa laughs. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t have done the same?”
“You killed that poor girl and her boyfriend and made it look like our neighbor did it. Do you really think the cops are going to buy that story?”
“I taught that girl everything I know. I coached her how to handle these fools in the bedroom so that she could wrap her little finger around them and do what she wanted. She thought I was her friend, and with you out of the way, we would have been rich. Now that she’s dead, Russell, it’s just you and me.”
“Then why were they over here this morning asking me all these questions about you? I’m worried, Clarissa.”
“Who was here?”
“That Detective Armstrong fellow and another gal. He’s quite a hound when he gets on a scent.”
“You better not have told him anything.”
“No, of course not. I want to make this marriage work, especially for the kids.”
“I once adored you, Russell. Despite all that has happened between us, I’m sure I can love you again.”
“Why’d you stop in the first place?”
“As soon as we got married, you went back to your old ways, sticking your dick into every undergrad who’d let you. I wasn’t going to stand for that. You were mine. So I figured I’d give you my blessing of an open marriage and then take advantage of it when you slipped up. You can’t really blame me now, can you? I absolutely worshipped you. Little did I know that you would cheat on me so soon after we married.”
“You shut me off in our marriage, Clarissa. A man has his needs, goddamnit.”
“I was your trophy wife until the next young, hot undergraduate came along. Then you’d dump me like you did your last wife.” A long pause. “Look, Russell, I know what I did to you was wrong, but we’re in a much better place now. Things will get better, I promise.”
“How can I ever trust you again? I can’t even sleep at night.”
She laughs. “You have no other choice but to trust me.”
“Maybe I’ll go to the cops and tell them the truth.”
“It’s your word against mine. Now that I’m a celebrity on campus, they’ll be less likely to believe a cheating dog like you.” She laughs. “Haven’t you been watching my performances on the cable news shows?”
“Maybe it’s not just my word, babe. Maybe I got a collaborator, and maybe me and this other person go on CNN and tell them what their civil rights guru has really done.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come out from under the bed, Leah.”
The shock of hearing my name stuns me. This wasn’t part of my well-thought-out plan. Clarissa was supposed to go back to work, and I was to take this information to the police and prove once and for all that she was the brains behind everything. Instead, I crawl out from under the bed and stand sheepishly in front of Clarissa, who is seated on the mattress and staring at me with hate in her eyes. Russell takes a gun out of his pocket and points it at his wife. I want to gently remind him that this is not what we agreed upon, but I’m too stunned to speak.
“What’s the meaning of all this?” Clarissa says.
“You were right all along about this bitch, babe. She’s been spying on us and trying to break us apart,” Russell says, pivoting to aim the gun at me. “I had to draw her out first.”
“This is not the plan, Russell,” I say.
“The hell with your stupid plan,” he says.
“But she was the one who tried to kill you. She’s the one who set you up by telling you to go over to my house,” I say.
“Yeah, and you agreed to go along with it. You knew all along that you were going to shoot me in cold blood. Another innocent black man taking the fall for whitey.”
“Only because she convinced me that you’d been abusing her.”
“And you agreed to play judge and jury. Where were my constitutional rights? My due process?”
I turn to Clarissa. “Please, I have young children to care for.”
“If you’d minded your own damn business, this never would have happened. But no, you had to get all high and mighty on us. Try to keep the black neighbors from going ghetto,” she says.
“You killed Mycah and Cordell. You even orchestrated the death of your own husband. Haven’t you done enough damage?” I say.
Clarissa laughs. “So sue me, bitch.”
“Russell, you can’t be serious,” I say. “You’ll never get a good night’s sleep with her by your side.”
“All my wife ever wanted was to be someone. A spokesperson for black people just like Jesse and the Reverend Al. Now that she’s got what she wants, I’ll be able to rest easy,” he says.
“So you’re just going to shoot me in cold blood?”
“No different than what you had in mind for me.”
“How will you ever get away with it?”
“Seeing how you have a history of breaking in to our home and harassing us, I have probable cause for shooting you.” He lifts the gun higher, looking as if he’s about to pull the trigger. “And once you’re dead, the cops will pin all those murders on you.”
“Too bad, dear,” Clarissa says, caressing my cheek with the back of her hand. “And to think how badly you wanted to be my friend.”
Russell lifts the gun and points it at me. I close my eyes, say a quick prayer, and hear the gun go off. Then I fall back against the dresser in agony.
CLAY
Wednesday, August 26, 12:15 p.m.
THROUGH THE WINDOW I SEE CLARISSA SITTING ON THE BED AND staring up at Russell. His back is facing me and it looks like they are having a vigorous discussion, judging by the way Clarissa is gesturing with her hands. I know I should put the scope down and walk away, but for some reason I can’t, and it makes me realize that I’m no better than Leah. A scumbag Peeping Tom loser. Maybe it’s the alcohol in my system. Or maybe I’m laboring under the belief that they might provide me with a clue about what happened that day.
Russell pulls out a gun. I stumble backward in fear. Clarissa’s expression changes as soon as she sees the gun in his hand. It takes me a few seconds to realize that there’s someone else in the room with them. But I can’t see this person. A figure rises up from the side of the bed and comes into view. Holy shit. It’s Leah!
What is she doing there?
Am I drunk and seeing things? I blink my eyes to make sure I’m fully conscious. When I open them, I see Leah standing there with her arms raised. What is she doing in their bedroom, especially after nearly killing Russell in our own home?
Russell swivels around and points the gun at Leah.
I pull out my phone and get ready to dial 911. Russell and Clarissa will get off scot-free if they kill her. Then they’ll be liberated from her obsessive spying, her wild accusations and personal intrusions. They’ll be spared her pathetic attempts to save the planet and spread racial harmony.
And then I realize something so profound tha
t it causes me to rethink dialing 911. If Leah dies, I too will be free of her. We will all be free from Leah. The world will be free from her. There’ll be a nice little life insurance policy at the end of the rainbow. Possibly enough to kick-start another brewery. I’ll be able to raise the kids in a safe environment and without worrying about them. No divorce lawyers or fighting for custody. There might even be a few bucks left over for college. I’ll never again have to worry about whether she’ll harm them while I’m at work. All I have to do is stand here and do nothing. Pretend I’m downstairs being a slug and let nature take its course.
A shot goes off and I realize that Russell has fired the gun. Clarissa falls back against the mattress, blood oozing out of her left eye. Leah kneels by the side of the bed, sobbing at the sight of her dead neighbor.
Then Russell turns and points the gun at Leah.
LEAH
Wednesday, August 26, 12:18 p.m.
“YOU KILLED HER,” I SAY IN A STUNNED VOICE AS HE POINTS THE gun at me.
“I know.... It wasn’t part of the plan.”
“Please don’t kill me.”
“Sorry, but I have no other choice now.”
“What about my children?”
“Didn’t bother you when the shoe was on the other foot.”
“You won’t get away with killing both of us.”
“Sure I will. You broke in here to try to kill us, and I had to protect myself. Everyone knows you’re a busybody and have a history of violence.”
“That was different. My sister was being abused.”
“That’s not how I heard the story.”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Russell, but that’s what happened.”
“A little bird told me otherwise,” Russell says, nodding toward his dead wife.
“What did she tell you?”
“Clarissa was good at getting people to do what she wanted.”
“Those court files were permanently sealed.”
“When that woman had her mind set on something, watch out.”
“I don’t want to hear this.”
“Of course you don’t. But you’re going to.”
“No one was supposed to know about that.”
“Know about what? The fact that you were the one being abused and not your sister, and that you resented her for it?”
“That’s a lie.”
“It’s in the court documents. Your sworn testimony as part of the plea agreement. Pushing your sister into that swimming pool was no mercy killing.”
“Annie was the lucky one. They doted on her and ignored me. I resented her for that. I loved her as much as anyone could love a sister, but then I began to hate her as time wore on.”
It causes me unbearable pain to admit this. I’ve been burying that emotional aspect of my life for quite some time, and for it to come out now stings. Loving and hating Annie were not mutually exclusive. Because as I was busy hating her, I knew in my heart that I had literally loved her to death. I loved her to her final breath, when her useless body stopped functioning at the depths of our family pool. I justified it as a mercy killing. In my head, hate was no part of the calculation. But it was. It was there all the time.
“Don’t matter to me that you’re a coldhearted killing machine.”
“Don’t shoot and I’ll testify that you killed Clarissa in self-defense. Better yet, I can return home and no one will ever know.”
“But that will mess up my well-thought-out plan.”
“What plan?”
“I’m a fragile man still recovering from my gunshot wound. You broke in here and tried to assault me.”
“Please, I beg for you to think about my kids.”
“Why? So you can push them into the pool too? Or maybe smother them with a pillow when they fall asleep?”
“I would never do that.”
“It’s always different on the opposite side of the grass.” He stares at his wife’s corpse. Sticky blood pools over the floor and around her body. “Looks like I can take an early retirement now. Three-million-dollar life insurance policy ain’t nothing to sneeze at.”
“You two snakes were meant for each other.”
“Like you and Sam Adams weren’t? You kill your disabled sister, and then he goes around fucking the dark meat while you’re out of town. Great role models the two of you make.”
“He made a mistake and paid dearly for it.”
“Lady, once a dog always a dog. And I should know, being the leader of the pack.”
“How will you explain her death?” I ask, nearly throwing up at the sight of blood spattered over the bedcovers. Clarissa’s one eye remains open as if she’s studying the ceiling pattern.
“You broke in here and killed her. I wrestled the gun away from you and then shot your sorry ass.”
Tears fall from my eyes at the prospect of never seeing my kids or husband again. I never should have had the twins to begin with. In that way, they’d never have to experience all the evil that exists in this world. But I truly believed at the time that I was game for raising kids. I lived under the deluded notion that someday I’d be a great mother, and Clay would be a devoted husband and father. So I decided to keep the pregnancy. Twins. Poor Zack and Zadie never had a chance.
“And that’s how this ends?” I ask.
“Maybe for you it ends. I envision a nice life in Bermuda, sipping rum swizzles on Elbow Beach and sailing out in the bay. Little golf here and there. Get me and the kids as far away from this racist state as possible.”
Russell’s phone rings just as an alarm goes off. He answers it and begins speaking in a panicked voice. He forgot to reset the security system. Seconds pass and the alarm blares in my ears. He turns momentarily, and when he does, I leap over the bed and tackle him. The gun goes off as I grab his wrist in one hand, jerk his earring down with the other, and tear it out of the lobe. His screams of agony fill the room as we wrestle over the bloody mattress. I manage to pull him down with me, and we fall over Clarissa’s lifeless body. Blood sticks to my hands and hair like wet paint. He raises his head up and glares at me, nostrils flaring and out of breath. I open my mouth and sink my teeth into his thick nose and bite down as hard as I can. He squeals in pain as the gun falls out of his hands and lands next to Clarissa. I bring my knees to my chin, place my feet on his chest, and kick him off me with all my might. He staggers back against the far window, landing hard against the pane of glass. I grab the gun off the bed and hold it with two shaking hands. Blood gushes from his torn ear and the bridge of his nose.
“You won’t do it,” he says, standing to his full height.
“I’ve killed before, remember? I can certainly do it again if I need to.”
“Stupid white trash. How anyone could possibly love you is a mystery to me.”
“Yes, my husband made a mistake when he married me, but he still loves me, and for that I’m grateful.”
“Your husband’s not going to save you now.” He pushes off the wall and sprints toward me.
I close my weak eye and pull the trigger until it clicks. The momentum of his bullet-riddled body causes him to collapse on top of me. It takes me a second to realize that he’s dead or seriously injured. I roll him off me and sit on the edge of the mattress, trying to calm myself down. The security alarm begins to blare in my ears. My body is drenched in blood and sweat, and the powerful stench of dead flesh begins to permeate my nose.
I raise my head up and catch something outside the window. Is someone watching me from my own bedroom? I wipe the blood from my eyes and take a closer look. Yes, that’s Clay’s face peering out from behind the blinds. He sees me. Thank you, God. Now I have a witness to my story, along with Clarissa’s taped confession. I stand happily, weeping, and blow kisses to my love.
I know my marriage will survive.
CLAY
Wednesday, August 26, 12:20 p.m.
THE GAINESES ARE BOTH DEAD AND SHE’S BLOWING ME KISSES?
I push back against
the window in shock. My skin feels cold and prickly and I feel like I’m going to throw up. I try to convince myself that I imagined this entire scenario and that it’s not real. But I know it happened, and because of that I’m screwed. I need to act fast if I want to make things right. If I don’t want to be known as the coldhearted husband who failed to come to his wife’s rescue.
I sprint into the bathroom and throw up. The bathtub is filled with water and at the bottom I see Zadie’s baby doll staring up at me. The arms and legs have been cut off, and there are slashes in the doll’s abdomen. But what gives me chills are those plastic eyes staring up at me.
The sight of it causes me to heave until my stomach empties and my throat is left burning.
I bolt downstairs and out the front door just as three police cars pull up in front of the Gaineses’ property. A security alarm blares from inside their home.
“What’s going on?” a young cop asks.
“I heard gunshots going off,” I say, trying to look concerned.
“Stay back, sir. We’ll check it out.”
But just then the Gaineses’ front door opens and Leah staggers out like Carrie after the prom, her face, clothes, and hair drenched in blood. The cops shout for her to put the weapon down and drop to her knees. She glances at me and smiles in an unnerving manner. Three cops sprint over, cuff her, and then lead her to one of the police cars.
“Leah,” I shout, running toward her. I want to explain and to apologize for not calling 911 and saving her life.
“Hold on, buddy,” a cop says, blocking my path with a raised arm.
“That’s my wife.”
“Why was she in your neighbors’ house?”
“Please,” I snap angrily. “I need to speak to her. We have young children.”
“Make it quick.”
The cop opens the door, lowers Leah’s head, and then guides her into the backseat.
“It’s okay,” Leah says to me. “Everything will be fine now.”
Her calm demeanor creeps me out.
“Thank you so much, Clay.”
“For what?”
“For watching out for me. For calling the police when you did. You are my witness to it all. You can tell them everything that happened.”