Adjusted to Death

by Jaqueline Girdner

  “Is that thing loaded?” I asked.

  “I think so.” She looked down the barrel of the gun as if to check for bullets. “I hope I did it right.” She swung it back toward me so I could take a look. With an Olympic spurt, my heart jumped into my throat. “Does it seem right to you?” she asked breathlessly. Her eyes were wide and slightly glazed in her gaunt pale face. Drugs? Or just insanity?

  “Fine,” I choked out. The lessons I had learned while working in a mental hospital were returning to me quickly. “Just fine,” I repeated in a soothing tone. I put out my shaking hand open-palmed, hoping that she might give me the gun. She didn’t. Her attention had fluttered elsewhere.

  “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” she asked as she surveyed her yard. “Really beautiful. No more weeds. I made sure. Well, almost no weeds.” She looked down at an offending dandelion. “Maybe I should… No, no. We have to go in now,” she said, straightening up, her voice now that of a schoolmarm.

  I took a quick look behind me. The gate was closed. There was no one on the street. Would she shoot me if I ran? I returned my gaze to her glossy eyes and forced my face into a gentle smile. She gestured impatiently with the gun.

  “We can’t stay out here anymore.” Her voice had turned peevish. She was breathing in short rapid gasps. Just listening to her made my own lungs constrict.

  Tai chi versus bullets? Maybe the Master was fast enough to dodge them but I wasn’t. Reluctantly, I entered her house.

  Her front room was done in soft pastels. The slightest blush of rose in the walls was echoed in the carpets. The scattered sofas were a pale, pale mauve, and the coffee tables were creamy white. A room for gracious living or quiet meditation. I wondered how she kept it clean.

  Devi smiled a weak social smile and pointed her gun at one of the low sofas. I sat down carefully on its cushioned edge, heart still thudding, ready to move instantly. Then I smelled something burning. My eyes quickly followed my nose to a low glass table at the other end of the room. Large chunks of crystal and burning incense sticks were arranged in a circle on the table. In the center of the circle stood a single white iris in a fluted glass vase.

  I turned back to watch Devi as she sat down across from me on another sofa. She sank into its cushions heavily. The sound of her labored breathing echoed in the peaceful room. I looked into her eyes. They were floating dreamily.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said finally. “I didn’t want to be alone. It’d be okay, but… but I get so tired.” Her eyes shut for a moment, but reopened before I could even consider running. “And thank you for the scarf. I…” A spasm contorted her face for a moment. “I got blood on it.”

  “I know,” I said, keeping my voice gentle.

  “When I bent over him… he was dead, you know. At least I think he was dead then. I missed his head. I’m not very strong anymore.” She was breathing even faster now. Her eyes had lost all focus. I looked at her right hand. It still held the gun, although loosely. “I went to the bathroom to think, but when I came out I heard Wayne.” She stopped to breathe.

  Wayne? What about Wayne? But before I could pursue that thought another one hit me. I had never seen Devi return from the restroom. Because she had been in Scott’s room already when I went down the hall. If only I had kept on with my Scrabble reconstruction… Her voice interrupted my “if only,” drawing me back to the present reality.

  “So I went into Scott’s room. Just to talk. At least I thought so. But then I saw him lying there face down. God gave me that opportunity, don’t you think?” Her eyes sought mine, briefly focusing. I nodded my head carefully. “Oh, I hope so! It must be. Scott was face down and the metal bar was right there. He must have heard me and he still didn’t move. God—it had to be God.” Her eyes closed briefly. Then they popped back open.

  “Tanya!” she yelped and looked around the room in panic. Then her eyes focused again. She gave me a watery smile.

  “I’m sorry Tanya spray-painted your house. She was just trying to shield me. She thought she’d scare you away. She even set my clocks back so I’d miss that meeting.” Devi frowned vaguely. “But once she told me about the spray paint—once I knew how far she would go to protect me—I knew I had to end this thing.

  “She saw me hide the scarf at Nellie’s. I saw the blood…” Her face contorted again. “It’s okay.” She said softly to herself in a child’s voice. “I used the scarf to wipe off my fingerprints too.”

  She straightened up abruptly, her breath coming in erratic gasps. Her hand tightened on the gun, whitening her knuckles. “A decisive act. I was decisive.” She looked at me, her eyes now almost clear. I wasn’t sure I liked this new decisiveness. But I forced myself to smile.

  “Very decisive,” I agreed in a warm purr. Her hand relaxed on the gun. She leaned back again.

  “Had to, for Tanya.”

  “But why?” I asked. It came out too sharply. She sat up and looked at me in surprise.

  “Because Scott was Tanya’s father, of course. He never knew it, though. A long time ago I thought I loved him. But I found out he was cruel, horribly cruel, like my own father.” Devi began to wave the gun in the air. I shouldn’t have asked her why she killed Scott.

  “He told me how he blackmailed a drug dealer once. He set up his kids, humiliated them. Not the evil man himself, but his kids! And he was proud of it!” Devi’s eyes became as wild as the gun she was waving around with each word.

  “I couldn’t let a man like that raise my child. I left town when I got pregnant. All the way to Oregon. Then I sent Scott a letter telling him I had had an abortion. And I raised my child. My beautiful little girl. She’ll be okay. My brother Bobbie will take care of her. She’s a good child.”

  I nodded sympathetically. “A lovely girl,” I agreed. Devi lowered the gun, but then her face stiffened.

  “My father abused me every day of my life after my mother died. He drank. Then he went into rages. With fists and kicks and words. His nickname for me was “whore.” He broke my nose once, my ribs three times. But he was rich. So no one did anything. Not a thing.” Oh God. I remembered what Eileen had said about Devi’s family. I held my hand out to her. But she didn’t see it.

  “And my poor brothers. My oldest brother killed himself when he was seventeen. But Bobbie and I bided our time for the five years until I was old enough to leave. I left the day I turned eighteen. And I took Bobbie with me.” She paused to calm her ragged breathing. “Tanya will never go through that, never!”

  “No, she’ll be just fine.” I said. It would have been useless to mention that fists and kicks wouldn’t have been Scott’s style of cruelty. In Devi’s mind her father and Scott were the same man. Pharmaceuticals, LSD, they both sold drugs. Maybe Ann Rivera could explain why Devi had re-created her relationship with her father.

  “Scott would have taken Tanya,” Devi said. “As soon as I was gone. He was rich and powerful too. And I heard Wayne. He said Scott liked children and didn’t have any of his own.”

  “But—” I began. Then I remembered: Don’t argue with a crazy person. Especially one with a gun in her hand.

  “You think he couldn’t have gotten custody? After I was dead he would have had her.” She was glaring at me, not a look I wanted to see in her eyes. Her ragged breathing had an angry edge to it.

  “But why would you die?” I asked reasonably, my voice soft and low.

  “Why? Ask God why I have lung cancer.”

  Lung cancer? I felt very cold as the truth hit me. Now I remembered Maggie telling me that Devi was seriously ill. This thin, hoarse, breathless woman didn’t have a cold. She was dying. Tears stung my eyes suddenly.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. Her face softened.

  “Don’t be. I’ve come to terms with it. At least I’ve tried to.” She paused for breath, and then went on. “I had rheumatic fever as a child, and a heart murmur. So I thought all the symptoms were related to that. And to my smoking. Which I guess they were, actually.” She laughe
d hoarsely. The sound was unnerving. “So I didn’t go to a doctor until it was too late. Oh, well. Now it’s busy metastasizing into my other organs.

  “Did you know I used to be fat? Layers and layers of lovely fat. Cake and lasagna. Bearnaise sauce. Ice cream.” Her eyes glazed over. She lay the gun on her lap. “But now I’m nauseated most of the time. From the cancer. From the pain medication, too. But I can’t do without it. I hurt too bad. I get confused sometimes, though.” She looked at me blearily. Drugs. I was right the first time.

  “I’m not afraid. My brother Bobbie’s going to take care of Tanya. That’s why I moved back to Marin. She’s with him now. And I’m going home. Going towards the light.” She gripped the gun again. “Death is always the next step. The transition’s the only hard part.” I eyed the gun nervously. Was she trying to convince me? “I’ve given up my life to God. I just couldn’t give up my daughter’s too.”

  She straightened up on the couch and grasped the gun. Her eyes looked completely focused for the first time since we’d entered her house.

  “I sent a full confession to the police. I hope it’s clear. I stayed off the medicine until I finished it. I’ve said goodbye to Tanya, my little girl.” Tears flowed from her eyes. “Thank you for being here. I needed someone to be here. I just hope I can do this right.” She put the gun to her temple just as I realized who was to die. My realization came too late. As I jumped up from the couch she pulled the trigger.

  The shot exploded into the room, sound and crimson splattering across the pastel landscape. The acrid smell of burnt gunpowder collided with the cloying incense. My legs gave way beneath me. I told myself it was only a dream.

  But my nausea was real. The blood was real. The buzzing in my head was real.

  And the banging on the door was real too. I rolled my head slowly toward the door, to watch it splinter inward. A booted foot came through and then a hand, turning the knob.

  I watched Wayne burst into the room, eyes blazing. “She…” I began. I couldn’t finish. I felt something wet on my face. I shivered, thinking it was blood. But it was only my own tears.

  “It’s okay,” he said. But tears were running down his face now too.

  He knelt on the floor and picked me up. Tears and blood. I closed my eyes until I felt the cool outdoor air on my wet face.

  Gently, he eased me down on the lawn, under the branches of the oak tree, making a pillow of his down jacket for my head. The sky was blue and oddly shimmering through the oak leaves. I could smell the grass, the wet soil and the sweet scent of alyssum. And hear the hum of traffic, saws buzzing and dogs barking. A shrill laugh broke out somewhere nearby.

  “It was all right with her,” I said finally. “She was ready to die.”

  “Thank God she didn’t think you were,” Wayne said.

  “I’m not, am I?” I whispered. I sat up to reach for him. He held me until I had finished weeping. Then he went back into the house to call the police.

  - Twenty-Five -

  After two emotional weeks of mutually assisted recovery, Wayne and I sat at my kitchen table eating breakfast. I watched him as he silently used his spoon to trace pattern after pattern in his bowl of oatmeal. Nude healthy oatmeal. No butter. No sugar. No milk. His brows hid his eyes as he stared downward. His shoulders were hunched unhappily. Was the honeymoon over so soon? I fixed my eyes on him questioningly until he looked up.

  “Appreciate you cooking me breakfast…” he began. His voice faded out before he could finish his sentence.

  “But,” I prompted.

  “But, I have a confession to make.” His eyes were on mine now, fully visible and loaded with feeling. My shoulders tightened with the old, familiar tension. Was he going to tell me he murdered Scott? No, I reminded myself. That was all in the past.

  “So confess,” I said impatiently. He had another woman? He was already tired of me? He was really gay? Actually, I doubted that possibility after our two weeks together. He was leaving the country? He had six illegitimate children? What?

  “Somewhere along the line I’ve misled you.” He dropped his eyes to his oatmeal again. “Kate, I’m not a vegetarian.” His low voice rose. “I don’t even like health food!” Then he brought his eyes up to mine, pleading for understanding.

  I reached for his hand across the table. As my muscles relaxed I began to laugh. I couldn’t help it. The laughter grabbed me by the throat and shook me. The dawning relief in Wayne’s eyes made me laugh even louder.

  “Maybe I can learn,” he said, with a hesitant smile. A gleam came into his eyes suddenly. “Is there such a thing as soy sausage?”

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1991 by Jaqueline Girdner

  Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media

  ISBN 978-1-4976-0865-8

  This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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