by Theo Baxter
You can do this, I encouraged, because the alternative is life in prison. You can do this because Melissa deserves to be punished.
You can do this. I continued to list all the reasons this was necessary.
Since I was the first one who arrived, I sat on the bench and waited, looking from left to right, not wanting Melissa to take me by surprise and sneak up on me. Not that she would ever do that. She liked to make an entrance or arrive with a certain flair.
The detective reassured me that she would be close by, waiting in her car in the parking lot, listening. We agreed on a word that would signal for her to come running if such a situation presented itself. The word I settled on was 'kind'. I would assume ‘please help’ would be clear enough, yet protocol was protocol.
She comforted me that she would be listening closely and come to my rescue in no time. It was good knowing I had someone watching my back.
There was only one downside. Although she could hear me, I couldn't hear her. It was completely one-sided, and my paranoid brain took that knowledge to heart to torment me. I started envisioning all kinds of scenarios where my recording gadget simply stopped recording or malfunctioning, so I would be left all alone to deal with Melissa.
My destructive train of thoughts broke as I saw Melissa approaching. "Here she comes," I announced without actually moving my lips, informing the detective that it was time for this party to start.
I can do this, I told myself, taking a deep breath.
She dressed for the occasion like I knew she would. Melissa wore one of her favorite green dresses that accentuated all her attributes, like all her clothes, with my favorite pumps. She looked good like always, and that was a part that started to really irk me. Serial killers shouldn't be this sexy. Focus. Although I could see she was an attractive woman, the knowledge I now possessed made her ugly as well. If that made any sense.
As she approached, I jumped up on my feet somewhat nervously. My true feelings were actually something I could use at the moment, so I did. My nervousness for needing to do this right, to get a full confession out of Melissa could be interpreted as my being nervous for not wanting to go to jail. The irony was, I was feeling that as well. It was simply not the only layer of anxiety present.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me." I offered a small smile while saying that.
While I waited, I played with my phone, twirling it around my fingers, and Melissa eyed it now with distrust.
I offered it to her. "It's not turned on. I'm not recording anything," I reassured her with slight sadness, fully knowing what was on her mind.
Without a word, she accepted it. After inspection, she returned the phone to me. Then she checked me out from head to toe wearing an impassive mask. I knew what she was seeing, wrinkled clothes, messy hair, and big dark circles under my eyes.
I looked like shit and sadly couldn't say that was by design, though it fit the narrative perfectly.
Melissa said as much. "You look tired, Dean."
I supposed that was much kinder than telling me the truth, that I was a complete mess, which surprised me. Why wouldn't she use the opportunity to jibe?
"You look as good as ever," I offered in return, putting a hand through my hair, but that was one of my other nervous ticks. I needed to calm the fuck down or this would end badly.
There was a slight stall after the initial greeting, and then I remembered I should be the one taking the initiative since I called her. I offered a seat on the bench and she sat. Taking a deep breath, I joined her.
Here we go.
"This really means a lot to me, your being here, because I desperately need your help," I confessed, looking at her pleadingly.
"So I've heard," she countered neutrally, flipping her hair to the side.
It went without saying that she arrived at this meeting with full confidence. And why shouldn't she? By all accounts, Melissa had won. That didn't mean I wouldn't try my best to tip the scales to my side.
Having her this close, it was hard to suppress all my anger. This woman made my life living hell, yet I channeled it to something more constructive than lunging at her, yelling, and screaming that she was a murderer.
I used all my brainpower to try and match that photo of a young girl with this creature in front of me. Her eyes looked similar enough, and the shape of her head. But everything else . . . I lacked proper words on how to describe it. It was really hard to tell. At the moment, Melissa wore a ton of makeup which made her look flawless, not to mention she was in her forties and had a couple of plastic surgeries. The girl in the photo was natural, young, and pure.
How pure could she have been if she killed her husband? I challenged. Pure, strictly physically speaking, I hedged. The two people looked similar enough, and at the same time, not enough.
Of course, I couldn't help wondering. Was that the reason she had the surgeries in the first place, to escape the truth? Are you the detective's elusive killer? I asked a silent question as she looked at me in return with cold calculation.
Have you killed all of your husbands for their money? was on the tip of my tongue. Not now, asshole, pace yourself.
"I'm sorry, Melissa, for everything," I forced myself to say in return, looking down at the moment, as though too ashamed to look her in the eyes. I had to look down since I was afraid she would see that I wasn't sincere enough, or at all.
"I don't want us talking about that now," she replied dismissively. I didn't like the sound of that.
I looked up at her.
"You think this threat is real?"
I was relieved that she'd bought my excuses. Maybe not in their entirety, yet enough to come and see me. That was something.
"Positive," I replied without a thought. "The threat is real. I was framed, Melissa," I insisted.
"How can you be so sure?" she challenged.
Because I'm looking at the right killer. Of course, I didn't say that. Perhaps I was scared shitless, but I was not an idiot. Most of the time.
"Because my seizures don't work like that," I reminded her.
We lived in the same house for months. She had firsthand knowledge of how I behaved, what I did during an episode.
"Do you have a lawyer?" Melissa abruptly changed the subject.
I smelled a trap. "Yes," I replied with a small nod. "An acquaintance offered to defend me," I lied like a pro.
I was sure she knew exactly who my lawyer was. Mr. Branson appeared a couple of times on TV, speaking of me and the case, so I was sure she wondered how I could afford him. Where did I get the money from? That was information I wasn't going to provide. Better to think that Mr. Branson offered to do it pro bono.
"I don't know what to do," I added.
"The DA offered you a plea deal."
I wasn't surprised she knew everything. It was in her best interest if I ended up in jail, so of course, she stayed informed of everything, and as a grieving widow, I was sure they were all ready to help. That filled me with rage, but I suppressed it. I will get my revenge.
"I think you should take it," she continued, snapping me from my reverie.
What a shocker, I thought since her words matched my thoughts perfectly.
"What?" I said, confused. "But I'm innocent." Not that you care.
"Look." She moved closer to me so she could take my hand. I warned myself not to move away in disgust. "I know that taking a plea is not ideal."
I scoffed. That was putting it mildly.
"But," she continued, "you have no proof of your claim. On the other hand, you were found in your father's room."
By you.
"With his blood on your hands," she pointed out.
Probably planted by you.
"I don't know, Melissa." I pretended to be on the fence. "I'm scared."
"I know."
Yeah, right.
"It's true you'll probably see some jail time or be forcefully hospitalized since your illness will be a serious mitigating circumstance." That would be a drea
m come true to me. "Trust me, Dean, that is the lesser of two evils," she delivered, pretending to be deeply concerned about me.
"What do you mean?"
"Real jail time and some jail time thanks to the plea are two different things," she pointed out.
I hated that she was able to use logic in such a way.
"You were caught in his room, after all, with your prints all over the murder weapon and his blood on your hands." She really liked to remind me of that every couple of seconds, yet I endured. "To all, you are guilty as sin."
That was true, and it pained me that everyone believed I killed my father. I didn't care so much for those who didn't know me, yet most friends and former colleagues had turned on me too. So, it was safe to assume the jury wouldn't be so forgiving and would probably ask for a maximum penalty.
What are you doing? I snapped at myself. You are falling into her trap.
"I know how it looks. I didn't do it," I insisted stubbornly.
"Taking the plea is the best you can do for yourself and your future."
She sounded so sincere I almost believed her. Almost. Now that I knew it was all a lie, an act, it was a piece of cake for me to analyze the ease with which she managed to spin her web of lies. Melissa was a great manipulator, there was no question about it. In other circumstances, I would be impressed. Having my life on the line changed that sentiment. This was an opportunity to see if I could be her match.
"There's just one problem with that."
She looked at me questioningly.
"When you said my fingerprints were on the weapon, you were only partially correct."
"I don't understand."
"May I ask you a personal question?" I asked instead of answering.
That trademark smile of hers appeared on her face. "Of course."
"Why are you so bad at wiping away your fingerprints from evidence?" There was the knife, my medicine bottle, and I was sure the detective would be successful in finding something from the old cases as well. "And why do you think you can keep getting away with killing off old men and taking their money?"
I could see her face changing while I spoke. The benevolent adviser was gone, and in its place, a predator appeared. She looked scary. I had stroked a nerve, apparently. Somehow, I didn't find that joke funny, considering her trend to kill anyone who got in her way.
"I don't know what you’re talking about."
"Cut the crap, Melissa, I know everything."
She remained quiet after that and continued to simply look at me.
That scared me more than anything.
"What? Have nothing to say?" I knew I had to provoke her in some way to admit what she'd done. "I win," I said with a smile.
Two things happened almost simultaneously.
I received a text from the detective. Although I was wary that Melissa would try to escape and leave me hanging with nothing, I had to read the text. It was the most terrific news. There was a match. Melissa's fingerprints were found in multiple cold cases.
My smile grew bigger. I really had won.
I looked at Melissa to inform her of how her days of being the black widow of the East Coast were over only to see that she was pulling a gun on me.
Oh, fuck.
"Would you be so kind as to explain that?" I blurted out, although it didn't make much sense.
I just hoped like hell the detective could arrive here on time before Melissa killed me.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I was going to die.
Without actually realizing what I was doing, I started to rise, and so did she.
"Don't move," she warned.
"Melissa, what are you doing?" I asked, although it was pretty self-explanatory.
I fucked up. I jumped the gun too early. That was a poor choice of words considering my predicament.
At the same time, it wasn't like there would be a better time to accuse her of murder, so I would probably end up at the exact spot even if I tried something different. Melissa came to this meeting armed, which meant she had intentions to use it.
"Give me your phone," she snapped, already reaching for it with her left hand as she continued to point that damned gun at me with her right.
I reluctantly complied, since there no way I could stop her from seeing what I just discovered. Please, Detective, hurry, I prayed with all my might.
"If you try anything, I'll shoot," she warned as she started to read the text from the detective. Truth be told, I was too scared to try anything as her attention was someplace else. I was no hero from some movie. I didn't know how to take that gun from her without getting killed in the process.
That didn't mean I was completely useless. Think, Dean, I encouraged. I had to do something, to stop her from running away, stall, give the detective a chance to show up and save the day. While staying alive in the process was implied.
"Fuck," she cursed.
That was something I'd never heard her do as she threw my phone away. I watched it get smashed into pieces against the concrete. I liked that phone, the random thought passed through my head.
"Let's go," she ordered, pointing with the gun and setting a course for me to start moving, and I panicked.
I couldn't leave this place. The detective was on her way, or so I hoped. What if something happened to the wire? What if I started to sweat too much from all this stress and the thing short-circuited?
Stop that. "Melissa," I started, not really knowing what I would say.
"Shut up and move," she shouted, somewhat hysterically. I was sure that I wouldn't survive if I complied. The same could be said if I stayed put.
Thankfully, Detective Michaels appeared at that moment, reaching us in a manner where I was the only one who could see her at first and then Melissa, when it was too late, so to speak.
"Hold it right there," the detective commanded.
Melissa looked really freaked when she realized she wasn't the only one with power anymore, but she recovered quickly. My biggest fear was that she would start shooting to try and run away. I couldn't allow that, but I didn't see how I could stop it.
"Drop your gun, Mrs. Andros. You're under arrest."
It was over. I was saved.
I should have known better than assuming she would go down that easily. "If you don't let us go right now, I will shoot him," Melissa threatened. And yet, no one was moving.
This was a nightmare. Melissa held me at gunpoint while the detective held her. I was sure we were a sight to behold. Sadly, Melissa had picked the right spot. We had no witnesses, no one who could see what was going on and call for help.
"You need to surrender," Detective Michaels replied calmly.
Think, Dean. I had to do something to tip the scales of power to the detective's advantage because now I was a bargaining chip.
"I will do it, I'll kill him," Melissa shouted, getting jumpy.
This escalated pretty quickly, and it was hard not picturing myself in a body bag. Stop that.
"Then I'll kill you," Detective Michaels pointed out, which didn't make me feel better at all. Small comfort if Melissa were captured if I died in the process.
"You're bluffing," Melissa countered.
I believed her. The detective looked determined enough, I felt like pointing out.
"Melissa." I decided to join in. "It's over."
"Shut up, it's over when I say it's over."
I ignored her rant. "No more running. Your past finally caught up with you."
She looked at me all nervously, biting her lower lip.
"You know I'm right. You read that text."
"We're leaving," she insisted, although it was clear that not even she believed that was possible anymore.
I just hoped she wouldn't go ballistic now, taking us all down with her. Of course, I knew we had to find some way to take that gun off her and soon. I suspected the detective had enough time to call for backup, but if Melissa acted like this now, when there were only the two of us, being surrounded by
police would make her completely unpredictable.
Despite everything, I wanted her alive. "No," I replied, fully knowing she could snap and decide to kill me on the spot for defying her. "Why did you do it, Melissa?"
"Excuse me?" She recoiled as though the question weren’t clear.
The detective remained quiet, letting me take the lead, although it was more than apparent that she was ready to intervene in every possible way.
"Why did you kill all your husbands, Melissa?" I asked.
"Because they deserved it." By her feverish expression, it was obvious she believed that.
"Shawn Goldberg?" the detective provided.
And just like that, it looked like some dam broke inside Melissa, or whatever her real name was, and she started to pour her heart out.
"Shawn was a terrible man. He treated me like garbage, smacking me around, telling me how worthless and stupid I was," she defended.
"So, you drove his car into a wall?" Detective Michaels asked.
"I had to get away from him somehow."
Have you ever heard of a divorce?
"And Jessie Smith?"
Melissa narrowed her eyes, clearly realizing the detective had discovered plenty. She raised her chin ever so slightly before replying, "He drank, a lot, and when he did, he was not the kindest man. Some men, weak men," she corrected with disgust, "like to feel powerful while hitting women. Jessie was like that. I couldn't live like that forever."
"So, you killed him?" I asked incredulously.
Melissa gave a small shrug in return. "He liked to take long baths, listening to the games and drinking. It wasn't my fault the radio stood too close to all that water."
She electrocuted him and had no remorse for doing such a thing. I was horrified.
Recalling what the detective said to me, I said another name. "What happened with John Trent?"
"John." She said the name with pure loathing. "He was a perverted old man who liked to tie me up, beat the crap out of me, burn me with candle wax, then rape me while I was barely conscious."
"For that, you poisoned him. That makes perfect sense."
She didn't appreciate the tone of my voice.