The front door shuts just as I open my driver’s door. There’s no one coming on the street — an empty spot in the country with no neighbors around, just farmland. I run across the road and duck down in the weeds until I make it to the side of the house. I edge closer to the open window I know belongs to the living room.
My father groans as he takes residence in his favorite lounge chair that’s near the window but facing the television on the opposite side of the room. I exhale and steady my nerves before raising myself on my tiptoes to peer inside.
The smell of body odor and garbage assaults my nasal passages as I struggle to keep quiet. How can anyone be used to that stench? I look at the back of my father’s head, his bald spot taking up much more space than I recall. He’s alive.
I turn my head slightly to see the spot on the floor where my mother laid now covered with a torn area rug that used to be in my bedroom. He’s covered her up.
“Maria!” He calls out, and for a small second, I convince myself that I’ll see my mother come around the corner from the kitchen at any moment. My father just rose from the dead, why can’t she?
“Maria, I miss you.” He begins to sob as the soap operas do little to drown him out. I let my heels touch the earth, and I melt to the ground in a squatted position.
I miss her, too, Dad.
I walk back to the road, and I put the car into drive — he doesn’t even notice me sitting on the side of the road. The liquor stole the best of his eyesight long ago.
It was all a lie, cleverly orchestrated by my husband so that he may send me off to a mental facility to please his money-hungry girlfriend. My father didn’t die, nor did my siblings come to town and not reach out to me. He wanted to push me over the edge. I would have sounded crazy had I ranted to the doctor that my father was dead when he wasn’t.
He won’t get away with it. I stab the accelerator to the floor. I’ll take what’s his with the same dedication he puts forth into stealing the stability of my mind.
Medeia’s Journal
Dear Anna,
I hope you wear your best dress tonight to meet John. This will be the last time that you can impress the world with the veneer you put on over your average frame. No one ever told you that you are merely average with an innate ability to play up your better features.
You are still special to me, though. I see the side of you that the world isn’t allowed, so I know you find me special, too.
Thirty-Six
“How can I shop, Jane? This feels awkward.”
“Just gives you something to steady your mind.” She holds up a red sweater for my approval. I nod. It looks great with her skin tone.
“I thought you were helping me Christmas shop?”
“I am. I’m giving you ideas on what to buy me.” She smiles.
“You really aren’t normal, Jane.” I jab the words with a little bit of irritation, but Jane doesn’t mind.
“You think you are?” she jokes. “Look, if you think about it too much, you won’t go through with it. And trust me, right now they are sending texts back and forth like mad about him lying to you over your dad being dead.”
“Yeah. Probably getting a good laugh at me.” I bounce my head off the wall behind me. “Jane?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think I’m crazy?” I ask.
“Oh, yes, darling, but all the good ones are.” She doesn’t look up from the sweaters she’s perusing.
“I’m serious.”
“No, I don’t think you’re crazy.” She sighs and draws her attention to me. “You’re a fighter, just trying to survive. If you don’t look out for yourself, who will? Huh? He’s taken everyone from you. He’s even attempted to fucking take you from you. And you’re still here. Now, you need to do this last step for your freedom. I don’t see it any other way.” She turns back to the sweaters. “Not any other way that’s satisfying and filled with perfect justice.” She holds up a purple sweater, and I nod my approval again.
We finish up most of my Christmas shopping. Just in case the need for me being on some cameras is necessary, besides two birds and one stone. If I do get caught, at least people will still receive their presents. I grab Aunt Mary a new shawl and a pendant to close it with. I buy John’s cousin Grace candles and a cashmere scarf. I even purchase John a gift. It will be something useful for his repentance in prison, a new toothbrush. Maybe he can whittle it into a shank to protect himself.
“Do you have everything? Are you ready?” Jane asks when we are about to part.
“Yes,” I say as I pack the bags into the trunk of my SUV. “I am now more than ever.”
“I wish you luck,” she says as her feet dance back and forth. “I can’t believe he told you that your father was dead.”
“He’s a sick man.” I shut the trunk. “I’ll drive you back to your car if you’d like.”
“No, I’ll walk.” She embraces me. “This might make me a horrible person to anyone else, but I hope you get away with it. You deserve your freedom. You deserve a life,” she whispers in my ear.
“I’ll see you in the morning?” I try to keep it as casual as possible in case a camera catches our interaction.
“Always.” She smiles and walks away toward her car, and I make my move to the driver’s door.
“Hey, Medeia,” Jane shouts, and I turn my head in response.
“You’re the only friend I’ve ever had, too.”
I flash her a small smile, and she turns back to her walk. We are kindred spirits walking in the day carrying demons from the nights of our past. No one saw them, but the trained eyes of others who wore the same disguise of normalcy, and even most of them turned away, not willing to bring to the surface their own or make room for someone else’s. Jane saw mine and lunged to hold my head above the water they wanted to drown me in because they had done the same to her.
I take myself to some mom-and-pop places that aren’t too far from the warehouse, but distant enough so as not to raise skepticism. There won’t be any sign of me near the crime, because I will be somewhere else during the time. I tuck my cell phones by a tree outside of the mom-and-pop stores where no one’s naked eye can spot it, and no cell phone location tower could place me anywhere but here—planting my alibi where it needs to be. I can’t chance someone texting or calling me when I’m at the warehouse tonight and have my location pinned. I’ve seen that be the demise of so many people in a situation like this. They’re too attached to the things that will harm them. I plan to retrieve my phone after the deed is complete and even purchase myself a little victory trinket from one of the shops. But now is not the time for shopping, it’s time for my revenge.
The last time that Anna’s lungs will fill with life-giving oxygen.
I leave and head toward the warehouse. The sky is growing dark now; it is the perfect disguise. No one will see me coming around the back of the building, and this part of the lot is unseen from the road. I walk from the street over, where I park the car. The only streetlight here is conveniently busted. I have a couple of punk kids to thank for that. From the warehouse looking toward the street, there is nothing but the back of the buildings to see — not a soul in sight. Behind the warehouse, where I creep up and duck down, there is only a river after a scattering of trees.
They aren’t here yet when I arrive, but they come almost simultaneously, their practiced dance of deceit in this place down pat. They exit their respective cars in silence and reach for each other’s hands and head for the door of the warehouse. They look longingly at each other. The severity of the moment is not lost on them. It wasn’t just a simple tryst to either one. They are in love. I can see it on their faces as he opens the door for her one last time.
I let my footsteps mark the anthem of tonight. I allow a piano to play in my mind of retribution and sin. I open the back door and turn to look toward the street where my car sits. I could run. I could forget this whole thing. A sliver of logic tells me that I’m taking it too far once I close t
his door behind me. There’s no coming back from where I’m heading.
The fantasy of murdering someone isn’t completely abnormal. I’ve read it somewhere. The act of doing it is. Putting the idea in motion is beyond typical spectrums. I am crazy, no matter how Jane or I justify it. But they made me.
I close the door slowly, staring out into the night and pushing down that last part of me that wants to go home. I swallow it whole with the jaws of the monster they made me become.
The back door closes beneath my fingertips with finality, and no part of me wishes to leave now. I don’t even hear the flick of the lock, but I feel it beneath my hand. I feel the knife in my jacket again for the eighth time since I came to the warehouse. I already have my gloves on, and I slipped shower caps on my feet before entering the building. I’m jealous that John has Anna. Jealousy is a very powerful motive.
And so is revenge.
Thirty-Seven
“Do you think she’s run off?” I hear Anna’s nasally voice above me in the loft.
“I don’t know. She had some crazy eyes when I told her, so I bet she’s going to break.” John sounds out of breath already.
“Oh John, that turns me on. We’re closer and closer to being together.”
I wish I still had the cameras up in the warehouse so that I could see exactly where they are positioned in their makeshift room. I don’t want to chance mistakes when I need the scene to be set correctly. I couldn’t risk leaving the cameras up and having footage leading to me being caught. Plus, there won’t be a lot of time afterward to clean up and hide them. They’ll be looking for fresh marks, not ones made with Anna’s shoes weeks ago. I want to laugh when I look down at how stylish her boots appear on my feet even with the shower caps on the bottom. A bonus for me that we wear the same size.
I wait until her obnoxious moans of foreplay reach a volume that would drown out my light footsteps before making my way up the stairs. I crouch to the floor in a deep squat and begin my practiced walk over to the outer portion of the cardboard box hallway that lines their love nest. The shower caps on my shoes make the task slippery and hard, but it’s the only way to walk. I must keep myself low enough not to be spotted by the windows. We are facing the river from here, and the romantic candlelight won’t illuminate me to any boats passing by, but I still take no chances.
There is a slight opening where they always place food and stuff as a makeshift table. I’ve watched with bile threatening my throat as she would feed him grapes and shit. It was sickening. I chance a peek through the small hole.
His face is buried between her thighs, and her eyes are closed. She’s rocking her hips back and forth against his face, begging him not to stop. It’s my chance. I grab the bottle of wine on their table. They already popped the cork, so I don’t need to worry myself with the noise.
I am a perfectionist, and I won’t get sloppy now. This moment has run through my mind more than a million times. I need to execute it flawlessly and not allow their carelessness to rub off or have my emotions cloud the vision of what needs to be done. I take a deep breath and let my ears go deaf to my surroundings.
I dump the crushed-up pills into the bottle through a paper funnel I made, watching as no powder dares to caress the neck. Perfect. I swirl the bottle slowly until all visible trace is gone. I recheck my small peephole. John has come up for air and is now dominating over top of Anna, getting his victory kiss for making her cum. I push the cork in and set the bottle exactly where it was and wait for what I know will come next.
“Let’s have a drink,” he commands. It’s what they always do — foreplay, drinking, more foreplay, and sex. Then they lie cuddled up on the floor mattress for a half hour just touching each other and appreciating the closeness—not tonight. Their boring routine will be the end of them. I hold my breath as the shadow of my husband’s hand retrieves the bottle and evenly distributes the contents between two glasses.
Bottoms up, John and Anna.
I wait, holding my body up on aching legs, as they share their romantic ten-dollar bottle of wine. I push myself past the pain. Soon, legs, soon we can walk but not on this side of the boxes. After one glass they’re ready to go at it again, and Anna assumes her position on her knees. The slurping threatens to break my exterior so carefully constructed for tonight. I sing any song I can think of in my head to avoid letting her penetrate the calm this all requires.
“Be on top, John. You know, missionary. Let’s go old school. I feel like it’s our first time together,” Anna purrs. She’s a twig, so I know the medicine will work its way into her system faster than his.
“Anything you want, Anna. I love you. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms every night and fall asleep next to you.” The words fall from his lips so easily. I’ve never heard the sound his lips make this close before when he tells his whore the same things that he swore only to say to me.
It burns me up inside like a wildfire that cannot be contained. John loves Anna. I sink forward, pressing my face into my knees, and close my eyes. A tear drips down my cheek, and I do my best to shove the feeling down deep. He’s not the man I married, not the one that I fell in love with so many years ago. He doesn’t even closely resemble the one who loved me back. He’s a horrible human being now. This is Anna’s John, not mine.
I focus on the shower caps covering the boots. Not a single mark left behind. I pat the knife inside my pocket. The only mark will be that of a scorned lover, but not this one. I won’t be in this warehouse, except for a faint memory of me and a time I thought I would become an independent woman alongside my husband. A time when I had dreams to make security for not only myself but my future family. He tore it all away. There’s none of that Medeia left. Not even in the certificate buried behind the boxes.
“John, I don’t feel right.” I hear the force behind Anna’s words as she tries to push them past her lips and fight the sleep taking over. I pick my head up.
Their groans start to slow in repetition, and I can tell it’s taking strenuous force for John to keep going.
“John, I feel funny.” She’s breathy.
“Anna, are you still awake?” he grunts into her. “I’m gonna cum.”
Before she can respond, and I know she can’t, he falls on top of her. Ironically, instead of finishing together, they pass out together. How fitting. I almost want to tell my husband when he wakes up that at least he conked out at the same time as his lover. You two must be truly synced.
I begin to make my way down to the end of the box-made hallway, and I give it another five minutes to make sure they won’t be fighting the pills. I hear John’s distinct snoring, and I don’t hear Anna protesting having his dick inside her since he fell asleep on top of her. They’re out.
My moment has arrived. I turn the corner of the boxes, and finally, stand up in the cover and sanctuary they provide from the outside world. I head toward the sleeping lovers. Slow and deliberate, every step is a victory, a memory. Remember when you told me that I was crazy? Step. Remember making me quit my job? Step. How about every time you suggested that I up my medication? Step. How about when Anna smiled and held my hand at the party as if she wasn’t a snake trying to ruin my life? Step. What about every I love you? Step. What about today, when you told me my father was dead? Do you remember it all, John? Step. Because I do.
I make it to them. They’re lightly snoring and still connected. She did tell him she always wanted to play house with him, sleep next to him, and wake up next to him. I made the bitch’s dream come true. Well, everything except waking up. I cannot fulfill that dream, and I won’t give in to their happily ever after. I’m not that big of a person.
I waste no time because the longer I stand here, the more the scene threatens to bust down my walls. I straddle over my husband’s back and lift the top portion of him. He’s heavy, but the adrenaline gives me strength. Revenge gives me strength and the fact that I’m ridding the world of two destructive, calculating people makes him lighter than a toothpick
. I’m holding my naked husband above his lover after drugging them with the same pills John wanted me to increase for myself. I push it down. It’s just mechanics. I need to think of the moves and not the reason.
I place the knife inside his right hand, and cup mine over the top of his. Now comes the part that I have dreamed of every night since committing to the idea. The scene that I have played over again in my mind with great pleasure. The reality is so much better than anything I could have daydreamed before. Watching my husband’s hand come up to Anna’s soft white throat and press the blade in is everything I have longed for and more. It only fits that he be the one to end what he started, to take out the stain on our marriage. To punish himself for what he has done. To take away his happiness, just like he stole mine. That’s what he does. He ruins everything.
He glides the blade over with quick, angry ease. The blood squirts his face, narrowly missing mine. And there’s a gurgle to be heard, and Anna’s eyes try to fling open, but she bleeds out before the strength returns. I stand up and ease my husband back down, his face near the wound. How remorseful he is for what he has done, he’s holding her without care of the blood. What did you do, John? You had to kill the one thing you loved and couldn’t let go.
My husband killed Anna.
Medeia’s Journal
Dear Anna,
I think about your last breaths. The last thing you said. The last moment your eyes were open. I feel privileged to have known that they were your final moments because I took care of honoring them.
You knew something was wrong. You would never fall asleep on your lover. It wasn’t the wine; you knew it because you’re an avid drinker and can handle a bottle a night all on your own. So why now? Why would you be too drunk that the room spun around now? Why?
Dear Anna Page 16