I liked the last look in your eyes when he slit your throat, the way you fought to look around, how you felt betrayed by him. I hope you know that your lover didn’t stop screwing you when you fell asleep. He just assumed you had your eyes closed in ecstasy. You were a hole for him.
And that’s the man you risked your life to be with in the evenings.
He’s the man who killed you.
Was it worth it, Anna?
Thirty-Eight
I switch the bottle of wine with another empty bottle from one of their previous meetings here. I pour the remaining wine from their glasses into a sandwich bag and then put the cups into another plastic bag. I saved two cups from a time that they forgot to clean up after and put those on the makeshift table area. No trace of the pills here. I finish cleaning up, and I look down on the scene one last time. Nothing left but them.
The ending of a part of our story. At least to one of the chapters, Anna’s chapter. I try not to think about the family who will miss her or the horrible life they will live knowing what happened to her. I put my mind at ease about the even score we had to settle. Here’s the thing, your parents will try to raise you so that you do right and not wrong. They’ll give you all the tools you need to change a red situation to green, but you’re on your own when you start fucking people’s husbands.
I hope her family finds peace. Even her mother, whose guilt will consume her when she remembers the door that she recently slammed in her daughter’s face. They can find closure in the fact that John will be behind bars and out of society, that someone will pay for what happened to this girl. They’ll paint her as an innocent girl who got tangled in the wrong situation by love. That’s how they’ll portray her. Her friend Samantha and I will know the truth. Jane will know the truth. Anna hunted for the married men, to mess with their lives and tempt her fate. She loved luring them away from things. It gave her a thrill because she had done it so many times before to leave the man dry of something in blackmail. It was different with John. Different with me. She loved him and attached herself most precariously. It led to her destruction.
Anna’s blood glimmers in the flickering of the candlelight. I wonder what the scene looks like with the bright overhead lights blaring down. But, for now, it’s just poetic. A little bit romantic. If I slit John’s throat as well, they could be like Romeo and Juliet. Except, I want my ending where he pays for all that he’s done to me. I don’t want to romanticize their blatant abuse of my mental state. I want the world to flick on the bright lights and call attention to what happened here, to the horrible things these two were plotting to do.
I walk out of the building with intent. So many people rush this part on those tv shows because they are frightened and need to get away. But this is where I need to be the most cautious. If my father taught me anything useful, it’s this. What could scare you? You’re the scariest thing there is now. When I get closer to the car, I take the gloves and shower caps off and deposit them into the plastic bag along with the wine bottle, wine, and cups. I was never here.
I’m tempted to stay and see what happens when John wakes up, but that’s too risky and indulgent. I need to remain focused. I can’t be here. I can’t run the chance of being seen. I also can’t mess with my alibi not being stable. I’m off to dispose of this evidence and finish my shopping. I let go of the fact that this is one of the pieces of the puzzle I can’t see or have control over. I hand this over to my husband and rely on him to do his part. A difficult task in my mind because John has proven himself to be unreliable. That’s how we got in this entire situation. I take a deep breath and concentrate.
I dump the wine into the river and save the rest of the things to burn at Jane’s place. I head off to get my phone and victory reward. I still haven’t gotten Jane anything for Christmas yet. And what about Anna? She’ll need something acceptable as John’s secretary. I always buy the secretaries he has a little chocolate gift pack. I should stop and get her one. Just the same as all the others, so she doesn’t realize how special she is to me.
I buy my purchases and linger a little bit at a coffee shop. It’s lovely to watch people hustle and bustle on the street and amongst the stores. They’re in their cars thinking about how awful the traffic is, and how much they want to go home. They wonder what to buy and try not to feel guilty when they opt for a cheaper present because the other one wasn’t exactly in their budget.
They come into the coffee shop and order their pick-me-up to aid them in their energy level to continue shopping or to begin. They don’t know how close they are to me. They have no idea the things I’ve seen and done. They smile at me when we happen to make eye contact. I smile back and even offer up a hello if they are in a close enough range. I exchange pleasantries with several of the customers in the shop and wish them a blessed holiday season as they leave.
Not a single one of them thinks they’re talking to a person who just committed a murder.
They have no idea.
And no one ever will.
I give John another hour before I return to the house. When I come in, arms filled with shopping bags, I find him at the dining room table. He’s freshly showered, and his neck looks raw from scrubbing. What was there, John? Blood from your whore? He’s sipping on gin and staring out into space with wild eyes. He looks like my father did that morning. He tries his best to hide it when I enter the room. Will he finally confess to me?
“Hi, honey,” I sing. My stomach aches with excitement. I run to him and kiss his cheek. He jumps at the feeling of my touch.
“Hi.” He whispers. I watch the ghosts of his past dance across his face. The time that he beat a man into a coma, the time he hit a man so badly that I needed to cover it up for him, the time that he got into an altercation at work, and now the time that he murdered his mistress. Unfortunately, that moment is fuzzy for him I imagine.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, ready to take in his confession.
“Something bad happened.” He stutters. I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
“What?” He doesn’t answer me. Instead he pours himself more drink. “John, you have that same look in your eyes like the night that you beat that man half to death.”
“Don’t talk about that night.” He growls, and I jump back for show. I want John to be terrified of his demons.
“I’m sorry, Medeia. I’m sorry.” He scratches his nails deep into his scalp in frustration.
“John?”
“How are you feeling?” he ventures. “You left upset.” I watch him swallow down his confession and start up a new lie.
“I’m all right. I mean, it’s sad when someone you know that well passes away, but I can’t change it.” I look him in the eye and long to stare and stain his soul.
“I feel awful,” he whispers, near tears.
“Hmm?”
“I did some investigating today when you left,” he starts. The lie is on the spot; I can tell by the way his eyes jolt around instead of focusing. “Your father didn’t die. He was merely in the hospital is all.” He nods excited — he’s proud of his lie.
“Oh?” I pull a chair out to sit down. “Huh.”
“Are you okay, Medeia?” Now he is nervous. If he doesn’t have me now that Anna is gone, who will get him through this? I’m not covering this one up for him. If John confesses right now, I’ll turn him over to the police.
“I don’t know.” I bite my lip. “I mean, I spent all day making peace with his death and the horrible things he did.” He grabs for my hand, and it’s cold on mine. I think about the last thing our hands did conjoined together. “I guess that work doesn’t have to go to waste, does it?”
He shakes his head.
“I still gained some peace from it all. From the torture and hell that others have brought into my life.”
“That’s a good point.” The color is slowly returning to his face as he forces Anna from his mind. He won’t be confessing to me.
“Did you do a little shopping?”
He laughs at his joke. His ability to change the subject to trivial things is terrifying. Doesn’t Anna matter at all to you? She’s all I could think of for months now.
“Christmas is done,” I raise my arms in a victory stance.
“I haven’t even started.” He stares at the bags with a small smirk playing at how I accomplished the feat in one day. “What can I get you for Christmas, babe?” He seems a little sad when he asks it. He sees his future flash with the riddles of lawyers and plea deals, not Christmas and shopping.
“Oh, I even took care of that for you today, my love. I know how busy and focused you’ve been at work lately, so I wanted to take the burden from you. I ended up getting myself a little something; I’ll just put your name on it,” I say. I laugh at my joke, but he is none the wiser to its origin.
I remove my hand from under his and pat his shoulder. “It has been a long day, though.” I stand and point to the bags. “Is it all right if I leave these here until the morning? I think with everything that happened today that I should take a shower and get into bed.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Sure.” He nods to the bags and waves off their existence. “Leave them here.”
I head out of the dining room.
“I love you.” His shout is desperate and second best.
“Thanks, John.” I turn around wondering if this will be the moment that he spills everything, but he’s staring out the window into the night again. A shiver runs through me, and I see Anna’s lifeless body when I look at him. I killed her, but she’s all around.
Thirty-Nine
“So?” For once, Jane has beaten me to the gym this morning, and I’m even twenty minutes early. I’ve been too anxious to tell her about last night, that I couldn’t sleep.
I nod.
“Wow.” She hits the buttons on her treadmill and starts at a slow pace. I do the same.
There is silence between us. The words that we long to share with each other are not appropriate for this public space.
“How did the shopping go, once I left you last night?” I pick up on Jane’s code.
“It went well. I got something for everyone on my list. I’m done shopping for Christmas.” I pick up the pace on my jog. I notice Jane’s eyes are looking around the weight area to see if a certain blonde makes her way in today. She needs something to solidify that it’s real, that what I say is the truth.
It was her story that convinced me it was possible to pull off, and I checked it out, too. The abuse records were real, as well. I knew Jane was telling the truth when she admitted to killing her husband. I look over toward her. I wonder if the pressure of knowing my secret will only bring her closer or push her to crack.
“Jane?” I startle her.
“Hmm?” She whips her head toward me as she picks up her running pace.
“I hate it when people tell me what gifts they got me, so I won’t tell you what I got you as long as you don’t tell.” I raise my eyebrow.
She is offended immediately. “I would never tell you what I got you. I hate when people ruin a good gift that way.” We both nod─ we understand.
I face forward, and Jane lingers on my face only a second longer before following my line of sight. It’s the first time at the gym that we don’t see Anna taking selfies. None of the gym rats downstairs or on the walkway upstairs miss her or ask about her.
Jane takes the bag from me that contains my gloves, shower caps, and John and Anna’s plastic cups. We exchange it inside her knit hat she purposely left in my car the night before.
“I’ll take care of it.” She puts the hat in her purse.
“Thank you, Jane. Seriously, for everything. For your friendship, your trust, your secrets. For you.” A tear rolls down my cheek. “I love you like you were a sister to me.” I pull her into me.
“I’m so happy that we could save you from your abuser,” Jane whispers into my ear as we squeeze each other harder.
I watch as she climbs into her car and drives away. I still have one last person to follow today, and it won’t be my paranoid husband who spent the night crying in bed next to me when he thought I was asleep. It will be Samantha. I wonder what my favorite girl is up to today.
I find her waiting for Anna at their weekly lunch spot. Anna is fifteen minutes late, and she’s getting impatient that her friend isn’t picking up her calls. I sit three tables down from her, reading a book and enjoying some music in my earbuds. They have a delicious fish sandwich here. I can see why this restaurant has become a repeat place for Anna and Samantha.
She dials the number for Anna again only to groan at the beginning of another voicemail message. She raises her hand for the waiter’s attention and asks for her meal to be made to go. She is not one to wait long, and she’s confident that Anna is mad at her for something, at least that’s what I gather from the multiple rantings she’s placed into Anna’s voicemail.
Anna, I know you’re still mad at me but pick up. We need to talk.
I only told you the truth. That’s what I always do. I don’t understand why you’re ghosting me now. Are you too good for friends?
I’m leaving the restaurant, Anna. I can’t believe you stood me up. You’ve changed since John and not in a good way.
She slams the end button on her cell phone and stands up. The waiter comes over with her fish sandwich meal and change. She tells him to keep it and smiles at him, hoping to gain a little approval for her looks, but he’s more excited by the ten-dollar tip to notice she did her hair. I notice though. It looks good on her.
I beckon him over, as Samantha makes her way out the door.
“Hi, can I have the check please?” I wink.
“Certainly, miss.” He digs into his apron pocket and proceeds to pull my check out. I have the cash already waiting for him.
“Here you go, keep the change. I’m in a bit of a hurry today.” I smile and stand up.
“Thank you so much, miss.” Two large tips in two minutes. He’s one happy guy.
When I walk out of the restaurant, Samantha is hovering over her phone, facing away from me. I linger and pretend to be searching for my keys in my purse.
“Listen, Anna. I’m done. You and John are sick for what you’re trying to do to his wife. If you don’t like the fact that I told you the truth, then I’m done with it. You deserve John if you’re going to be that nasty of a human being. His wife deserves nothing but all of his money in the divorce, and I hope she gets it. You’re proving yourself to be no better than your mother.” She smashes her finger into the end button and stomps off in the opposite direction as I do.
I head into the store next to the restaurant, a little party place but more so a good cover to watch my favorite human being, Samantha, walks away pissed off and done being friends with Anna. I hadn’t realized the bonus that I could take something away from Anna, as well.
Medeia’s Journal
Dear Anna,
It’s been three whole days, and they have yet to report you missing. No one at the office has bothered. Your mother. Your aunt. Your grandmother. No one. Not even Samantha. Are you essential in anyone’s life but John’s and mine?
Forty
It has taken a lot of strength and willpower to resist the urge of going to the warehouse and checking on Anna. I feel like I’m neglecting her, leaving her lying there without so much as a visit. I don’t even know if she’s still there. What did John do to her? Did he take proper care of her? I didn’t know she was so unloved until the moments that followed after I watched her bleed out.
It takes a whole week before Samantha reports her missing. I was hoping it would be her no-good mother. If I ever had a kid, I’d be in constant daily contact, and I would know immediately. How terrible, especially since I know how often Anna tried to visit her mother. She still longed to be loved. Maybe that’s why Anna felt the need to have men constantly around her. We blame it on daddy issues, which she had, but maybe there’s a little bit to do with the neglect of a mother’s love in there, too. If her
mother had had the proper amount of self-esteem, perhaps she could have passed that healthy self-love image down to her daughter. However, she failed, and Anna turned out to be a whore just like her. I wish I could have done something more for the girl, now. Maybe a bigger basket of muffins.
“John, come here. Come here. Come here.” I demand from the living room.
“What?” He shuffles in, unamused.
“Look.” I point at the television illuminating the room with the morning news story. “Isn’t that Anna?” I turn to see the terror in John’s eyes contrast against the pale white of his face as he grips the back of the couch.
“Oh, god,” he mumbles.
“It is. Oh, my goodness. That poor girl.” I grip my hand around my mouth if only to keep from laughing in John’s face about how he’s stumbling backward holding the couch for support. He grips the wall as he stumbles out of the room toward the kitchen.
He knows what he did. He can’t fathom how he could be so cruel. I am revived by the fact that John doesn’t even question that it was his doing; he knows how horrible of a person he is. He doesn’t walk around unaware of his temper. Poor Anna.
Her lover betrays her.
I know exactly how that feels. Maybe John is still trying to piece together that night. The only thing he’ll remember is drinking and blacking out. That’s when his rage must have kicked in, and considering he never reported the incident, that must be what he felt on some level. He didn’t want to be bullied by her into throwing me in a mental facility, and he didn’t want to lose her if he didn’t go through with the plan. If he couldn’t have her, no one could. He must think that’s what he did. On some level, my husband wanted his mistress to die. He’s as guilty as I am.
Dear Anna Page 17