by Erin Lee
According to the ragged ID, the man’s name is Henry Richardson. His stoic expression and facial hair are a near identical match to the man I’ve just unmasked and believed all this time to be Ripper. But it can’t be! It’s not him! I leap off the bed, pulling at the sheet to look at him again. Now, there is nothing to see. There is only the pulpy tangle of veins and tissue similar to raw hamburger meat. Sick, I run out of the room to the street. There, I vomit. Bile and even the bits of him I swallowed for my own sick posterity come pouring out of me.
Henry Richardson. Not him. I’ve done nothing to change the course of history. Gretchen is dead. All because of me. And this man? Just another innocent victim. What have I done? I am as bad as him. I am a killer. A monster. A person who decided to take someone else’s fate and very soul into my own hands. I even enjoyed it. I am damned!
I collapse against the brick wall of the building holding the mutilated remains of what history will later tell me was simply a newspaper reporter looking to unmask the writer of the letter bold enough to challenge Ripper. Banging my head against the hard brick, I close my eyes with no care that I’m covered in blood and that the light of morning’s entrance is coming on as fast as my guilt for what I’ve done. It is then, at 5:03 am, that I feel the tap on my shoulder. A man smiles at me. With his body blocking any chance I have for escape, he stares down at me. It’s him.
“Why, Ingrid West, I heard you were looking for me?”
They are the only words he says before I feel the cold blade on my neck and my world goes black and the entire course of history returns to its original, yet somehow more immense, destiny...
I’m lost in Ingrid’s world again when Hudson barges in no different than Ripper did. But I’m not Ingrid and I can still write my own ending. Slamming my book shut, I smile up at him, asking if he’s hungry. He’s never home this early after a day out with Kate. There must be trouble in paradise. I try not to laugh out loud, imagining a cold blade like Jack’s against Hudson’s neck, not Ingrid’s. Not mine. Where are you, Mistress Death?
He doesn’t bother to take off his shoes. Instead, he plops down at the kitchen table as I watch a pile of dirt fall onto my freshly cleaned tile floors. I remember back to year one when at least he respected my rules and took his shoes off at the door. I’m about to give him shit for this and send him the ‘don’t do it again’ memo too when he comes out with the dreaded statement: “Mary, we need to talk.”
My heart sinks into my chest. This is it. This is the beginning of our last and final death. Be careful what you ask for... welcome, Mistress Death. “About?”
I spin in the direction of the sink. Reaching to a cabinet on my right, I grab a coffee mug. If I have to listen to it, I’m doing it with tea. Popping it into the microwave, I hit two minutes.
“Us.”
“Want coffee? I’m making tea for me. Chinese.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not. What’s wrong? What do you want to talk about?” I smile at him as if I have no clue at all that he’s a cheating, lying skeeze. It’s the same smile I shot at the guy at the credit union who asked me why I felt the need to make such a large transfer into a personal account. I’d told him “cruise” and it’d managed to shut him down. For Hudson, well, I wouldn’t allow it to be that easy.
Reaching under the kitchen sink, I grab my new hammer. “When we’re done, I need you to hang a picture for me in the bathroom,” I say, only to explain my weapon of choice. While I’d had no plans to do it now, Ingrid West and her downfall had taught me it was important to always be ready. After I killed him, I could get back to my reading. I’d read her story enough times to know it didn’t end that way and that, in the end, after the cliffhanger, Ingrid West got what was hers to take. She was my kindred spirit.
I watch Hudson pick at his nails—something he’s done since I met him when he isn’t sure how to broach a topic or whenever faced with conflict—and ask again. “So? What do you want to talk about? Like what about us? The wedding?”
He shakes his head from side to side, finally resting his head in them. With his elbows propped on the kitchen table like a common cannibal, I swear the man’s about to cry. I grip the hammer. I could do it now. Things don’t always go to plan. I could clean the mess up later...
“I’m just done. I don’t know how else to say it. I don’t want to renew our vows, have a kid, any of it. We just aren’t right for each other,” he says. “You’re a great person but not the right one for me. We aren’t good together, Mary. Don’t you feel that too?”
I dig my nails into the painted black wood on the hammer. Arching my wrist and lifting my arm just enough to signal I haven’t come into the situation unarmed, I finally place it on the counter. Not now. It’s not time. Turning toward the microwave, I pop it open, grab my tea, and consider my options. Ingrid would slice him. She’d split his head in two. There’d be nothing left of him. She’d lick up his blood when she was through. But I wasn’t her. I wasn’t a Wendigo either. No, this was my real life – not a novel or even fan fiction. I had to face the monster I’d pledged forever to and head on.
Bringing my tea to the table, I sit down like nothing at all is wrong. Hudson stares at me as if holding his breath for an announcement. Dipping a tea bag into the steamy water, I finally look up at him and say, simply, “Is there another woman?”
“No.”
He says it like he’s practiced it. He should have practiced harder. Like opponents in a chess match, it’s my turn to make my next move.
“Good. I can’t imagine what the partners—hell, your poor mother too—would think of that. So this is simple. If you are unhappy, I can call a therapist. We’ll go to counselling and work out whatever your issues are. We made vows. I intend to keep them. Renew them too,” I say, bringing the hot cup to my mouth as an excuse for more time to think.
“A therapist won’t do it. I want a divorce.”
“Want is nice. Need is different. So is a promise. Enough of this talk. Tell me about your day. Mine was good. So glad you asked. I’ve been doing more reading about Ingrid West. I was able to write three chapters too. You’ll like my take on her. She’s very committed to what she wants.”
“I don’t care about your characters! If you would focus on what I’m saying it would help!” Hudson finally snaps.
“Help? I’m sorry for finding something to do while you run off to work at all hours. Pardon me for having a life outside you.”
“Someone has to pay the bills! You refuse to work. I still don’t know why you gave up the boutique. You did so great with clothes.”
Say that again when I hit the New York Times bestseller’s list. I hate him. In a swift motion, I pull the tea bag out and fling it across the room. It hits the fridge and plops to the ground. Hudson watches and shakes his head. “You’re fucking crazy, Mary.”
“No. Not at all. Crazy would be you. Throwing away everything. For what? And what will the families think? Might you give me a reason you aren’t happy? Don’t I at least deserve that? A chance to fix it, maybe?”
Hudson sighs. “We just aren’t a good match.”
“We were.”
“We aren’t now.”
We never were but a vow is a vow! “So, we fix it. I’m calling the firm. They’re waiting on a head count. I’d suggest you do some thinking about what you really want to do. I can’t see them being too eager to promote you with trouble at home, can you? But thank God it isn’t another woman. I’ll give you that. If there was? Well, I’d be furious. I might even have to pull an Ingrid West.”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“Read the book. I left you a copy on your nightstand. I mean, if you care to understand me. I wrote it for you. For us, even.” I stand and move toward the fridge to pick the tea bag up, wishing I’d just come out of the closet years ago and let my life take on a whole other direction.
“Yep. I have time for that.”
“You should. I mean,
if you weren’t so busy working.”
“Jesus. Enough of that. I work to get away from you.”
“Oh. Well that’s nice. So, tell me. It sounds like you’ve made up your mind about us and this marriage. But you might want to rethink that. I should probably let you know that I’m late. So when you think about what you’re doing, take that into consideration. I know how you feel about kids growing up without dads.”
Hudson’s mouth drops. “How late?”
“Three weeks. Appointment next week. I wanted to surprise you but, let’s face it, you like to peek early at presents too. Think pink.” With that, I leave the room.
Chapter Ten
Hudson
“She’s lost her shit completely. She’s obsessed with some character from a book. This chick in the book is a Wendigo or something. She eats men and drinks blood. Kind of like a vampire. Half human and half beast. Some shit. It’s all freaky to me. What I know is I’m not staying there. I swear to fuck she’s trying to poison me. You have no idea how psychotic this woman is. Half the time, she lives in some other reality.”
“Jesus,” Kate whispers.
“I’ll be there in ten. Do you need me to pick anything up?”
“No. We can figure it out when you get here. Are you moving in for good?”
At least Kate has no interest in arguing with me. I press harder on the gas to get to her place. Mary had to be bluffing about being late. She just stopped her pills and I’d only charity screwed her once to shut her up. There was no way she was pregnant. Later, I could call her bluff.
“As long as you’re okay with it. I can’t see myself going back. She’s insisting we renew our vows and work on the marriage. Talking about getting a therapist too. I can’t take it, babe. I’ve told her I am done. And when she finds out about Daisy? Well, fuck.”
“No one says she has to find out right now. Breathe. I’m on your side. Just get here safe and we can figure it out later. We can even order out for Chinese. We don’t have to eat there. We can eat it in bed for all I care,” Kate says. “As for vows? Good luck to her on that. I’d kill her myself. Drink her blood.”
I laugh. Kate has a way of fixating on the tiniest details. She reminds me of Mom. I can’t wait until my family can meet her. They will be shocked, of course, but I can alter the timeline enough to make it seem like Mary and me were separated long before Daisy. Mary never had any use for my family. She insisted we spent holidays alone and would freak the hell out any time I asked if she’d mind them coming over. I’ve missed them.
“Okay, I’ll be there soon. I am going to stop at the storage place on Route Nine. I want to see if they have a tiny place I can rent for my tools and the lock box with the safety deposit key in it. I have a feeling the rest of my shit is going to wind up on the lawn.”
“Are you giving her the house?”
“No. But I’m leaving. That means I need to get my shit out and soon. When she realizes I’m serious and not coming back and that she can’t put some witch curse on me to stay this ‘fix it’ talk will turn to war. I’ll have to go back for the house legally, in court. Right now, it’s not my biggest problem.”
“Wow.”
“I wish we could fast forward. In a year or two, she’ll move on.” She’ll give up the shit about being pregnant too. Time will solve that. Fucking head games! Sick of it.
“No, don’t think like that. If we fast forwarded we’d miss Daisy’s birth. Yeah, this might get hard, but you don’t want to miss out on the stuff in the middle. You can handle her legally and still have a life in between. Have you contacted a lawyer?”
“That’s on the list too. I need to tell Brown first. The guy’s about to throw some huge announcement in the corporate newsletter about us renewing our vows. She’s all over him too; another one of her nasty games. She loves fucking with my job and family. Nothing is off limits with that woman.”
In reality, I’m not sure how to time warning Brown. Round one of the newsletter has already gone out. While he’d know the best lawyer in town, Mary’s right in that he’ll give me kickback. At Brown Investments, where we turn cash green, there’s an image about partners and anyone working their way up on that latter. Maybe I could fake interest in his religion. If he thought he had a chance of converting me—that I was ready—he might even bite. Mormonism didn’t sound as bad as a demotion and the alimony payments I’d soon be bleeding out my ass. It would be easier if Kate understood the politics. That’s where Mary—now to my detriment—wins. She’d always kept close tabs on my career. To her credit, she’d even helped me climb the corporate ladder. Now, I wondered if she’d done it for her own best interest. She certainly didn’t appear to have a problem unravelling it.
“Brown will know who to call. The firm’s been through how many suits?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking,” I agree as I pull onto the highway to drive the three exit that will take me to Kate’s. Eventually, I’ll have to get us a new place. The tiny apartment won’t cut it – not with a baby. Move money too. Fast, before Mary. My stomach sinks. I know my wife well enough to know she’s probably on that too. “Babe? It may be more like an hour or two. I need to get to the bank too. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you.”
“Take your time. Remember the silver lining. We won’t be apart anymore. We can handle this together. Shitty circumstance or not, this is exciting! I’ll make you some closet space. Love you!”
Chapter Eleven
Mary
Ingrid West has taught me to trust Mistress Death. She’ll have none of this. She won’t allow Hudson to do this. I’ll have to give her a shove, of course, but that’s fine. I take my birth control pills two at a time, tossing the container to the very bottom of the thick green garbage bag. Fortunately, Hudson can’t be bothered to take the trash out these days. He’s left that—both literally and figuratively—to me.
I’d be dumb not to notice that his toothbrush is missing. The stupid fuck thinks I don’t pay attention to detail anymore. He’s wrong. In every way. Clearly, he believes he’s left me for good. We’ll see about that. Sad-for-him part is that he forgot the lock box he thinks he left in his car. I grab it and bring it to my car. I’ll keep it in the trunk, hidden under the carpet with the spare. He’ll never think to look for it there. It’s been years since he’s worried about upkeep for the cars either. Too busy fucking around and chasing ass.
Today’s going to be busy. The busiest yet. I grab my notebook to start a new list:
Pregnancy test
HCG drops – and so not for weight loss
Bridal shop
Nasty Chinese take out to leave in the fridge just to fuck with him in case he comes back (Thank you, Kat)
Large mailing envelopes
The bank
The post office
The lawyer’s office (retainer and back-up plan)
The credit union
The travel agent (Don’t forget to ask about off-season rates in Venice)
The audio of Ingrid’s sequel – a reward for putting up with him
Rite Dye
Peroxide
Grabbing my keys and with Hudson’s lock box with the safety deposit key in it in hand, I head to the car for a day that will change everything. I throw on my sunglasses not so much because I need them in late October, but because I might just take a drive on by Kate’s place. I wonder if I can beat him there. More important, I wonder why I care.
It had always shocked me that women would take diet pills in the first place. I’d always assumed them to be lazy; the types who didn’t want to put the work into the gym. But I’m not arguing with it or them as I pick up the diet pills with HCG in them. I could get the hormone in several forms. Drops would be best, of course. But I wanted it to translate into my urine. I need the yellowish tinge on the stick to make it believable. Obviously, with Katherine pregnant, Hudson has experience with this. Flipping the box the pills came in, I scan the ingredients for any warnings.
Loade
d with caffeine, I’d have to be careful. But by my best calculations, I could take twenty of them and, if I waited the night the HCG would absorb into my urine – giving me what I needed. Smiling, I grab two boxes and head for the family planning section. I am surprised how busy the pharmacy is. I nod at a woman dragging her screaming kid through aisle three and wish I had it in me to suggest she follow me. Other people’s problems, I tell myself, not wanting to get involved. Things would work out for her – they always did. In ten years, that woman’s kid would be off on her own and hopefully with a man nothing like Hudson. By then, I’d be tucked away in Venice with a person who understood that love was supposed to last and that sneaking around was no way to hang on to it. I didn’t really believe in it but Ingrid did and I could hope. Lately, it felt like karma and happy endings were for other people. But I am Ingrid West’s best fan, I remind myself. She’d taught me I always had the option to push karma along. And dammit? That’s what I plan to do.
Hours later
I cringe as I pull the $5,200 dress from its plastic casing. The idea of soaking it in black Rite Dye doesn’t sit well. But it’s fitting. I remind myself that as I slowly pull at the zipper and pull it from the packaging. It’s the perfect dress. A line, trumpet style, Hudson will love everything about it, other than the black. Mistress Death will be impressed. Ingrid would be too. I could see her wearing it, chasing Jack the Ripper through the centuries and never once looking out dated or even too contemporary. It’s a classic. Later, when I dye my hair white, I’ll take comfort in knowing I’ll be the only thing to shine from under its midnight margins.
