When David Died: A True Story

by John Locke

  She took a deep breath. “You’ve got seven days to pay up, or I’m going back to Michael. And when he brings me to visit the family, you’re going to be the same David you’ve always been as far as Alison and Jessie are concerned.”

  “And if I can’t do that?”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to insist that you do.”

  “Help me understand why it’s so important for me to pretend I want you in my house, knowing you’re just waiting to be paid.”

  “Because despite what you think about me, all I ever wanted was to have a real family. Remember last Christmas?”

  “What about it?”

  “That’s the only time I’ve ever experienced being with a real family at Christmas. And everyone liked me and wanted me there because I was Nicki, not Katie, and I was so happy, and I remember thinking I can’t keep living with Michael because we’re not compatible, but if you had told me then that all I had to do to be a part of your family was to fuck you every Friday, I wouldn’t have waited. I would have done it right under the Christmas tree, and once a day thereafter. Because that’s all I ever wanted. But fucking you didn’t make me part of the family, it pushed me further away. Yes, I got to be with you, and two days ago I got to spend time with Jessie at the concert, but I knew my time with Michael and Alison was done. So yes I’m going back to Michael, and I’m gonna try as hard as I can to get him to bring me to see you, because whatever time I get to be with you guys is the only time I’ll ever have with you for the rest of my life.”

  “That’s quite poignant, but let’s not forget you’re willing to take two million to stop being around us.”

  “Yes. But not being around you was your idea, not mine. And I accepted your terms because—once again—you don’t want me anywhere near your family. And the two million you keep whining about is a drop in the bucket for you, so please don’t insult me by acting like it’s a hardship.”

  “I’d prefer you don’t come to the house. I’m not sure I can be convincing.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t get to make that decision. It’s my last chance to spend time with my family, so if I can talk Michael into bringing me, you’ll be civil or I’ll tell your precious family who I really am. And I’ll make sure they get copies of the video, so they can see all the degenerate, perverted things you did to your own daughter. And by the way, those are your words, not mine, because I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve done with you, because love is love. And just so you know, I would have done a lot more.”

  I decided not to tell her she’s mentally disturbed. It wouldn’t make a difference. Mentally disturbed people don’t know they’re disturbed.

  She looked at me and said, “I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

  “Me too.”

  She put her hand on my shoulder. “Do you need a moment?”

  I nodded, placed the plastic bags in my pocket, took a seat on the couch, covered my face with my hands and reviewed everything she said about how Alison and I let her slip from our lives and never bothered to find out what happened to her. And you know what? Everything she said about us was true. I think what happened, we felt so guilty bringing her into the world and giving her away that we convinced ourselves it was for the best, and that she was happy somewhere with a nice family, and it wouldn’t be fair to take her away from that life.

  But as Nicki would say, that’s a copout. Because Alison and I never had a single conversation about Katie in all these years. We simply put her out of our minds. She was part of the system, and we had our own lives to lead.

  I finally said, “If we’d known what you were going through all those years, we would have done something.”

  “I believe you. But you still should have checked.”

  I couldn’t argue the point. We weren’t wrong to let her go, but we were monsters for ceasing to care.

  Nicki agreed to keep her throwaway phone and I agreed never to text her. I told her I’d call to let her know the DNA results and coordinate the payment, if it came to that. Then I said something that surprised both of us and revealed how selfish and insensitive I truly am: “If the tests come back negative,” I said, “can we resume the affair? I’m willing to double my offer.”

  She said, “You are one sick puppy, David. And by the way, I saw you grinning on the tape while you were giving me anal.”

  We said our goodbyes and I started to leave, then said, “I’d feel better if you gave me a second swab.”

  She showed me a sad smile and said, “That’s why I gave you the extra bags: I knew you wouldn’t trust me. Would you like to do it?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Go ahead. It only works if you’re convinced the process is fair and accurate.”

  She opened her perfect mouth and I swabbed her inner cheek and placed it in one of the extra plastic bags. Then I took them home, made some calls and found a lab that does DNA testing. Unfortunately, they told me it could take two months to get the results. Nevertheless, I swabbed myself, placed it in the bag labeled David, and took all three bags to the lab.

  Eight weeks later the results were in, and as Maury Povich would say, “David, when it comes to 23-year-old Nicki Hill, you are the father!”

  23.

  WELL OF COURSE I had to pay Nicki the money. It’s one thing to tell Alison I had an affair with our son’s ex-girlfriend, but quite another to say “The tapes you’re about to see will show me butt-fucking our birth daughter!” Nor would I want her to learn Michael had carnal knowledge of his actual sister, and nor would I want Michael to know. Or Jessie. Or any of my friends and business associates.

  Nicki was right: I did want to stop seeing her. What’s really fucked up is before I threw my fit, she would have been willing to keep seeing me! This young lady might be beautiful, but she’s as mentally deranged and sexually damaged as a person can be. I believe she latched on to me and Michael for no other reason than because we were the family she never had. I’d bet money she would have been willing to have sex with Alison and even Jessie, had the opportunity presented itself.

  While I waited for the DNA results, Nicki made good on her promise to go back to Michael, and I was dismayed to hear him say they were talking about getting married. Her willingness to use him knew no bounds. Yes, I could have stopped it by paying her the money immediately, but how stupid would I feel if she wound up clipping me for two million dollars and all I had to show for it was three cotton swabs?

  The one thing I’m thankful for is she hasn’t talked him into bringing her home for a visit yet. That said, they’re planning to come next weekend, but she’ll be long gone by then, since I’m wiring the balance of her money tomorrow.

  I miss the affair.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it’s over. It’s just that I miss the “being in love” part. All those months with Nicki gave my life purpose. Something new and exciting to look forward to every single week. Now that she’s gone, I’d be bored to death if not for the other thing she gave me:

  An addiction to erotic asphyxiation.

  Of course, it’s different doing everything without a partner. First, it’s more dangerous: am I going to get caught? Am I going to lose consciousness and strangle myself? It’s scary, but as Nicki used to say, that’s a big part of the allure.

  Second, I had to find a different stimulus. While porn can never match a live sexual partner, it’s an acceptable substitute for those willing to elevate the risk factor. In that regard I learned that by adapting Nicki’s slip knot I could create a method that would allow me to save my own life after orgasm: by holding the knot in my teeth, I can actually loosen it at the moment I’m getting off. And it works every time. Sadly, when something works every time it ceases to be dangerous. And even though my orgasms are intense, they’re nothing compared to what I experience when I’m convinced my life is truly in danger.

  And so I’ve started taking more chances, just to—you know—make it more interesting. I stopped holding the knot in my teeth, which
means after achieving orgasm I now have to turn my head and grab for it, and if I miss, I’m that much closer to death. Believe me, this is far harder than it sounds, since I’m gasping like crazy, trying to breathe, while trying to turn my head in order to grab a moving lifeline with my teeth that I can’t even see!

  But as dangerous as that was, after a few tries I became proficient at it, and so I had to come up with a way to step up my game. I decided to purposely miss the lifeline on the first try.

  And that nearly did me in.

  But it was so exhilarating I continued to do it that way for weeks. Now, once again, I’ve mastered the move, and so the danger has minimized. So today I’m going to purposely miss the lifeline twice.

  Can you just imagine?

  Two weeks ago I cashed in a mutual fund and wired $1.2 million to Nicki’s account. Since then I liquidated a couple of stock positions, but the bank made me wait ten days before wiring the money from my account to hers. So tomorrow I’ll wire her the remaining $800,000 and she’ll break up with Michael, move away, and she’ll become part of my past, and Alison and Michael will never know what happened. Meanwhile, she’s leading Michael on, pretending their relationship is better than ever.

  So here we are: it’s a cold November Wednesday, and Alison and Jessie have left for the afternoon. I’ve tossed the rope over the beam in my den, tied it off to a sturdy doorknob, turned on my porn, tied the slip knot, placed the rope around my neck, positioned a towel under the rope just like Nicki taught me, so I won’t show any burn marks.

  Now I tighten the slip knot as far as I dare, and focus on the porn while standing on the stool and stroking myself, and…

  Part Four:

  Nicki Hill

  1.

  Present Time

  SO HERE I am in Alison’s hotel room, experiencing the very definition of irony: I’m getting a severe tongue-lashing by Alison while sitting on the same bed where I tongue-fucked her underage daughter fourteen hours ago.

  Aside from that, her lecture’s pretty similar to the one David gave me two months ago, except that instead of paying me two million to walk away from Michael, Alison’s gonna pay me five million to walk away from Jessie.

  As I watch her rattle on and on about what a horrid child I’ve been I find myself wondering what she’ll do after getting her share of the inheritance. Will she sell the house and move away to make it harder for Jessie and I to hook up? Will she dump David’s insurance agent or marry him? And how will she react if she catches Jessie and me seeing each other? Because there’s no way in hell I’m going to give Jessie up if she wants to keep seeing me after I tell her I’m Michael’s sister.

  Call me optimistic, but I don’t think it’s gonna matter to Jessie. After all, she and I are completely unrelated. Yes, I fucked my biological brother. But when I explain I only did that so I could eventually be with her, I think she’ll be moved, just as David was. And why shouldn’t she be? It’s true. And if Alison had the hots for me instead of the others, I would have stayed with Michael just to be with her. My point is, I love them all except—not so much Michael—and if sex is their preferred currency, it’s easy enough for me to give. That’s because I don’t look at it the same way most people do. To me it’s like anything else you’d do to make your loved ones happy. I don’t enjoy sex, but I’m willing to do it to be with the person or people I love. It’s like getting a job to support the family. You might hate the job, but you’ll show up every day for eight hours and do the best job you can because you love your family.

  So why did I have to go after David? Why couldn’t I just stay with Michael and give him the sex he wanted?

  That would have solved all my problems. I could have spent a lifetime of weekends and holidays with the Thornes if Michael had been a different person. But sadly, he bears an uncanny resemblance to the foster father that treated me with excessive cruelty and killed my best friend. Much as I love the Thornes, I couldn’t get past the trauma of letting Michael touch me.

  So my current plan is to tell Jessie immediately, and if she no longer wants to be with me, I’ll contest David’s will and force the family to pay me my rightful share of the inheritance.

  And I’ll take my chances that number will be north of five million.

  Hold up: Alison just agreed to pay the full five million!

  In return, I’ll have to move away, stop seeing Jessie, and never contact the family again.

  Obviously, the payment to me is contingent on her getting the full accidental death benefit. This, because they’ll need a ton of money to pay inheritance taxes and attorney’s fees.

  So I’ll stay cool till I get the money. I’ll tell Jess we have to stay apart for a couple months, she’ll ask why, and I’ll tell her the whole story. Except for the part about how I seduced her dad. If she ever found out about that, I’d lose her in a heartbeat. Lucky for me I was extremely careful throughout the affair. The only one on earth who has any evidence linking me to David sexually is me.

  Will Jessie wait for me? I sure hope so. She isn’t family, but she’s the closest thing I’ve got.

  2.

  Three Weeks Later

  MY PHONE RINGS.

  “Nicki? It’s Alison. We’ve hit a wall.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “According to Mr. Blass, the insurance company’s going to deny the accidental death benefit. If they do, he thinks David’s other policies will follow suit. Accordingly, I can’t pay you the full amount.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Our agreement.”

  “Which agreement is that?”

  She pauses. “I offered you five million dollars to walk away, and you agreed.”

  “Actually, I agreed to accept your offer of five million dollars in lieu of contesting the will.”

  “Well, however you want to phrase it, if the insurance won’t pay, I can only give you half.”

  “That seems a bit light.”

  “Two-point-five’s a lot of money. And you already received one-point-two from David.”

  “Why won’t they pay the accidental death benefit?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a lot of gibberish, far as I’m concerned. But Mr. Blass is here. If you want, I’ll put him on speaker.”

  “Thanks. I would like to talk to him.”

  “Nicki? Hi. Arthur Blass. I’ve been working the insurance claim for Mrs. Thorne.”

  “I know,” I say, thinking that’s not the only thing he’s been working.

  “The insurance company’s taking the position that Mr. Thorne’s death wasn’t an accident because a reasonable person would understand that putting a noose around his neck for the purposes of sexual gratification could result in his death.”

  “It wasn’t a noose. It was a slip knot. And a reasonable person would also understand that crossing a city street could result in his death.”

  “Yes, but the company feels a reasonable person would understand the risk difference between hanging himself and crossing a city street.”

  “Is the company claiming this was a suicide? Because that would go against the coroner’s report, from what I’ve heard. Not to mention the police report.”

  “No. They’re saying it doesn’t qualify as a payable claim based on the policy provisions.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot!”

  “If I tried to run across a busy highway to save my dog and got hit by a car and killed, would the company pay the accidental death rider?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I assume that’s because I didn’t intend to get struck by a car?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “So is the company’s saying David intended to strangle himself?”

  “Yes. Not to death, but partially, enough to cut off his air. That’s the whole point of autoerotic asphyxiation.”

  “Did you hear yourself just now? You said it was David’s intention to partially cut off his air. Not to strangle himself t
o death. Therefore, his death had to be an accident.”

  He’s quiet a moment. “You make a good case. Perhaps you should hire an attorney to present that argument.”

  “Why would I hire an attorney?”

  “Sorry. I meant Mrs. Thorne.”

  “This is pretty clear cut, Arthur: the fact that David’s death occurred because of his sexual preferences or gross negligence doesn’t prevent his death from being an accident. David didn’t want to kill himself, he wanted to experience an intense orgasm. If he wanted to kill himself he wouldn’t have placed a cloth under the rope, wouldn’t have gotten naked, wouldn’t have watched babysitter porn. Yes, he knew it was a risky activity, but so is driving a car on New Year’s Eve. And yet reasonable people do it every year.”

  “Your point’s not lost on me, Miss Hill. I happen to agree with you. But as for your automobile example, the safest drivers have the fewest accidents. And David wasn’t practicing safe sex when he died.”

  “The safest drivers get struck by unsafe drivers every day. Reasonable people know this, but it’s a risk they’re willing to accept. And I’m sure David understood the risks of his sexual activity.”

  “Well, there you have it: you’ve just identified the problem we’re facing: according to the insurance company, there’s no evidence David ever attempted this type of activity before. If he had, and had survived, they might be forced to reconsider.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “If David had survived the activity in the past he’d have every reasonable expectation to survive it the day he died.”

  “Didn’t Alison tell you she caught him doing it?”

  “Yes, but she’s not prepared to take a polygraph.”