by A. R. Braun
… but nothing came out except wheezing.
Tyler went forward with his spiel: “Your dog wanted to sleep with you. He hopped up on the bed, but when I joined you, my presence panicked your pooch, so I’m afraid he bit you a few times. I rushed you to the hospital and they stitched up the wounds. You must have been exhausted, ‘cause you slept through the whole thing.”
Morgan scowled, furrowed her brow and frowned. “Angel Baby wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t like sleeping with me. And I’m a light slee—”
A non-stop coughing fit took her.
“Oh Lordi,” Tyler said, fighting to keep from laughing. “Let me get you a glass of water.” He rushed out, knowing full well Satan was preventing her from speaking. And if the devil could do that, Tyler didn’t have to worry about Morgan going to the law because Satan could prevent that, also. He came back in, holding the glass to her lips. “Come on, big sips. Let’s soothe that dry throat. There now.”
She wiped away a little drool that had dripped from her lips and tried to talk again. Nothing but wheezing came out, unintelligible words. She crumpled up her face, touching her wounds and left shoulder—obviously in pain—and the coughing fit started again.
“There, there. Lie down. You’re going to have some aches and pains for a few days. That’s what the doctor at the hospital said.”
She all but crashed onto her pillow and closed her eyes, her face red with fury, or was that embarrassment?
“Perhaps you’re less of a woman than you used to be,” Tyler blurted. Oh, the evil joy that filled his mind and heart from that bold comment!
Her lids snapped open and she stared at him wide-eyed.
He gesticulated toward her. “Well, you know, from the ordeal at the hospital and all.”
She looked daggers at him. Finally, she closed her eyes and rolled over.
My God, I think I’m really gonna get away with this!
As he left the room and headed toward the shower, he whispered, “Hail Satan.”
m/ m/
Three days later.
After work, Tyler flipped through his tablet and realized he hadn’t added his wife as a friend on a popular social-media site. And well done; she wasn’t much of a friend. Still, he was curious about what she was up to online, so he brought her page up and found it to be private. He sent her a friend request and her cellphone beeped. Oblivious to him, she sat listening to her iPod, so the next time she gave him one of her death stares, tossing her head because again she was angry with him—God knew why; she didn’t know about her surgeries—he had to gesticulate insanely to get her to take off the goddamned ear buds.
“What, honey?” she griped.
Apparently, she’d made a full recovery from her last operation.
Tyler sighed. “I just added you on that social-media site you love so much.”
“Why do you always have to interrupt me when I listen to my music?”
“I don’t always interrupt you.”
“Yes, you do. It’s my—”
“Sanity. Yeah, yeah, I know.”
With that she went to town on the touch screen, and Tyler returned to surfing the web for articles about surgery, mainly types of operations other kinds of doctors performed. Before long his phone beeped. She’d added him as a friend. Tyler heaved a heavy sigh when reading her asinine response, having no form of sentence structure and with first-grade spelling, as usual:
hey you better leve me alone I’m married to Tyler and he’ll beat your assso fuck of
He did his best to look daggers at her as she bopped to her “music,” singing along with Lady Gaga, fingernails on a chalk board. Bad Gawd, she hadn’t recognized the picture of her own husband. She ripped out the ear buds and slammed the iPod onto the kitchen table. He’d have to buy her a new one soon because she’d break it; she’d already wrecked two cellphones.
She squealed in delight. “My cousin Anna’s talkin to me. Oooh, you go, girl!”
Tyler shook his head and replied, “I’M Tyler, your HUSBAND” on the website and went back to reading his article. When he’d finished it, he glanced at his tablet. Nostrils flaring, he scrunched up his face and he knew she could see that vein sticking out on his forehead because she smirked at him and laughed. The conversation with Anna went as follows:
Anna: How are you, silly girl?
Morgan: not to good this werdo is tryin to add me as friend and I had to tel him off and let him know I’m married what a fuckwad I’m gonna snap
Anna: Does he have a picture on his account?
Morgan: No just some stupid name he’s a dipsmack
That was her insult she’d made up; it wasn’t a word, not in any real dictionary. Maybe the “Urban Dictionary,” where everything was a word.
Morgan: He goanna get fucked up he keep mesin with me the dipsmack
Tyler could stand no more. He jumped to his feet, his hands balled into fists. Seeing red, he shook vehemently, ready to charge at her like a wild stallion.
“It’s me, you moron,” he yelled. “I’m the one who added you on the website! And I do have a picture! ‘Dipsmack’ isn’t a word, by the way.”
She snapped her head up at him. “’Dipsmack’ is too a word,” she yelled. “At least I’m creative with my insults.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“And did you call me a ‘moron’?”
“No, I said this has to stop.”
“Yeah, I see how you are, honey, tryin to start another fight. I’m gonna avoid that and listen to my musi—”
A sneeze, then another, and another. Tyler remembered he’d removed her spleen; that cut down on her immunity.
“I’m getting sick, honey. I’ve been ill all day. I need to go to the hospital.”
Tyler was tempted to say good! I hope you fuckin die on a nail! but instead, he replied, “Have you got a fever?”
Morgan’s vacant eyes stared blankly as her squirrel-sized brain endeavored to bring up the memory. “I dunno, but I’ve felt like I was going to throw up all day, and I’ve been sneezin.”
“All right. I’ll drive you.”
She put her girly sneakers on. She’d bought him male Sketchers for his birthday, expecting him to believe it was the thought that counted. Yeah, that wasn’t happening.
“No, honey, I’ll walk,” she answered tersely.
Why did this surprise him? She couldn’t do anything without being maddening, and this was no exception. Morgan always refused a ride when she went to visit her mother and her cousin Kaylie or when she needed a doctor.
Tyler held his hands out, palms-up. “But you could get raped. It’s nighttime.”
“I’m a big girl, honey.”
Exasperated, he threw his hands up. “I know you’ve got your big girl pants on, but a man is stronger, and he could overpower you. Please accept the ride.”
“No, he won’t. This is my turf.”
At his wits end, Tyler pulled on his hair as if to yank it out by the roots. “What does that even mean? Are you in a street gang I don’t know about?”
She grabbed her purse, stuck her iPod inside and headed for the door. “No, honey, but this is my hometown.”
“That won’t stop a criminal from having his way with you.”
Yet she was gone, through the door and out into the dangerous city night. Or, more probable, at her ex’s apartment, the diesel dyke. She’d done that before, said she was going to her mother’s house in the heat of an argument, only to call him on the phone to let him know she’d gone to Rusty Nailah’s flat because she and Tyler had agreed to separate for the night, her way of saying but not saying I didn’t get my way and now you’re gonna pay.
He fumed. He wouldn’t have been surprised if steam came out of his ears.
m/ m/
Later, Tyler watched a TV show about the history of Metallica. He was interested in the first half hour, not the second, the coverage of after they’d sold out. And he knew, knew Morgan would come back during the first half hour, just to irk h
im. He was as sure of it as he was that the sun would come out tomorrow. She’d called him fifteen minutes into her walk, to show him that she was all right and to prove him wrong for worrying. Gawd, she always had to have the last word.
Sure enough, like clockwork, she showed up at 9:15 and blah-blah-blahed him to Hell and back.
“Man, honey, the weather’s wonderful—forty-five degrees—and you should’ve seen all the Christmas decorations the houses had up! What a lovely walk!”
In other words see what you tried to cheat me out of?
“I’m trying to watch this,” Tyler growled.
“Whatever, honey. You don’t care if I’m sick.”
He gritted his teeth until the commercials came on, muted the sound and asked, “Well? What’s the verdict?”
Morgan was about to put her ear buds in when she looked at him, her eyes glazing over. “Huh?”
Tyler threw his hands up and slapped them down on the couch. “Your sickness? The reason you went to the hospital?”
“Oh, I’m not sick,” she replied drily.
“WHAT?!”
Morgan shrugged. “They checked me over and I’m fine.”
A pregnant pause. She couldn’t be that stupid; nobody could.
“Now let me listen to my music,” she said.
“Your sanity.”
She pointed him out. “Right!”
“Idiot,” he muttered under his breath.
Then she was singing off-key to Carly Rae Jepsen, again being as childish as all get out.
How maddening. He’d sat there, worried that she’d be raped and murdered, all for nothing. His hate rose, and again he was tempted to get up and slap those ear buds off her head, to give her a sound thrashing. She only understood one thing: violence.
But, instead, he continued to watch Metallica. Then, during the second half hour, his mind wandered.
The bitch just earned herself another operation.
Chapter 7
Nearly the witching hour, and again, he held the cloth with chloroform onto her face until she was out cold. He rolled her to the study on the gurney for psychotic surgery. He’d all but forgotten her threat that he’d better sleep with one eye open, the you just wait till you fall asleep crap, for he knew she didn’t have the guts to attack him. It frightened her delicate sensibilities. How pathetic, the Christian that projects all her rage on to herself.
“All right, you wimp, you were a real rot-twat again, so it’s time to have your kidney out.”
Tyler turned on the lights and hefted her onto the surgical table. Whistling, Tyler started the anesthesia I.V. Remembering his studies on performing a Nephrectomy, he pulled the tray of surgical tools over to him, then spread his arms out in a mockery of the preacher of Christ.
“Come now, for all things are ready.”
He could only remove one kidney, for she’d need the other one to make urine. He’d have to get into her side for this operation, so he forced himself to relax as he always did to steady his hands. Being a male that didn’t worry, he could do that. Unsteady hands made mistakes.
Slow and steady wins the race.
He was lucky Morgan wasn’t too overweight, didn’t smoke and wasn’t on the Pill. That would’ve complicated things. She also wasn’t in menopause, so this should be a routine operation, or at least it would be, if he was supposed to be doing it.
He was cocked, locked and ready to rock, though.
“Lights, camera, silence on the set. Tape rolling, 3-2-1 action.” He chuckled. This was a hoot.
He made an incision into her side and tied off the important blood pipes, then the urine tube. With that he had one kidney out and plopped it into the steel bowl. That done, he stitched her up. This surgery would knock her for a loop; she’d need ten days to recover from the mess. Well, he figured that was almost a fortnight he wouldn’t have to listen to her bitch.
Wondering how he’d explain the stitches in her side, he opened the door and wheeled her toward the bed.
Her little pussy dog stood outside the door. The wuss mutt barked so loud it hurt his ears. How did this oversized rat make so much noise? Tyler walked around the gurney and stood before it.
“Listen, you rat,” he yelled, “you’d better shut your yap, or I’ll fry you up and eat you like fried chicken, the way Orientals do!”
The sorry excuse for a dog whined and pitter-pattered away.
Tyler got behind the gurney and wheeled her into the bedroom. He hefted her onto the bed. Tyler pulled the covers over her. Those red marks, again around her nose and mouth, might become a real problem if she noticed them. He had the chloroform to thank for that. He prayed to Satan that she wouldn’t see them.
“Sleep well, princess.” He laughed. “You’re gonna get a nasty surprise in the morning.”
He brought the gurney back to his office. This had become old-hat, so he wasn’t nervous about getting caught or about Morgan going to the cops, but he changed out of his scrubs and into black clothing and performed the satanic ritual and the self-protection spell. He’d saved a little of her blood for the chalice, the crimson lifejuice now his new wine. When he’d finished the ceremony, he grabbed the steel bowl and headed for the kitchen.
Tyler felt no guilt. He again told himself that at least he wasn’t like those heinous gangbangers that murdered innocent people and sold drugs to kids. A doctor, an esteemed man, he held his head high as he sprayed the skillet with no-stick and fried her kidney in the pan. He’d probably need some ketchup to gag it down, but the demonic thrill of ingesting his wife would not be dulled by flavor.
He put the steaming kidney on a plate, grabbed a napkin and dined on his wife. He’d removed and pitched the urine-processing parts to make sure it didn’t stink and taste like leather. Instead, it was tender. Then he realized he should’ve prepared it as a fried-chicken joint would. He picked up the plate, grabbed some flour and oil and did so. After it had been deep-fried, the taste was exquisite. He let out a large burp afterward. What the hell, the cunt wouldn’t wake up.
Giddy as a child and snickering, he washed the dishes and headed toward the bedroom to retire. He didn’t brush his teeth; he wanted to savor the flavor. There was one thought he couldn’t shake, however. He felt like this was a small-time crime, and through the repeated process of cannibalism, he found himself craving more human flesh. Much more. Oh, but he couldn’t do that. Then she’d surely know what he was up to and she’d go crying to the police.
But how he craved her skin.
It took much effort, but he finally drifted off to sleep.
m/ m/
Tyler woke to the sound of Morgan vomiting. He sat up, rubbed his bleary eyes and looked in her direction. She lay puking into a garbage can she’d brought into the bedroom. There it was: her immunity down because she lacked her kidney. Tyler lay back down, unable to close his eyes and drift off to sleep. No matter, it was time to go to work, even if he hadn’t gotten his eight hours.
“Uhhhhhh,” she groaned.
Morgan rolled over and looked at him. He also rolled over so he could stare into her lovely eyes.
Jeepers, creepers, where’d you get those peepers? And how would they taste?
Stop that.
“Hon-ee, I’m sick,” she said.
“I see that,” he answered, rolling onto his back.
“I get the flu and throw up every year,” she added.
That figured. The dim bulb couldn’t use common sense and get a flu shot and not touch her face or stick her fingers into her ears when she was outside during the winter, then wash her hands for twenty seconds when she got back home. Apparently, that was too much of a brain-teaser for her, the mental midget.
“And my side hurts.” She searched that way with her hand.
“That’s too bad,” he answered. “Probably a symptom of the flu.”
“Oh my God!” Morgan shook him. “Honey, why are there stitches in my back?”
Tyler had to come up with an answer, and quick. �
�Your dog bit you again. The little runt jumped into bed and did you royally.”
A coughing fit took her. Tyler felt her forehead; she indeed had a fever. “I’ll get you some cold and flu medicine, as well as a pain reliever.” He got out of bed, having to climb over her. She had the TV and DVD player at the foot of the bed, which made it harder.
Morgan grabbed his arm before he could make a getaway. “Honey, are you doing something to me?”
Tyler didn’t crane his neck to look at her. He simply reminded himself he was under Satan’s protection. She wouldn’t go to the law. “Like what?”
“I don’t feel good. I feel like a truck ran over me after I’d run the marathon.”
An insidious pause.
“Do you have your doctor’s equipment in your study? Is that what you’re doing, performing operations on me? Is that why I can’t go in there? ‘Cause that’s not right, honey. You’re not getting even with me, are you? Angel Baby wouldn’t bite me; I know my dog—gentle as a kitten.”
He froze.
Drop it, you bitch!
“If you’re doing that, honey, you’re not gonna get away with it,” she added.
Come on, Satan, help me! Shut her dumb ass up!
He turned toward her. “You don’t see how your dog is when you’re asleep.”
A coughing fit took her then, and she threw up into the garbage can again. She took some deep breaths and wiped her chin. “Angel Baby never hurt me before you quit letting me go into your study. I don’t believe that, that she’d bite me.” Yet another coughing fit. “You’re operating on me, aren’t you?”
Tyler remembered the nightmare where he’d killed Morgan and had dissolved the flesh with acid in a tub and ground her bones to powder with a sledgehammer. He shuddered. Would he have to do that to shut her up?
He knelt before her and brushed her hair out of her face. “Now, babe, you know I love you. I wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Then why won’t you let me into your study? If you’re not doing anything wrong, what are you being so secretive about?”
He stood and walked away. “Just fucking drop it, all right?”
“Show me your study and I’ll drop it!”
