All The Dead Girls

by Tim Kizer

Whistling to the tune of ‘Believe,’ he stuck his left elbow out of the window. He commended himself for getting off his ass and taking the bull by the horns. He couldn’t wait to see the expression on Mary’s face when he caught her in the act.

  5.

  Richard took a swig of soda and then screwed the cap back on the bottle. The soda was warm, but he didn’t mind it. He was not a picky drinker.

  He cast a look at the empty forty-ounce Mason jar sitting on the floor on the passenger side. He was planning to use the jar to collect his urine; he didn’t want to risk getting arrested by peeing in the bushes. At the moment, he felt no urge to piss.

  He undid the top two buttons on his shirt and opened his belt buckle. He took off his shoes, curled and spread his toes. Then he tested how comfortable it was to press the gas and brake pedals with a shoeless foot. He was utterly bored. However, he was ready to sit here all day if he had to.

  His glance fell on his cellphone, which lay in the center console. A curious thought occurred to Richard: what if Mary had installed a tracking app on his phone? If she had, she would know he was shadowing her, and this entire undertaking would be in vain.

  Richard grabbed the cell and removed the battery from it. Better safe than sorry. Then he put his shoes back on.

  Mary left Bob's house ten minutes later. She waved to her brother and got in the car. Her Nissan Altima’s taillights went on. Richard started the engine, put his foot on the brakes, and looked at the clock. Five minutes past eight.

  Was she going to Don’s place now?

  Probably not: she hadn't told him that she would be home late tonight. Well, she could do it over the phone on the way to Don’s. His cellphone was off, so she’d have to leave a message on the voicemail.

  Or maybe she and Don were going to have a quickie.

  Richard shifted the gear into drive and pressed the gas pedal. He tried to figure out the route Mary was most likely to take in order to get home. When she entered northbound Interstate 5, he realized that this bitch was not headed home. At first, he thought Mary was headed for Marysville, but he turned out to be wrong: Mary exited the interstate onto eastbound U.S. Route 2. Richard knew of only one place east of Everett that was worth visiting—Lake Stevens. Was she going to the lake?

  Richard rubbed his neck, relaxed his shoulder muscles. He felt energized and determined to see this thing through to the end.

  A few minutes later, Mary got on Route 204. It seemed that she was indeed headed for Lake Stevens. At the end of the route, she turned into a northbound lane of Route 9, where she stayed for about two miles. Thirty seconds after Mary exited Route 9 onto Granite Falls Highway, it dawned upon Richard: she had begun to suspect that she was being followed and now wanted to confirm if she was right. Or maybe she was going to the place where she and her lover had agreed to meet? Some kind of bed and breakfast, perhaps. It was also possible that she was headed for Don’s place.

  Well, he would know the answer soon.

  The Altima suddenly veered to the right and stopped, as if Mary were trying to avoid rear-ending another car. Richard heard its tires squeal. He slammed the brakes; his body was thrown toward the steering wheel. The impact from the seatbelt took his breath away for a moment. Before halting, his car went a few more yards forward, raising clouds of dust. Wasting no time, Richard pressed the gas pedal, drove up to the Altima, and switched off the engine. His look fixed on what appeared to be the back of Mary's head, he unfastened the seatbelt and got out of the car.

  She wants to know who’s following her? It's going to be a big surprise.

  He opened the driver’s door of the Altima and lowered his head to look into Mary's eyes. Mary turned her face to him only when he said quietly, “Hi, Mary.”

  She gave him a vacant look. ”Richard, what are you doing here?”

  Richard straightened himself up and stepped back, inviting Mary to get out of the car. Mary breathed a heavy sigh, took her purse from the front passenger's seat, placed it in her lap, and started massaging her temples with her fingertips.

  “Whose car is that?” she asked in a monotonous voice. “I think I ran over a gopher or a squirrel. It looked like a squirrel.” She got out of the Altima. “Have you seen a crushed squirrel here?”

  Not fully aware of what he was doing—it was as if he were on autopilot— Richard glanced around the vicinity. It appeared that they were at least a mile away from the nearest house. For some reason, this fact pleased him. He walked up to Mary, who was examining the right front wheel of her car.

  “Where are you going?” Richard stood behind Mary’s back.

  He was stung by a thought: Mary was worried about the well-being of a worthless squirrel, yet she had no problem with murdering her own husband. He was hurt. Word couldn't describe how badly he was hurt.

  Mary ignored his question. This bitch was preoccupied with looking for the squirrel!

  “Answer me. Where are you going?” The last three words Richard spoke through his clenched teeth. “You didn’t run over anything, okay?”

  There was no blood on the tires or the body of the car. Mary slung her purse over her shoulder and, still silent, got into her Altima. Seeing that she was going to start the engine, Richard rushed to the driver’s door, opened it, and without much effort dragged his wife out of the vehicle. His hands suddenly became very strong.

  “Did you notice me following you?” he asked.

  Mary didn’t respond.

  “What the hell are you doing? Mary, what are you doing? What are you up to?” Richard pushed Mary against the car. “You don't want to talk to me?”

  Mary fell against the fender, let out a groan, and slowly sank to the ground. Richard grabbed his wife by the shoulders and pressed her back against the car. When she turned her face to the side, he took her chin and made her look at him.

  “Mary, talk to me,” he hissed. “Tell me what you were going to do. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”

  Mary stopped resisting, her arms hanging down her sides like lashes. She gave him an indifferent look. Richard thought he saw a glimmer of hopelessness in her eyes. He let go of Mary’s chin, remaining ready to seize her as soon as she attempted to run.

  After a hesitation, Mary said, “I’m sorry, Richard. I made a mistake.” She leaned against the car. “I should have told you sooner.”

  “What? What should have you told me?” Richard snarled, his eyes fixed on Mary’s face. Frankly, he expected this bitch to pretend that she didn't understand what he was talking about. Was she scared of him? Richard hoped she was. “What are you hiding from me?”

  Mary creased her forehead and looked away from him. Her face was pale. She opened her mouth to say something, but then changed her mind.

  “What did you want to tell me?” Richard shook Mary by the shoulders. “I'm waiting.”

  Twenty seconds passed before she replied, “I was going to get some fresh air... I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. I'm very tired, Richard.”

  “You’re tired? You’re tired? Tired of what? You know who’s really tired? I am! I’ve been under a lot of stress, you hear me? And it’s all because of you.” He shivered with outrage. “I need to get some fresh air! Because of you... The two of you.”

  “Richard, what are you talking about?” Mary was still making no attempt to run away from him.

  “What am I talking about? What am I talking about?” Richard felt his heart thump with indignation. “What am I talking about! Okay. I'll explain to you what I’m talking about.” He pulled Mary to himself. ”How can you lie like that? Do you have no shame? You disgust me. You're full of lies, Mary. You betrayed me! How could you do that?”

  He drew a deep breath. At the moment, he had trouble finding the right words.

  ”I don't understand you, Richard. How did I betray you?”

  Richard gritted his teeth.

  Here it comes. She doesn't understand. Traitorous bitch!

  “Can you be truthful for once in your
pathetic life? He said.

  ”Calm down, sweetie. Let's go home.”

  ”Home? I can’t let you in my house, Mary. You’re plotting to kill me.” Richard cackled anxiously. “Yes, I know everything. You want to kill me. And don’t call me sweetie, you bitch.”

  ”Richard, I love you. Please stop it.” She was mumbling and seemed to be in a kind of trance. She was afraid to look in his eyes. “Don’t do it, Richard, please.”

  “I know everything. I know about your lover. Tell me the truth, clear your conscience. You’ve been unfaithful to me. You and your lover have been planning to kill me, haven’t you? I want you to confess, Mary. I’m not going to hurt you, trust me. Just confess.”

  ‘You shall not commit adultery,’ that was one of God’s commandments.

  It wouldn’t be in the Bible if it wasn’t a big deal, would it?

  To show that he intended no harm, Richard stepped back. The next moment, Mary swiftly pulled a small revolver out of her purse and aimed it at Richard. Shocked by the sight of the gun, Richard stood stock-still for a few seconds, unable to utter a word.

  “What the hell is this?” he finally muttered, pointing at the revolver.

  ”Now, get in your car and go home,” Mary said firmly. The fear on her face was replaced by emotionless indifference.

  ”You bitch!” Richard lunged forward, grabbed the wrist of the hand in which Mary was holding the gun, and forced it up, getting the muzzle pointed away from him. A fraction of a second later, Mary pulled the trigger, and a shot roared.

  His ears ringing from the shot, Richard managed to wrestle the revolver from Mary’s hand and then hit her in the chest with his fist, upsetting her balance. Flailing her arms, Mary backpedaled clumsily for a few paces in an effort to regain her equilibrium. She succeeded in staying on her feet. Richard glanced at the gun, stuffed it into his pants pocket, and walked over to his wife, who was slowly stepping backward, her hands trembling.

  “You shot at me! You tried to kill me!” Richard seized Mary by the shoulders, pressed her to himself. “You almost killed me, bitch!”

  He was going to shake her when, exhibiting surprising strength, Mary pushed his hands off her shoulders and sprinted to her car. Without wasting a second, Richard dashed after his wife, growling with anger. He suddenly realized that if he lost Mary now, he wouldn’t be able to stop her and Don from murdering him. He had to capture Mary in order to survive.

  Somehow Richard forgot he had a pistol in his pocket.

  He had a premonition that something profound would happen tonight.

  Mary ran as fast as she could, without looking back, but it didn't save her. Two feet from the Altima, Richard caught up to his wife and seized her by the collar of her blouse. He heard the fabric tear. Mary squealed and jerked aside. Richard tightened his grip on the collar and grabbed Mary's elbow with his other hand.

  “Hold it, bitch,” he snarled. When he opened his mouth to call Mary a fucking cunt, Mary hit him hard in the face with her free elbow, causing him to let go of the collar, and bolted toward the county road that branched off the highway into the forest. Grimacing with pain, rubbing his nose, which, fortunately, was not bleeding, Richard raced after her.

  When he ran about four hundred feet down the county road, he saw a bridge. Sean’s face popped up in his mind. The road was empty. Richard wondered what Mary’s plan was. The distance between them was shrinking rapidly. By the time he reached the bridge, Mary had climbed over the railing.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Richard yelled.

  Without replying, Mary leapt off the bridge. Richard estimated the bridge to be no higher than fifteen feet, so he would survive should he jump after her. Mary was unlikely to drown since the river appeared to be shallow. He stood at the railing and looked down, searching for Mary. He was surprised to discover that she was not scurrying away from him down the riverbed. Instead, she lay motionless on her stomach on the pebbled bank, with her face down, arms bent at the elbows, legs stretched out. In the dim twilight, he could not see if there was blood on or near Mary’s body.

  6.

  Richard had read about people who had stayed alive after falling from the eighth, ninth, and even tenth floor. Unfortunately, Mary didn’t have their luck. Instead, her fate resembled that of the poor schlubs who drowned in hot tubs. He wasn’t a medical expert and couldn’t tell what exactly had happened, but he suspected that Mary had either broken her neck or suffered a fatal concussion. He ran to the end of the bridge, climbed over the railing, got down to Mary’s body, and quickly examined it. He found neither blood nor visible bone fractures. Gazing at Mary's pale expressionless face, Richard did a few breathing exercises to clear his mind. Then he felt her neck for a pulse, mimicking what the cops in the movies did to check whether a person was dead. He found no pulse. In order to make sure that he had searched in the right place, Richard felt his own neck and located the pulsating carotid artery. Then he sighed wearily. He touched his right eye and was surprised to discover a tear in its corner.

  “Mary, can you hear me?” he asked in a low voice. “Can you hear me?”

  No, she couldn’t hear him; she was irrecoverably dead. Richard shut his eyes tight and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He sensed a couple more tears ooze out. He hadn’t wanted Mary to die. He would have loved for her to have been punished but not killed.

  He would think about it later. He had no time for emotions right now.

  What was he going to do about Mary’s body?

  Well, first, he needed to answer the following question: what would the police do after he told them what had happened to Mary? Was he willing to endure an investigation into Mary’s death? He knew it was an accident, but would the cops believe him?

  They would say he had shoved her off the bridge in the heat of the moment. Remember what the police had done to that Petersen guy in California?

  He himself couldn’t believe that Mary had been so reckless as to leap off the bridge. Had she really been that scared of him? Had she seriously thought he would kill her? He didn’t look like a killer, did he? On the other hand, maybe she was sure she was going to survive the jump. After all, it was a pretty low bridge.

  He would run the risk of going to prison if he told the police the truth about Mary’s death, there was no doubt about it.

  Richard lifted his eyes to the darkening sky. The sun had already sunk below the horizon; night was creeping in.

  He had two options. He could either leave Mary’s body on the riverbank or hide it so it would never be found. He liked the second option better.

  How could he hide the body? Well, he could take it into the nearby woods. Or he could dump it ten-fifteen miles from here.

  It would be nice if he had a shovel right now. He would prefer to bury the body rather than simply leave it lying on the ground.

  Richard wasn’t sure why he went to Mary’s car and opened its trunk. Perhaps it was curiosity, or maybe it was intuition, a sixth sense, if you will. As he walked back to the highway, it had crossed his mind that going home without doing anything with the body was a perfectly acceptable option.

  He found something interesting in the trunk. A shovel. Mary had a brand new shovel in the trunk of her car. It was clear to Richard that the shovel was there for a reason. It took him just a few seconds to figure it out: Mary and her lover intended to dig a grave for him with this shovel. No body, no case, right?

  Now Richard knew exactly what he was going to do. He would bury Mary in this forest.

  He would put the body in the rental car, drive one mile down the road to get farther from the highway, and then carry the body three-four hundred feet into the woods.

  Richard took out the shovel, closed the trunk, and glanced at the sky. It was dark now, so he didn't have to worry about witnesses. There shouldn’t be any people walking around here at this time of day anyway.

  He was in a great position: he had plenty of time! He didn’t need to hurry; he c
ould bury the body in a calm, orderly manner.

  Richard got in the Corolla, drove to the bridge, crossed it, and then pulled over to the side of the road. He had switched off the headlights on the way to the bridge, just in case.

  As he climbed up the riverbank with Mary’s body on his shoulder, he listened for approaching cars. The only sounds he heard were the murmur of the river, the rustle of trees, and the chirp of crickets. Richard was glad Mary had kept her weight under one hundred and forty pounds.

  He laid the corpse on the side of the road, behind the car, and looked around. There were no vehicles approaching the bridge from either side. When he pulled the trunk release lever, he changed his mind. What if there was an open wound somewhere on Mary’s body, after all? What if a microscopic drop of her blood fell on the seat or the floor? Equipment used by criminal scene investigators was capable of detecting even the tiniest blood stains. He had no desire to have to explain how his wife’s blood had gotten in the car he had rented the day she was last seen alive.

  He considered transporting the body in the Altima, but in the end decided to skip this step altogether. There really was little benefit in driving down this road. Who knew where it went? The woods in this vicinity would do just fine.

  After he located the North Star, Richard hoisted Mary’s body onto his shoulder and headed into the woods. He walked for about twenty minutes, sweating and panting, before he dropped the corpse on the ground and started digging a hole. According to his estimates, he was about two thousand feet from the Corolla. As he sank the shovel into the earth, he thought about grass: Mary’s grave would be completely overgrown with it in five-seven days and become invisible to the naked eye. At the moment, it didn’t occur to him that he might get lost on his way back to his car.

  When he was done digging—he decided that one and a half feet was deep enough for his purposes—he thought about Mary’s cellphone. It was probably on; Mary rarely shut it off. If someone called the cell right now, the cellular network would register its location, which would be disclosed to the police when they started searching for Mary. He didn’t know how accurately the position of a cellphone could be pinpointed in this area, but he would rather the cops didn’t have this information. Richard patted Mary’s jeans pockets, found the cellphone, pulled it out, and then took out the battery.