Eviscerating the Snake - The Complete Trilogy

by Ashley Fontainne

  Finally, his mind curdled, he turned the conversation in a direction that I never saw coming. I watched him while I poured him another drink. He fumbled around in his pocket and produced a small, black box.

  Oh shit.

  He wobbled in the chair as he tried to stand, finally maneuvering over to me. I stood motionless, overwhelmed by the moment. He reached out and took my hand.

  “Nikki, I know I’m drunk, and I know it’s premature since I haven’t even filed for divorce yet, but I…I want you to be my wife. It’s high time I made an honest woman out of you.” He laughed then, but the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes told me he was serious. “Please, before you answer, accept my apology for being such a money-hungry prick that was only concerned with not losing half of my fortune. As I told you the other day, my eyes were finally opened at the treasure I had in front of me all along.”

  I couldn’t move. My breathing seemed to have stopped from the shock. Memories of when we first met blurred my vision, and I recalled all the times I would stare at the ceiling, alone in my bed, wishing and praying for the day I heard those words. Of course, those moments only happened in the solace of my own mind, and I never once shared them with Eric. When we first met, there still was a part of me that was open to emotion, a part that still sought the “happily ever after” life that consisted of children, family, and normalcy. That part, though, was overshadowed by the reality that I knew I could never marry again. There were just too many complications that could come about if I did, and the biggest one in my mind was the fear of giving up control over my own destiny.

  My silent ponderings were interrupted by Eric’s slurred words.

  “You don’t have to answer now, babe. I understand it’s a lot to take in after so many years. If you feel more comfortable waiting until the divorce is final, I’m good with that. Just please, tell me you will consider it?” he said, his voice cracking slightly, and I was unsure if that was due to the moment or the alcohol.

  I wiped the mental meanderings away and found my voice once again.

  “I promise I will think about it. Let’s focus on the tasks at hand first, like getting you legally unbound from your wife and concentrating on cleaning up the mess at work. Then we can talk about it, okay?”

  He nodded in silent agreement and stuffed the box back inside his pocket. He returned to his seat and an uncomfortable silence ensued. He reached over and guzzled his drink, then motioned for a refill. His shot out of the blue just might work to my advantage since he was distraught over not hearing the answer he expected to hear, so I obliged him with another full glass.

  For the next hour, I piddled around the kitchen while we kept our topics centered around work. Several times, I caught a glimpse out of my peripheral vision and kept a mental count of how many glasses he downed. By my calculations, he was on his seventh, and the conversation stagnated as his mind was drowning in liquor.

  Glancing at my watch, I knew it was time. It was almost seven thirty, which only gave me an hour before my next guest arrived. Time to get my party started. I shut the stove off and came over with drink in hand and sat next to him.

  “Hey, baby, are you all right? How many of those things have you had?”

  His eyes were heavily glazed and as red as if I had poured salt in them. His head was moving around in slow circles, his equilibrium deteriorated. He blinked several times while he tried to focus on my face and to find the words to answer my questions. He spoke the words slowly, like his mouth was full of molasses.

  “I’m not sure…but enough. My God, I haven’t been this trashed in years.”

  I set my drink down and looped my arm around his.

  “Here, let’s get you to the living room. You look like you could pass out at any moment, and I would hate for you to crack your skull on the hard tile. At least if you fall in there, the carpet will buffer your head.”

  “Oh, baby, you’ve always been so good to me,” he said, his breath heavy with pungent aroma of liquid fire. I turned my head to avoid the stench, thinking it was a good thing he didn’t smoke because if he did, and he lit a cigarette, he would blow us both to kingdom come.

  Jockeying his body into the living room was quite an experience, but I was prepared. I was barefooted and had plenty of traction on the carpet. After a few near falls, I finally poured him into the recliner in the living room and said, “Wait here, baby. Let me get you some water. I think you’ve had enough booze for one night.”

  He nodded, his head lolling around the headrest.

  While in the kitchen, I shouted, “All my slaving over a hot stove for you and you go drink yourself into a coma. See if I ever cook you a meal again.” After filling a glass with water, I went over to the cabinet and removed the surgical gloves that I stashed their earlier and pulled them on, then walked over to his computer and turned it on. Moving quickly, I returned to the living room and knelt down next to him, stroking his hand while I offered him some water. He took a few messy slurps while trying to keep his head steady, not aware of the fact that my hand was covered in rubber.

  “Damn…got the spins,” he slurred. I didn’t respond to that statement. It was time to silence his damn mouth for good, but I had just one little item to address before the end.

  “Eric, I want to ask you something. Think real hard before you answer it.” He blinked again and rolled his head over to face mine. Unable to speak, he just nodded in agreement.

  “Do you remember the night you found Olin in his office, bleeding? I realize it was a long time ago, but do you?” I asked, my voice hard and cold, the real me finally emerging—the woman that was full of pent up rage and anger at the hand of cards life dealt her. The one that said “fuck you” to the dealer and left nothing to chance anymore, preferring to deal her own hand. The woman that refused to be ruined, abused, or scorned ever again.

  Eric’s eyes squinted as he tried to comprehend what I was asking him, confusion and inebriation making that a difficult task. “He had a long cut down the side of his face and a letter opener sticking out of his upper thigh, dangerously close to his groin. Any of this ringing a bell to you yet? You took him to the emergency room and waited while he got stitched up.”

  Through his bleary eyes, I could see the wheels turning slowly as the memories from that night tried to come to the forefront of his thoughts. Of course, with his blood alcohol content at a dangerous level from the PGA that I used to make my special lemonade, I doubted he really knew what was going on. I needed to hurry before he passed out.

  “Did he ever tell you how he came to be in that predicament?”

  Alcohol sometimes works as a truth serum on certain people, and I knew that Eric was one of those people. That is why he never drank around his wife. The fear of spilling his guts about his transgressions was too great. I wanted to hear his answer to my question because if he answered it in the affirmative, then I would be able to sleep at night, knowing he deserved everything I was about to do, and I would have no regrets.

  Drunken tears came then, and he tried to reach out with his hand and stroke my face. It came out more like a slap.

  “He said you did it when he was trying to fuck you.”

  I closed my eyes and let the images from that night flood my own mind. Damn straight I did it. The ring on my hand left an ugly scar down the side of his face when I landed a hefty punch, and that blow gave me a brief window of opportunity to find a weapon while he bemoaned his injury. Then the letter opener felt heavy in my hands when I plunged it deep into his upper thigh after grabbing it from the edge of his desk. I had been aiming for his junk, hoping I could castrate him in one swift slice, but he jerked at the last moment. No matter, the pain and the heavy bleeding were enough for me to escape his clutches that night, mostly unscathed.

  For years, I waited for Eric to acknowledge what happened to me, but he never did. I told myself that was because he was unaware, that Olin would never have told him that a woman got the best of him, especially physically. I ev
en held out hope, as angry as I was at him, when Audra blew the lid off of everything, thinking that maybe he would finally feel comfortable telling me the truth about that night and just what exactly he knew, but the conversation never happened. He fled out of town like someone was holding a blowtorch on his family jewels.

  The final tether that held any sort of emotional attachment to him had just been severed. I felt a sweet release, a sense of freedom, but most importantly, a sense of entitlement for my actions.

  “So, you knew. And yet you never said a word,” I said through clenched teeth, rising to my feet. He tried to follow, but I shoved him back down in the chair, his huge frame easy to push around in his inebriated state.

  “You knew and you never said a word! Olin was a monster, but at least he was honest about who and what he was. You are the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing. And for a time, I really did believe that you loved me. To think that I let my guard down for you! Well, never again. Thank you, Eric, for turning my heart into an unbreakable piece of steel. You forged it through the fires of passion and hate and no man will hurt me or ever have a shot at it again.”

  The pure grain alcohol that I substituted for tequila was working its magic on his bloodstream. Unable to form a cohesive sentence, much less a decipherable word, he just sat in the recliner in a crumpled heap and cried. His face was buried in his hands while he mumbled incoherent blather that sounded like it revolved around being sorry. I stepped over to the mantle above the fireplace and opened the ornate box that had been under lock and key for over forty years. I retrieved the revolver that once had been my father’s that he kept hidden at his lodge and eased the hammer back, making sure to take my time and get everything right, just as I had before. After all, his drunk ass wasn’t going anywhere.

  The images from my dream of carving up Audra appeared, and I felt the shiver of excitement race through me, just as if I were living inside the dream. I made my way to the other side of the recliner, my feet barely touching the floor, and moved over to his right. Squatting down, I patted his back with my left hand.

  “There, there Eric. It will be okay. I’m sorry I yelled at you. It just hurt, you know?” I said, caressing his back. “Here, lean back, close your eyes and take a deep breath. I promise you won’t hurt anymore once you do,” I said, cooing softly in his ear. “Almost over.”

  Like an obedient child, he complied. Still crying, bleating his garbled apologies, he let his head roll back, and I reached out and took his right hand, folding his fingers around my own with my left hand. We both held the gun but only one of us was aware of that fact.

  “So sorry” left his lips for the last time. I shushed him, telling him to keep his eyes closed and relax, massaging his right arm with my left hand, while slowly maneuvering his hand toward his temple. The house was silent except for his murmurings and occasional sniffles. The only other sound was the faint dinging from the oven. Not that I needed a reminder. The smell of burnt food was making its way into the living room.

  “You were weak and weren’t there for me. I knew you weren’t really the macho man you claimed, so I handled matters myself just like I’ve always done. I will survive your ultimate betrayal, Eric. Would you like to know why? I have a new mantra, and it has done wonders for me. Fuck me once, shame on me. Fuck me twice, you cease to be.”

  When the cold steel touched his sweaty forehead, I think he experienced a fleeting moment of clarity, judging from the tightening of his muscles, but it was too late.

  Even though I knew my neighbors wouldn’t have heard a thing, since the previous owner of my house was some weirdo music freak that had the entire place soundproofed to keep out the outside world, it wouldn’t have mattered for the fuse of my anger was already lit.

  The shot rang throughout the house, muffled by the heavy acoustics. Eric’s brain matter exploded all over my living room, my once pure white carpet and walls artfully splattered with bursts of red, grey, and tufts of his dark hair. Damn, twice that has happened to me. Hopefully, this will be the last time I have to shoot someone in my clean living room, although the after effects ended up quite stunning. Art deco meets blood bath. Maybe I should take up art since I wouldn’t be an accountant anymore. The world’s monsters would be my canvas.

  The laughter rose from deep within me and spewed out, reverberating off of the walls but falling upon Eric’s dead ears and my ringing ones. Uncontrollable, wretched gales shook my whole frame while the high-pitched cackles leapt out of my mouth. Even if I wanted to stand up and flee the scene for fear of being heard, I would not have been able to. Hot tears shot out of my eyes, a mixture of emotions merging together and exiting out of me in a salt-tinged monsoon.

  I wiped my hand across my wet face, removing the gore that had intermingled with my tears of laughter, then tossed the gun beside Eric haphazardly, giving the illusion that it fell after he blew his brains out. I grabbed my sides, which ached from the belly laughs, and held tight, afraid that if I let go, my sanity would escape me too. It took me a full two minutes to regain my composure and glance over at Eric’s unrecognizable face.

  “Bet you don’t feel a thing now, you bastard. See, I told you that you wouldn’t hurt anymore. I know I certainly don’t.”

  My knees ached from being crouched down for so long and cracked when I stood up. I did a small curtsey toward Eric’s bloodied corpse. “And that, sir, is how a mad southern woman takes care of business. Oh, and I do have an answer to your proposal. Fuck no! Consider our relationship terminated. Permanently.”

  With that, I turned my back on the man that had enslaved my heart for over two decades and never looked back. Shedding my clothes there on the floor, I padded over to my grand piano on the opposite side of the living room that thankfully was untouched from the spatter and opened the seat and retrieved the plastic garbage bag I left there earlier. Once my bloodied clothes were inside, I went to the kitchen and turned the stove off, then grabbed the duct tape (Daddy always called it ‘duck tape’—why that random memory appeared I had no idea, but it made me smile) and sealed the contents. Moving quickly, I went out the side door that led straight to my garage.

  Daddy’s truck sat there, the faded paint dull from years of sitting under a heavy tarp, waiting patiently to be driven after years of neglect. I opened the passenger door and stowed the evidence for disposal later, then headed to the small bathroom that housed nothing more than a toilet and shower.

  The hot water and lime scented soap washed away the carnage I created in the living room down the drain. The swirling, pink-tinged water pooled at my feet, then made its way into the pipes out of my sight. Once the water ran clear, I grabbed the bottle of bleach and thoroughly cleaned the stall. I was being overly cautious since I planned on torching the joint as soon as Audra arrived, but after experiencing carefully calculated plans suffer from an unknown factor previously, I was leaving nothing to chance.

  Finished and dried, I removed the final outfit I would ever wear in Arizona from behind the toilet, which I left there yesterday while prepping for my final act. Black sweater, black leggings, black boots, and a black belt donned, I took my wet towel and went back to the truck, tossing it inside on the seat. The image of Audra struggling with me while I shoved her inside came forth, as it had numerous times while I mentally played out the day, so it was best to be prepared to wipe up her blood in case I had to knock some sense into her.

  Once back inside the kitchen, I glanced at the clock, pleasantly surprised to see it was only eight o’clock. My calculations were almost dead on. I grabbed the duct tape and a large kitchen knife with the intention of heading back to the living room to finish setting up for Audra when movement outside the kitchen window caught my eye. My heart immediately began to pound when I realized there was someone moving around by the front drive, heading toward the front door.

  Fucking shit!

  Cutting the lights, I sprinted back into the living room and grabbed the revolver off the floor, depositing the knife and tape
on the carpet on my way. Crouching low, I crept into the foyer and peered out the window. The figure was about ten feet away from my entryway. Through the distortion of the frosted glass, all I could make out was that the figure appeared to be male and not too large. I stood back up and went to the door to catch a better look through the peephole. What greeted my eyes almost caused me to drop my gun.

  No fucking way!

  His face was crinkled with age, the lines of sorrow and pain carved deeply into his leathery skin. The once full head of mahogany hair was nothing more than thin wisps of stark white that moved slightly as he walked up to the door and stopped. The muscular frame from his prime light years ago was withered and pale, yet the muscle tone wasn’t hidden by the sagging skin. Although his face had changed, the strong chin and deep set eyes were the same as I remembered them from my youth, for his son had looked just like him.

  It was my father-in-law, Michael Stevenson.

  Memories of my past burst forth and for a fleeting moment, my body quivered in response to the decrepit old man standing on my front stoop. I knew why he had come out but couldn’t fathom how in the hell he found me after such a long time. Jesus, I feared this moment for countless years, then after the first twenty with no contact, the angst began to dissipate and eventually dwindled to only appearing during sporadic nightmares. I long since placed him in the category of dead and gone. He had to be in his mid to late eighties, and obviously, he hung on to life and remained alive to seek out and destroy me, the murderer of his son.