Twisted Retribution

by Donna Arp Weitzman

  “Bullshit,” Pete hissed. “You know you were flirting with him.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sarah asked, barely whispering.

  The waitress set the eggs and pancakes in front of the couple. She asked what else she could get them. Pete answered firmly, annoyed that she was interrupting. “We don’t need anything else, thank you,” he said.

  After the waitress went back to the kitchen, Pete resumed his demands. “I asked if you like that son of a bitch.”

  “No,” Sarah answered again.

  “Liar!” Pete half-screamed at Sarah. “Let’s let him see you like this and see how he likes you.” Pete picked up the plate of pancakes and smashed the whipped cream in Sarah’s face. Startled, Sarah shrieked.

  “Come on, bitch,” Pete said and pulled Sarah from the booth. He threw down some dollars and pushed her into the Chevy. Reviving the engine and peeling out of the driveway onto the interstate, Sarah began to cry. Pete reached over and grabbed her hair, pulling her toward him.

  “Unzip my pants, bitch. Suck me off,” he yelled as he forced Sarah’s head over his hard penis.

  Another new act for Sarah, oral sex repulsed her. Sarah had dreamed that sex would involve sharing passionate kisses, long embraces, and whispering loving thoughts to the other person. Sex with her husband resembled none of her expectations and would not change in the years to come. Most times after Pete demanded sex and Sarah complied, she prayed long prayers to God to soften Pete’s behavior. Someday when God was ready, she would tell herself, God would hear her and save her from her husband’s crude and harsh behavior.

  The city of Amarillo finally appeared in the windshield before them. A dusty, scrappy oil field town, Sarah was ready to go home to her mother. Of course, this wish was between her and God. Pete rented another cheap hotel room for a few hours and seemed in better spirits.

  “Tonight at dusk, we’re gonna drive to Dalhart,” he said. “There’s lots of antelope up that way, and maybe I can shoot one from the highway. Got to get there before total darkness.”

  “Isn’t that against the law? Don’t you need some kind of license?” Sarah inquired.

  “Well, Miss Goody Two Shoes, what do you know about hunting?” he asked.

  Intimidated, Sarah grew very quiet.

  “You just shut the fuck up, and we’ll be okay.” Pete was pissed that Sarah had pointed out an error on Pete’s part. Pete Sears didn’t allow any criticism from his wife.

  The day was long with Pete watching the little black and white television and Sarah writing thank you notes to people back home for their wedding gifts. Thankfully, no more sex. Sarah went out about noon and brought back two What-A-Burgers with fries and cokes. About 4:30 that afternoon, they got in the Chevy and headed for Dalhart.

  ***

  Dalhart, Texas, is a long forgotten stop on the way to Colorado. Most people pull in only for gas and pre-heated tacos or chicken wings available at the local convenience store. Agitated that he didn’t see any wildlife on the lonely stretch of state highway, Pete was even angrier that Sarah was worthless as a hunting companion.

  On the way back from the dirty West Texas outpost, dusk was beginning to limit the view of the hills dotted with small, struggling cactus and other dryland plants. Pete demanded that Sarah keep a vigilant eye for antelope, but she often mistook a plant for an animal. This irritated Pete. “You’re not good for nothing,” he criticized. “Guess I’ll have to drive and spot the antelope myself.”

  Over a small hill in the distance a small herd of antelopes froze, seeing the car lights. Pete whispered, “Don’t move, you’ll scare them.” He quietly got out of the car, opened the trunk, and pulled out an enormous rifle. It had a big scope on top and seemed to Sarah about three feet long. She was paralyzed by fear, as were the magnificent animals.

  A shot rang out, and one of the beasts fell over to his side and screamed in pain. The others scampered away almost in slow motion, unsure as to whether to aid their wounded relative or try to save their own hides. They left the scene, scattering to regroup later when their safety was less in peril.

  The wounded animal was moving, dragging itself along the ground. Another car was approaching, its lights getting closer. Pete closed the trunk, laid the 30-30 rifle underneath the car on the ground, and slid in beside Sarah. “If that car stops to see what’s the matter, tell them we were watching the moon. No problem. Show them your new wedding ring.”

  The car slowed, peering at Sarah and Pete. Country people stand ready to help travelers. It’s not uncommon to find vehicle occupants frozen to death on the long stretches if there’s car trouble. Pete signaled an “okay” sign, and the driver slightly smiled and drove past them into the darkness.

  Pete hurried to grab the rifle, climb over the fence, and run up the hill to shoot the struggling animal. The second shot silenced it.

  “C’mon!” Pete yelled to Sarah.

  “What are we doing?” Sarah asked, slightly in shock after having witnessed a murder.

  “We’re gonna put him in the trunk,” he said.

  “What? Why?” Sarah gasped.

  “Shut up and help,” Pete demanded. Pete and Sarah together dragged the animal to the barbed wire fence. Getting its carcass over the fence was a big problem. Sarah wasn’t strong enough to lift it, and Pete couldn’t do it alone.

  Another car approached. “Dammit,” Pete hissed, disgusted that a second vehicle was approaching. “Act like you’re peeing.”

  Sarah looked perplexed.

  “You heard me! Squat down and act like you’re peeing!” Sarah did so and it worked. The car slowed and then gunned the engine, scurrying over the hill.

  “Now let’s get this damn thing in the trunk before we get caught,” Pete commanded. He smashed the barbed wires to the ground, and he and Sarah heaved together pushing the antelope over it. Already bleeding from the rifle wounds, the animal was now scratched and bloody over its whole body. Sarah and Pete were also covered in blood.

  This was Sarah’s first time to watch a death. Although it made her feel squeamish, it was strangely exciting. Her heart beat rapidly. Once in the car headed back to Amarillo, Sarah glanced at Pete wondering what kind of sounds he might make if he was shot, death overtaking him.

  Throughout her life, Sarah occasionally fantasized. The fantasy’s subject matter varied depending on Sarah’s experiences. Fantasizing about her husband dying was a new, odd experience. Sarah felt shame and guilt.

  “Forgive me, Jesus. I am a sinner,” she mumbled to herself and God.

  “What did you say?” Pete demanded, instantly provoked.

  “Nothing,” Sarah answered. “Just coughing from the cold night air.”

  Pete grumbled under his breath. He knew an Amarillo taxidermist who asked no questions. Pete pulled in front of his shop and popped open the trunk. A foul smell permeated the air. The shop owner, a grizzly and fat West Texas man, was chewing a cigar when he spit—almost hitting Sarah’s bloody flats.

  “Well, I’d better get on this tomorrow,” the man said. “We’ll stick it in the freezer for tonight.”

  “How much?” Pete asked the animal stuffer.

  “Oh, I dunno. About $200 and a few antelope steaks,” the man offered.

  “Deal,” Pete said and nodded in agreement.

  They both pulled the stiff, bloody carcass from the temporary car casket. Sarah stood quietly, aghast at her blood-stained clothing. She never planned on a hunting trip during her honeymoon.

  Pete and the nasty meat cutter spoke a few more minutes before Pete told Sarah to get in the car. They drove back to the motel and peeled off their clothes that now had a disgusting stench. Pete got in the shower, making Sarah wait her turn. “Call Godfather’s and get us a large pizza,” he said from inside the shower. “Make sure they deliver it. And we’ll need a six-pack of Budweiser.” He ripped the plastic curtain back from his body and added, “Hey, put on some of that perfume,” smiling faintly at Sarah.

  As she
mulled the phone book looking for the pizza delivery place, Sarah was so pleased that Pete had shown her some tenderness. Perhaps his tough demeanor was just temporary and part of his recovery from Vietnam. Sarah was certain things would get better.

  Pete’s hair was wet, and his body had the smell of Dial soap when he laid down on top of the bedspread. Sarah always pulled the covers back before lying down in her bed at home. She was meticulous inside her house, and these habits carried over wherever she was. But Pete was the boss, and if he wanted to lay on the bedspread, Sarah would stay quiet. She gathered her things and entered the bathroom.

  Pete pulled twenty dollars out of his wallet, knowing the pizza man would be there shortly. “Hey, hurry up. You’ve still got to get the beer,” he called out to Sarah as she was in the shower.

  Sarah hurried, not taking time to let the hot water cleanse her body of the murder she’d just witnessed. Sarah pushed back any guilt and instead quickly washed her hair and tied it up in a rubber band. She dried each limb and pulled on one of Pete’s shirts and her own pants.

  “I’ll be right back,” she assured Pete. He nodded drowsily, and she headed out to find a Quick Stop or local liquor store. Sarah was twenty-one and had her driver’s license. She didn’t anticipate any problems getting a six-pack of Pete’s favorite beer.

  The pizza man was getting back in his car when Sarah wheeled into the motel parking lot a few minutes later. They exchanged pleasantries, and Sarah lightly rapped on the motel door, again very briefly disappointed in the outcome of her one and only honeymoon. Pete cracked the door, but upon seeing Sarah there, he seemed relieved. “Boy, am I hungry. Get in here,” he said.

  They opened the pizza box and tore into the sausage and cheese pie. Two bottles of brew completed the meal. Sarah sat on the edge of the bed, and Pete used the nightstand for a table. Although he was busy chomping his dinner, Sarah felt he was pleased that he had taken down an antelope. This success had put him in a good mood. Sarah realized then how important hunting animals was to Pete.

  Pete looked at Sarah when they finished eating and said, “I thought you were going to put on that perfume.”

  Sarah smiled, gathering her negligee and dashing to the tiny bathroom. She would wear the red one tonight because she remembered reading once that men like women in red. She sprayed Chanel No. 5 on her wrist and neck and looked in the mirror. Sarah was satisfied with her looks.

  Re-entering the bedroom, Pete had the light on. He stared at Sarah, who was becoming unsure of his mood. He grabbed her and pulled her onto the bed. Like the night before, Pete was forceful, not taking the time or making the effort to ask Sarah for input. He finished quickly and seemed ready to disconnect, both physically and emotionally. Suddenly Pete looked closer at Sarah’s negligee. “Red is a whore’s color,” he stated. “In Saigon, the whores wore red panties. I had lots of whores. They cost about ten dollars every time. That sounds expensive, but whores might be cheaper than keeping you around. After all, I have to make you a living.”

  Sarah held her breath, and her stomach felt queasy.

  “Well, I guess having you is better than a bunch of whores,” Pete mused. “After all, I don’t like sticking it in where another man’s been. You better never have another man. I’ll kill you both.”

  Somehow Sarah knew Pete was saying the gospel truth. The next day Pete was ready to go back to the little town of Nocona they would call home.

  ***

  Pete had secured a VA college tuition loan and would enter the nearby two-year college in Gainesville in January. He thought a degree in the growing field of computer science would fulfill his need to make a living. The little wooden house Pete and Sarah rented needed a lot of work to make it presentable. The newlyweds stayed at Sarah’s folks’ home, while they scoured the garage sales and used furniture stores for a few pieces they needed to keep house. Pete was very helpful and mostly let Sarah make the decisions regarding what furniture to have in their new place. Sarah’s mother made sure Sarah had a hope chest filled with dinnerware, towels, and bedding ready for use.

  Pete received $400 per month from his VA check. His Chevy was paid for. Rent was $115 per month. The remaining money could stretch monthly without Sarah having to get a job. Pete was adamant that his wife not work outside the home.

  A bit of luck landed in the Sears household the first few months they lived in their new home. Their neighbor was disabled and seemed very frail. She hobbled across the yard one day and knocked on Sarah’s door.

  “Hi, honey,” she murmured. “I’m Mrs. Knox. I live next door.”

  “Hi,” Sarah said and welcomed her inside. Mrs. Knox came in and sat briefly with Sarah in the spotless living room. The older woman seemed to take pride in the fact that Sarah knew how to make a home. She told Sarah of her advancing Parkinson’s disease and how it had become impossible for her to do her laundry and change the sheets on her bed. Mrs. Knox explained that she got a small pension from her dead husband’s social security. The two of them had also managed some savings, so she had enough money to pay someone to help her in the house. Would Sarah be interested? She would pay ten dollars per week, which would mean a little spending money for Sarah.

  Sarah said she would have to talk to her husband. One problem was that she suspected she might be in the first few weeks of pregnancy. She had missed her period and felt nauseous last night when serving Pete’s dinner. She didn’t mention this fact, however, when she talked about the proposal to Pete that evening. He looked at Sarah warily. “Well, okay if you want to help her. But two things; don’t you ever tell anyone I asked you to get a job, and the money is for the family, not just you.”

  Sarah agreed.

  The arrangement worked very well and would stay intact for years between the two neighbors. Sarah was a godsend for Mrs. Knox. She never asked for more money, but occasionally Mrs. Knox would slip an extra ten-dollar bill into Sarah’s hand, telling her she didn’t have to tell Pete.

  When Sarah discovered she was indeed pregnant, she worried about Pete’s rough sex. One night, she mustered the bravado to mention that sex was painful, adding that she seemed to have a lot of urinary tract infections. Sarah had been to her doctor only once since confirming the pregnancy, and she told Pete that she burned upon urination and was worried.

  Pete seemed concerned. He looked Sarah in the eye, never touching her, and said, “You’d better have that checked out. I got a venereal disease in Vietnam. I got treated right before I came home. You could have it.”

  Sarah felt faint. She made her way to the tiny bathroom and vomited. Her hatred for this man suddenly loomed clear. Her thoughts clouded her disgust.

  Hidden in her mind was a fantasy where she could see a much stronger version of herself catching Pete unaware as he slept on the couch. She wanted to put her hands around his throat and cut off his air. She wanted to see him struggle, flailing his arms and kicking his legs until his last breath.

  The doctor eased Sarah’s mind later that week, letting her know there was no sign of venereal disease. He seemed ill at ease discussing this with the woman he had delivered when she was a baby. The kind doctor wiped away her tears, smiling and patting her tummy.

  Baby Olivia was born September 15, 1973. Sarah saw the birth as a gift from God. She was a natural mother, and much to Sarah’s surprise, Pete was a good father. He loved the baby and was less abusive to Sarah during the pregnancy. Quietly disappointed that there was not a Sears baby boy in the household, Pete never mentioned his preference to their precious daughter.

  Regardless of Pete’s random moments of kindness, Sarah had learned that she lived with an unpredictable, hot-tempered, demanding narcissist. But she believed wholeheartedly in her vows and the part about “whatever God put together no man should put asunder.” She would be Pete’s wife until death do them part.

  However, Sarah did have a secret. While pregnant with Olivia, Sarah conspired with her physician to get birth control pills. She knew Pete would not have his wife k
illing his baby in her belly every month. Sarah prayed time and time again about using contraception. After months of stress and guilt, she decided God would forgive her for protecting herself against pregnancy. Sarah was particularly concerned about Pete’s family’s mental illness and passing on defective genes.

  Before Olivia’s birth, Sarah drove 18 miles to the next town and filled her prescription at the local pharmacy. She gave them the wrong phone number just in case they ever called her house. Her birth control pills were her savior. She looked forward to making the 18-mile trek every month and kept the pills between her bed frame and the mattress. Pete never made the bed, so this sanctuary proved a safe harbor.

  Her husband hated his college courses but despised the thought of blue collar jobs even more. Forced to take the basics, including language arts, history, and science, it all proved a waste of time for him. His classes took up his mornings, and computer lab was in the afternoons. This gave Sarah most of the day to care for Olivia, prepare nutritious dinners on a shoestring, and watch game shows as she waited for Pete to come home. She straightened and cleaned their tiny house in only moments every day.

  Many nights Pete would demand Sarah to read his textbooks and do his papers. He would hand in the assignments the next day and try to stay out of the line of questioning in class. Sarah, having been a good student, was very helpful and Pete got high grades on her essays. Finals were particularly stressful as Pete was unprepared. Sarah usually got punished during this time, Pete berating her for not preparing him sufficiently.

  Daydreams of a more interesting life would creep in Sarah’s psyche, but knowing how to pursue any other course was impossible. Some afternoons, Sarah’s mother would stop by for a visit. Neither of her parents was close to Pete, and Sarah’s father especially kept his distance. Olivia wasn’t close to either grandparent and would cry if they tried to hug her too close.

  Pete and Sarah spent holidays with Mother Sears, who became more cynical and hateful by the day. Nothing was right or just in her narrow world.