Pay Up and Die

by Chuck Buda

  Michael blinked a few times to clear his vision. The sounds of nurses hustling by echoed from the hallway. Somewhere a loudspeaker paged a doctor to pick up extension two-fifteen. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the noise. Each sound registered a mid-level earthquake on his mammoth headache. He tried to shut everything out, hoping it was all just a dream. But he knew better. Michael dozed back to sleep.

  ****

  “It’s a miracle you’re still alive.” The doctor put his chart down and moved to the side of the bed. “Usually when someone loses that much blood, they expire in a slow, comatose manner. But you had the wherewithal to not only save yourself but to also take care of your son. Quite heroic.”

  The doctor looked down at his shoes and waited for Michael to respond. Michael stared at the ceiling, reliving the image of Andrew hanging above.

  “We did all we could but...” The doctor trailed off. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do more.” His eyes moved up to Michael’s face and then back down to his shoes.

  A hot tear trickled from Michael’s left eye. It burned all the way down his face to the pillow. He never took his eyes off the ceiling tiles above. Michael could see Andrew with or without his eyes open.

  “Well, I’ll let you get some more rest. Everything appears stable now. But your body has a long recovery ahead. Two concussions, a badly broken nose, a cracked vertebra, a fractured orbital socket, massive loss of blood and bruised internal organs won’t heal overnight. So you just focus on getting better.”

  The doctor rested his hand gently on Michael’s arm. He told Michael he would check in on him again tomorrow and then left the room.

  Michael tried to sleep. But he couldn’t stop replaying the horror in his mind.

  ****

  A nurse opened his door and said that someone was here to see him. She stepped aside and Stephanie walked in. The nurse closed the door behind her. Stephanie stared at Michael with tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked like she hadn’t slept or stopped crying. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her clothes looked lived in. Stephanie’s hair was pulled back, but some wisps had come loose.

  Michael began crying too. He hadn’t seen Stephanie since he left the house with Murph. It seemed an eternity had passed since that moment. He tried to minimize the sobbing but his heart wouldn’t allow him any control. He broke down and lost sight of Stephanie in the blur of tears.

  Stephanie approached the bed slowly. She appeared to be taking inventory of all the tubes and machines linked to his beaten body. Michael figured he was unrecognizable with all the bandages and swelling. He barely croaked out a “Steph,” as she neared him. His fingers reached up to take her hand. She placed her hand in his and squeezed tightly and then relaxed.

  Michael opened his eyes wider, blinking the tears away. He saw that Stephanie was crying too, one hand holding his, while the other hugged herself for comfort. She looked into his eyes and he saw her pupils move from side to side as she looked over his injured face. She removed her hand from his and placed it along his left cheek, gently caressing him. Michael closed his eyes at her touch.

  Then Stephanie smacked him. Hard. The reverberation of the impact climbing up his skull and back down to his face. A loud slap echoed in the sterile room. Michael stopped crying and stared at Stephanie in shock. She stared back with anger in her eyes. He knew she blamed him for this. Their only son was dead. Gone. And it was his fault. She let him know through her gesture.

  Stephanie stopped crying and wiped her eyes with a tissue that was stuffed in her sweater sleeve. She placed her hand back in Michael’s. She looked into his eyes but that momentary hatred had dissipated. Stephanie leaned forward and kissed his bandaged forehead. She rested her head on his chest while he cried himself to sleep.

  Chapter 47

  The gray sky accentuated the somber mood at the cemetery. Colorful flowers adorned the medium-sized casket. Friends and family sniffled behind dark sunglasses. The pastor recited the 23rd Psalm which elicited more crying.

  Michael stood, stoic, between Stephanie and Allison. They held hands as the prayers continued. Stephanie wept silently but Michael felt her tremble at his side. Allison had not cried too much yet. She still didn’t understand the finality of her brother’s passing. They knew the healing process would take years.

  Michael tried to control his own sorrow. He thought he had cried a thousand times since Andrew died, but he had at least a thousand more times to go. He adjusted his sunglasses and flicked a tear from his cheek. His thoughts shifted to Andrew and he prayed that Andrew would forgive him for what had happened. He wished that he could be reunited with his son soon because life had less purpose for him now.

  Stephanie had already forgiven Michael. He gave her plenty of space to grieve and lash out at him. Stephanie went through several phases in her grieving process. First, she took out her anger on Michael by screaming at him and breaking some of his most valued possessions. She screamed that she wanted him to know what it felt like to lose something he loved, even though she knew he loved Andrew as much as she did. Then she changed to silent indifference, ignoring Michael except when she had to speak to him about general things like meals or the funeral plans. Finally, she resorted to a subtle loathing, an almost passive-aggressive stance toward Michael. He accepted whatever she gave him as penance for his responsibility. He hoped that someday Stephanie would come back to him fully. For now, he would have to wait patiently.

  Michael looked over at Stephanie. She stared straight down at the casket without acknowledging his glance. He shifted his attention to Allison who was twirling her dress hem around the hand that wasn’t attached to him. She seemed to be in her own little world, oblivious to the misery surrounding her. Michael was grateful for her self-involvement.

  As he returned his gaze to the pastor, Michael noticed a figure in the distance, leaning against a tree. He swore that it was Derrick standing there. Watching him. Making eye contact. But he knew that was crazy. Derrick was dead. He had drowned him with his own hands. Michael lowered his sunglasses to get a better look. There was no figure in the distance. He shook it off as his mind playing tricks on him. Perhaps some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder. Or maybe just overwhelming guilt from having killed a man. Either way the vision disturbed him deeply.

  Michael tried to concentrate on what the pastor was saying but all the words droned on as background noise. Flashbacks of the fight between he and Derrick looped through his mind. The sound of the saw digging through Derrick’s bones. Andrew, hanging from the gazebo ceiling by countless bloody nails. His knees faltered a bit. Stephanie sensed his weakening and brought both hands up to support Michael. His head fell forward as fresh tears streamed down his face. Several friends nearby put supportive hands on his shoulders. Allison looked up at him and smiled.

  He managed to get a grip on his emotions and thoughts. The burial ceremony ended with everyone placing a blood red rose upon the casket before walking back to their vehicles. They were the last ones to approach the casket. Allison carelessly tossed her rose on the pile of flowers. She shouted “good-bye, Andrew” in a sing-song fashion which was both pathetic and charming at the same time. Then she ran along the row of onlookers to her grandparents.

  Stephanie laid her rose down gently. She placed a soft hand upon the casket and lowered her head, crying softly. Michael rubbed her back and tried hard to maintain composure for her, but mostly for himself. Stephanie leaned over and kissed the top of the casket and whispered, “Bye, my love.” As soon as he heard that, Michael threw himself on the coffin and screamed out loud.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Andrew. Oh God, Andrew.”

  The onlookers gasped at the scene. A few gentlemen came to Michael’s aid, trying to coax him away. A woman in the crowd had fainted but the man next to her caught her before she hit the ground. Stephanie just stood in place, hugging herself and crying. Michael was carried away by two friends. They managed to get him in the backseat of somebody’s car. The
pain still so fresh.

  Chapter 48

  Stephanie slid the scrambled eggs onto Michael’s dish. She placed two strips of bacon next to them and kissed the top of Michael’s head. He started to fork some eggs into his mouth when the doorbell rang. Stephanie paused at the stove and looked at Michael. He raised his eyebrows in wonder at who could be ringing this early in the morning. He dabbed his mouth with the napkin and went to answer the door.

  Michael looked through the side window and saw Detective Walsh on the front porch. The detective nodded to Michael through the window. He opened the door.

  “Sorry to come by so early, Mr. Wright. I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d check in on you.”

  “No, that’s fine, Detective. It’s fine. Come in. Please.” Michael opened the door wider to allow the detective to enter the home.

  “Look, uh, I wanted to fill you in on some developments in the case.”

  “Developments?”

  “Yeah, well last time we spoke, you were in and out of consciousness in the hospital so I didn’t give you all the details. I didn’t want to upset you any more than necessary in such a fragile condition.”

  “Upset me? How?”

  “Well, when you gave us your statement about the bodies at the duck pond, we dispatched a few squads to the scene and found only one body.”

  “One? Who? How could that be?”

  “Seems like one of the dead bodies up and walked away. Now, it could be that you thought they were both dead and one of them was only unconscious...maybe came to and ran off before getting caught. Or possibly some kind of sicko who likes to collect things from crime scenes. There’s an underground group of perverts who like to chase police scanners and pick scenes clean before the police arrive. More likely, the person revived and ran off to avoid capture.”

  “I...don’t know what to say. I...saw them. Can you tell me which body was missing?”

  “The one you said was face down in the pond was not there when my officers arrived on scene. The other body, huge guy, was there though. We were able to tag him and bag him. A John Doe. No form of identification and nothing came up in the records for a ‘Martin.’” Detective Walsh closed his notebook after searching for the name.

  Michael was dumbfounded at the news. He didn’t even remember making a statement with the police at the hospital. But learning that Derrick was missing troubled him.

  “That’s not all.” Detective Walsh paused to let the seriousness sink in. “The John Doe that we delivered to the morgue disappeared. Nobody extraneous was logged into the records and the camera feeds were corrupted. So, no suspects or rational explanation for where the body went or who was behind it.”

  “What? This is impossible. How can two dead bodies disappear like that?”

  “One dead body. One confirmed dead body. We still don’t know if the second person was deceased. I’m sorry to bring you such bad news early in the morning, but I figured you would want to know what happened. Like I said, I didn’t want to tell you about it in your fragile state. So, if you remember anything else or think of anything that might help us, please give me a call. And whatever you do, don’t go off like a cowboy again. Your last decision almost killed you.”

  The detective said goodbye and closed the door behind himself as he left. Michael was stunned. After all he had gone through, he couldn’t reconcile the fact that it might not be over. So many thoughts crossed his mind. Did Derrick escape? Did someone find him and take him away? It seemed highly unlikely that somebody would steal a dead body from a crime scene. Plus, what would they do with it once they took the body? It was all too much to comprehend.

  Stephanie came to the foyer. She looked at Michael with a curious expression. “Who was at the door?” She saw that he was perplexed. “Honey, what is it?”

  Michael stared at the floor and then raised his eyes to meet hers. “You’re not going to believe it if I told you.”

  Continue the Thrills!

  I hope you enjoyed the first book of The Debt Collector series. The next book will be available soon. To receive updates on future releases go to:

  http://tinyurl.com/z2le4gz

  ****

  Behind the Scenes

  This story was all too real for me.

  When my wife and I decided to start a family, we were excited about the future.

  We bought a house in a lovely neighborhood with a park nearby. A one hundred year old house which required lots of updating (original bathroom and kitchen included!). First came the mortgage. Then came the home equity line. And the work began.

  Several months later my wife surprised me with some wonderful news. She was pregnant with our first child. After the birth of our son, my wife and I both continued to work full time jobs. Of course, most of her salary was spent on day care for the little guy.

  Fast forward to two years later, we were about to have our second child. The decision was carefully made, but not without much difficulty. My wife would stay at home with our two small children to raise them. After calculating day care expenses for two children, my wife’s salary would be negated. And we just couldn’t live with the fact that strangers would raise our kids just so that we could maintain two salaries.

  So it was time for me to put on my big boy pants. I had three people counting on me to provide a roof, three squares and a mountain of diapers. That’s about the same time that I stopped sleeping. Then the fun began.

  My car died. I had just finished making the payments on a Dodge Shadow. Luxury wheels, I know. It wasn’t insulting enough that I had to buy the lowest end car available and stretch the payments out over five years in order to afford it. It then shit the bed a month after payment number sixty. Not to mention that it needed about $1,200 worth of work shortly before it keeled over (which was charged on a credit card - I am probably still paying for it today!). There wasn’t enough money in the budget to afford another car, not even a beat up, used one. So we opted for the next best thing. A hand-me-down ten year old Honda Accord from my in-laws. The car was great. It was older, sure. But a Honda is a Honda. If you did the basic servicing - periodic oil changes and tune-ups - the car will last you twenty years. Unless you get t-boned by a pickup truck.

  No, I’m not making this up. One frigid winter morning on my way to work, a speeding pickup truck hit a patch of black ice and nailed me square in the driver’s side door. I crawled out the passenger side but the car was totaled. And I racked up a year’s worth of medical expenses (above and beyond what my company benefits covered) to rehabilitate my neck and back.

  Luckily my father-in-law was ready to upgrade his wheels. So he handed us the keys to a fifteen year old Nissan 200SX. This car lasted about six months and then it died too. But not before I lost my job due to a corporate merger.

  The unemployment was short-lived thanks to a new opportunity in a friend’s company. Now that I had a job again, one car was not going to suffice. So we went out and bought a mini-van to transport the kids and the thousands of tons of junk that needs to go wherever the kids go - pack n’ play, strollers, diaper bags, etc. We signed up for the oh-so-economical five year payment plan because the rainy day funds had already evaporated. Plus, we figured now that I was working again, we would eventually catch up with our other debt obligations. Enough to pay off the mini-van early. Okay. Uh-huh.

  The game of debt continued. Work hard. Earn just enough to live. Pay a little extra debt off. Try to save a few bucks. Then pay out the saved bucks for some unexpected expense (car repairs, water heaters, boilers, roof, plumbing, etc.) And add to the debt some more when the cash ran out. The death spiral.

  In 2014, I lost my job. This time it was overseas outsourcing instead of a merger. But the results were the same. Financial disaster. The threatening letters. The phone calls that start at 7:30 a.m. and end around 9 p.m. The despair.

  So what, you say? Everyone is hurting and struggling to make ends meet. Damn right. Preaching to the choir. Whining to you about my financial woes not
only serves as a cathartic release, but it was the genesis of this story.

  I wandered the darkened house countless nights thinking of ways to get out of this morass. I spent days peeking through the closed blinds, looking out for the next collector to ring the doorbell. The madness surrounded me everywhere I went like a lurking shadow. And when I was lucky enough to snatch a few hours of sleep, my dreams were haunted by the possibilities of losing it all. Everything.

  As I slowly came to grips with my situation, the fear of loss evolved. It wasn’t so much about the house or the cars or our things. It was about my family.

  If we end up in foreclosure it isn’t the end of the world. We can walk away and rent an apartment. We love to camp. We can pitch our tents and live nomadically in the woods. We can move in with family or friends. I sense some people holding their breath at this statement.

  If the cars get repossessed, we’ll survive. I’m home now so what do I need a car for? And we could always sell a kidney to buy an old, used clunker. Notice I said “we.” Time to step up, son. Kidding.

  But what if something happened to the children? What if, God forbid, one of them got sick? What if we needed to pay for an emergency surgery or a life-saving treatment? What if my wife became ill? Her income would disappear. And not only would the money go away but we would have nothing left to pay for whatever we needed to make her better? These are the true nightmares. This is the horror of living in our modern society. It’s real. It’s pervasive.