I, unfortunately, was in the middle of this era and embraced its essence wholeheartedly. This had now led me in a few short weeks to start tiring of Hannah, who had only recently been the object that I actively lusted for and pursued. Now I was entering the stages of planning how to discard her for another model to successfully conquer.
I sat at a small local restaurant in San Francisco, eating breakfast outside with the normal casual breeze blustering up a slightly cold stir of air. It is always so easy to spot visitors to the area as anyone west of Arizona relates all of California to the Los Angeles weather. San Francisco is just not the same, trust me. It maintains normal temperatures of between low 60’s to occasionally hitting the mid-80’s. It might be the one area that actually benefits from global warming.
As I drank my bland Bloody Mary, I noticed a large family (in number and unfortunately in size, as well) approach the restaurant and ask for a table. As they waited outside a local street vendor approached who sold beaded necklaces. The one attractive member of the clan initiated a conversation with the vendor forced by the prodding of her teenage son who desired a bracelet.
She had jet-black hair, hanging loosely a few inches below her shoulders with tight curls. The curls appeared soft like a fresh towel that was just removed from the endlessly circular confinement of the dryer. I imagined the sweet smell that might emanate from her hair, as I would stroke it gently with a caressing hand as we possibly watched TV sitting on my couch.
She had a nice waistline and a perfectly proportioned curve in her hips and breasts like a model. Not stick-thin, but extremely well proportioned.
My guess is the beaded jewelry normally sold for around $5 tops, and in all likelihood cost around $1 to make. In an odd set of events, the boy ended up with a bracelet, and for some unknown reason the woman seemed to pay in the area of more than $20. A heated exchange began between the son and several family members. He humiliated his mother and questioned how in the world she could ever think of paying so much for a mere trinket. I actually agreed with him completely, but I could also see the negative impact the conversation was having on the lady. I felt sad for her and her miscued decision.
After much bantering back and forth, they moved to their prepared table, sitting down with the woman enclosed in what was now a self-inflicted box of isolation. Normally, I don’t think or act on too many things, but suddenly felt inclined to inject my involvement. I would simply walk over to their table hand them $10 and state that I had negotiated a price reduction for her, implying I had retrieved a refund from the manipulative entrepreneur she had dealt with. It was a brilliant idea—and a perfect way to start a long, meaningful relationship with a perfect stranger. Everyone needs a great first encounter story, right?
I approached her table and felt the familiar churning in my stomach from the impending scenario. “Hello,” I said, “I could not help but overhear your transaction with the vendor outside. After you left, I talked to him and got him to reduce $10 off your original purchase. I’d like to give it to you.”
The look of shock and stuttered response was amusing to me as the two older women fumbled for an appropriate thank you. The gentlemen just gawked in my direction.
Oddly, my desired immediate effect on the zeroed-in target was not what I anticipated. She appeared to get more annoyed that the subject was, again, broached and stood, leaving the table. It appeared she sought the serenity of the restaurant bathroom. I accepted the gratitude from the other family members and casually turned, leaving the mixed unit of various ages and sizes. I returned to my table to finish my quickly melting Bloody Mary before it was completely devoid of any taste.
After breakfast, I paid the check and stood in preparation to walk back to my car and head home. As I did so, the woman approached me and, in an apologetic tone, introduced herself as Savannah. She was from Pleasanton, and her family was visiting from Ohio. They were all out for the day sightseeing. She hoped I would accept her apology for being a little rude and even asked me to join them for the day for a few hours of wandering around aimlessly, looking at the sites we had both seen on so many family and friend’s visits.
She was an architect, and for some reason she made several trips to Asia on a monthly basis. She had just recently broken up with her boyfriend of four years. He was a documentary film producer who lived in San Francisco half of the time and in Los Angeles the rest. She was in her early 30’s would be my guess and, indeed, the child in question was actually her little brother. He had made the family trip out with her parents and was actually in his first year at Ohio State. I am so bad now at judging the ages of kids it seems. They all look so young that I have lost the ability to differentiate between kids in high school and college.
After what can only be defined as the perfect meeting and the ideal day, we parted ways so she could return her focus to her family. We had exchanged numbers and agreed to get together one week from next Friday for dinner. She decided she would make the trip over the bridge and visit me, as she enjoyed Burlingame and had not been there in quite a while. I felt a renewed vigor from the random encounter and quickly decided the ties to Hannah had to be removed quickly. I was now regretting the extended invitation I had given for her to accompany me to my cabin home.
Since the arrival day for our trip came very quickly, I decided to follow through on the proposed two-day excursion. As agreed, I picked Hannah up at her apartment Friday evening and admiringly noticed how little she had packed. Women in general seem to have the ability to fill suitcases with items to the point of overflowing no matter how few days the intended stay is. I say in general as you cannot correctly state the entire gender acts in unison. But it does seem to hold true in the majority of cases.
Hannah had packed a small overnight bag and brought along a heavy coat. Temperatures were well into the 30’s on most nights at this point. This was a drastic change from the Bay Area. She reminded me that she had not told anyone where she was going or who she was going with. This meant she would leave her cell phone close just in case her daughters called and or something happened.
This seemed like a fair compromise. I was still concerned with my oldest daughter finding out about our budding relationship and wanted to keep a lid on the entire thing as long as possible. I was hoping that with my now-planned severing of the romantic strings, she would hold true to this agreement even after we concluded. This would just have to be a chance I would take as we were definitely not going to move forward for a long period of time.
The trip up was uneventful, and I was now exposed to three plus hours of nonstop recounting of endless stories. These ranged from the raising of her two kids to the antics happening at work to her colored family life, including a stay in a mental facility when she was young. Her parents had feared she was on drugs. Oddly enough, at the time she was not; but later on in life, she would do the normal level of experimentation and dabble in the area. Fortunately, she had never seriously been in jeopardy of losing control.
Upon arrival, we let Delilah out of the back of the truck, waved to Don who was outside with his dog Buddy, and with reluctance I introduced Hannah. She was the first female “friend” Don had met entering the house who was not my wife. They exchanged an awkward greeting, and Hannah and I moved to unpack our belongings and make ourselves at home. I gave the obligatory tour and found myself amused at the facial expressions Hannah displayed as we went from room to room. The enormity of the house became apparent in a very short time. I would guess you could fit her apartment in my house five times over and still have a little room to spare.
We ate a quick bite for dinner on the way up, so I started a fire and opened some wine in the TV room. I, then, sat down to enjoy some interaction with Hannah without the distraction of driving. We each went through a couple of glasses and, then, retired to the upstairs bedroom. This should have felt odd to me being there with another woman for the first time, but for some reason felt more refreshing than uncomfortable. We made love in a strangely rou
tine way and settled back to close our eyes and prepare for the next day.
It was probably more unnerving having a woman there at all with the enormity of my experiences over the last few months. The only other events were shared with my three girls as my wife had stopped coming to the house a long time ago. I casually fell into my normal position on my side with one of my arms straddling an extra pillow for comfort. As always, I drifted off to sleep very quickly. My sleeping position was a topic of continued discussion with my youngest daughter. She commented often on how cute it was that I snuggled a pillow while I slept. Her latest approach had been to positively encourage me in this endeavor as it allowed her when sleeping with me to snuggle a pillow, as well, from the other side.
As I drifted off, my nightly snoring habit came into full-blown orchestral form; and since I had forgotten to mention this fact, it must have surprised Hannah. I not only snore, but also gasp for breath. I suffer from sleep apnea and have trouble getting what is defined as a true good night’s sleep.
I have taken the sleep test in a hospital bed with a multitude of straps and wires fastened over your entire body. They are used to monitor the level of oxygen you push through all parts of your system, which is the key indicator of how well you rest. I failed all the tests; and then after some prodding from my wife, went to a nose and throat specialist where I promptly had my septum operated on. Apparently this was to remove some form of curvature. I also had the patella removed from the back of my throat during the same procedure.
This was theoretically supposed to help my sleeping disorder, but surprisingly my snoring remained. I even wore this Darth Vader look-alike mask to bed for a couple of weeks that forced a continuous flow of air into my lungs and mouth. It was scarily too much for me to use on a continual basis. Can you imagine inviting a date over and, after saying goodnight, donning a huge contraption over your head? Flipping a switch, turning on the engine, and saying goodnight?
I had been daydreaming of my hidden room since we departed on our trip up and, admittedly, it was hard not fantasizing about taking Hannah there. These thoughts stayed with me and formed the crux of my nighttime dreams, while I sifted from one tortuous fantasy to another. All of them ended in the same finality of Hannah leaving this world and moving on to the next. I still had my small pile of bones and two remaining skulls from the last go around and thought it would be good if I could extinguish them completely this trip. I, of course, could not because of Hannah.
As my snoring must have reached a sustained level of nonstop blaring, I felt the familiar jabbing and prodding that my wife had continually abused me with. In her words, it was to keep me from disturbing her precious relaxation. Hannah must have felt that was an appropriate recourse, as well, since she fell quickly into the exact same pattern that my wife had formed for years on end. As abruptly as the pellets from a shotgun disperse upon firing, Hannah’s one- fingered prod snapped me awake. With the click of a tiny trigger, I lost control as the memories of my former spouse pushed me over the edge.
I sat up and quickly subdued Hannah into a forced slumber with my hands and the blockish alarm clock sitting on my side of the bed. I lifted it and smashed it into pieces over her once beautiful face. This act, unfortunately, left some blood on the sheets and blanket. I worried that I would not be able to remove the red circular droplets that would most likely stain. I carried Hannah to my secluded sanctuary, and after removing her clothes fastened her hands and feet in the now familiar bindings. After I was comfortable with her inability to free herself, I went back to my room.
I changed the sheets, placing them in the washer and after starting the cycle went back upstairs to prepare the bed for my next attempt at a good night’s sleep. Even with the testing and educated synopsis, the one obstacle for a full good night slumber is simply removing any of the distractions – even if that removal has to be by force. I now lay down for the second time and, unlike the first, felt that the odds of being wakened again were slim.
I was concerned that I now had no choice but add Hannah to my growing list of conquests. However, this time my connection to her was too close. I could only hope that my luck remained true, and I would not be found out. She had not told anyone of her plans for the weekend, but she had told several people about her dating me. I had also introduced her to Don which as always was a problem. He had to know everything. It concerned me that he got into my affairs while I was here.
There was no turning back now. The deed had been started, and I would have to finish off the now-natural progression tomorrow. As I drifted off to sleep, I laughingly felt how strange it would be to state in a courtroom that the reason I was apprehended was I needed a good night’s sleep. The poking and prodding that had occurred impeded that goal. I was simply removing the source of the contention and as all good deductions would conclude, that was a great idea.
If I were convicted, the poking and prodding I would receive in prison were most likely of another nature. Not that there is anything wrong with that. Still, I cringed at the thought of this as I returned into my land of conflicted nightmares.
Just the Facts
Sudhir was finding it odd that his left cheek was so irritated. Why did he feel the thumping pressure, and what was the muffled noise in the background? His head felt like somebody had it in a vice and was one short turn from popping it like a pimple on the end of a teenager’s nose. He, then, heard the word “Daddy” a few times, and he now realized where he was, and the activities that gotten him here.
He was still passed out in his chair in the living room with the TV blaring from the night before. His daughter was tapping his cheek, saying something about being late for school.
“You have to get up quickly.”
His evening’s discovery and assessment came hurtling back like a bomb and exploded in his aching head, almost causing him to throw up on his beautiful daughter.
He lurched out of his chair, throwing himself down the hall, slamming the bathroom door behind him. He just managed to lift the lid and expunge himself of all bodily fluids in one brief violent seizure. Wow, he really fell off the cliff the previous night. Having his daughter see him in this state was possibly the single worst experience that made up his wasted life. How could he have allowed her to be the one to find him?
Unless he could invent a time machine, it was now done; and he needed to move forward quickly to ease any lasting effects this might have on her impressionable young mind. He opened the door, checked the time, and yelled. “Please grab something to eat, and make your own lunches today. Daddy is going to jump in the shower and will then drive you both to school.”
Taking a shower was pushing it, he knew, but if he didn’t do something, he felt he would be driving his kids to school with the window down and dry heaving the entire trip. As anticipated, the water was able to soothe some of the wrinkles in his tattered physical body. After making a quick pot of coffee, he slammed down a cup and hustled the kids into the car.
He drove them to school, foggily trying to keep up with the conversation; and after making one deadline and missing the other, he rambled back home and worked on getting into a reasonable mental state. Another shower helped and a call to the front desk letting them know he would not be in the office was necessary. He told them he was working on some leads and this left him with some added time to forcefully pull himself out of his self-inflicted hell.
It had been a long time since he had actually gotten sick from drinking. One of the few benefits of consuming alcohol is that it affords you the ability to cope better than the average person with overindulgence. He knew he must have really lost count for it to have this effect on his battered old body. A couple of hours and four cups of coffee into the morning, he felt aware enough to continue the investigation of the murders. He was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the murderer being someone he loved like a brother. How would he begin to move forward with something that ripped at his very soul? He was left baffled, but knew it didn’t m
atter. He knew what had to be done.
He started listing out the calendar of events, and in a diagram created a chronological flow of what had occurred. All the relevant details were filled in at each square. He had a nice flowing whiteboard of everything he could pull from the strewn out papers that made up his now bulging file of all four murders. He, then, added in details that he knew and studied how the two connected.
Suhdir, then, made a quick phone call and managed to track down the original man who had seen the Volvo in the parking garage. He asked him some specific questions on the dent he had remembered seeing. Oddly enough at the time, it was not something that anyone considered relevant enough to explore further.
Sure enough, the dent was described as a small intrusion like a rock had been thrown at the vehicle. Not more than an inch and noticeable only from a close-up view. Again, the man mentioned the only reason he remembered it was that he had a sister who had the same dent on her car in the same exact spot. It was just an oddity that caught his attention at the time.
Sudhir decided to grab one of his many pictures that he had and take it down to the restaurant where the waiter had thought he might have remembered seeing the man with Jill as they ate dinner. Sudhir was lucky enough to catch him, but the waiter felt that the man from his memory did not resemble the man in the photo. He could not recall exactly, as it had been so long ago, but the hair didn’t match—possibly the wrong color—and the face looked a little different than he remembered.
Feeling a little relief, but nowhere near satisfied, Sudhir made his way back home and pushed all his work into the garage—his only true haven in the house. He didn’t want to have everything exposed when his wife came home later that evening. Exposing himself to his wife ceased many years ago.
Duncan's Diary Page 18
