Becoming Juliet

by Paula Marinaro

  The next thing P.J. did was take out the switchblade from his pocket and carefully remove the HSMC president patch from his leather cut. He reverently folded the leather jacket and secured it in the bottom of his duffle bag. Then he placed the patch in an envelope provided by the hotel and left it on the desk. Tomorrow he would go down to the concierge desk and have them mail it.

  After consulting the room service menu, P.J. called in an order of king cut prime rib, a Caesar salad, fresh green beans and a fifth of bourbon. After finishing his meal, P.J pulled the heavy burgundy curtains of the room closed and hung the laminated do not disturb sign on the door. He piled the fluffy, down pillows high on the bed, and laid his sore body on the deeply cushioned mattress. Then P.J. downed several shots of the liquor and watched a movie on Netflix until his mind was clear enough to rest.

  P.J. put in a solid fifteen hours of uninterrupted sleep before he woke. When he did, he felt better. The steamy shower, nutritious meal, comfortable bed, and large bourbon consumption had given way to a much mellower version of himself. When P.J. thought back to his decision of the day before, he readied himself for an onslaught of regret. But instead, a wave of relief flooded his senses, and P.J. felt a tremendous weight lift off his shoulders. The decision to pass the gavel on to his cousin Jet had not been an easy one, but it had been the right one. Jet was solid. He was confident in his ability and had a good sense about people. He was cool, even tempered, and capable of making quick and sometimes brutal decisions. Jet was a natural leader, the men respected him, and their enemies feared him.

  Feeling good, P.J. took a walk around the corner to the local market where he bought himself a carton of cigarettes, a bunch of lottery tickets, a twelve pack of beer, and two massive Italian cold cut grinders— light on the lettuce and heavy on the oil. He went back up to his room, turned on the game, ate the sandwiches, drank the beer and, at half time, P.J scratched the tickets.

  Before half time was over two things had happened. One was that P.J. had seen a cool travel commercial touting New England tourism. The other thing that happened was that P.J. was two hundred and fifty thousand dollars richer.

  The next morning P.J. drove straight to the lottery commission to cash in his ticket. Then, remembering the television commercial from the night before and thinking it might be a sign, he headed off in search of the craggy cliffs and sandy beaches of the Northeast Coastline.

  Lucy Brewster

  Lucy Brewster went from sound asleep to wide awake in an instant. She bolted up in bed, heart thumping, eyes staring through the dark, ears straining for the sound that must have awoken her. But there was nothing but the lazy country sounds of a hot, summer evening. The whirring noise of the fan, the rhythmic buzzing of katydids, the musical chirp of crickets, and the warning hum of cicadas all mixed with the soft rumble of distant thunder. Lucy had no idea what had caused her to bolt up in bed with her heart thumping out of her chest, but it was not the first time it had happened to her.

  It was such a beautiful spot on the lake, she knew she should feel more relaxed and comfortable. But even after a few weeks, Lucy found that she still wasn’t used to the nightly cacophony of the country sounds. Her sleep was typically restless. Especially on nights like this when you could cut the humidity with a knife. Lucy could feel the heat prickle at the back of her neck. The damp, cotton cloth clung to her sweat soaked back. She peeled off her nightgown and headed down the hall to the small bathroom. The floorboards creaked beneath Lucy’s feet, and the walls of the house shook as the ancient copper pipes worked hard to bring a spray of water through the rusty shower head.

  Standing under the cool blast, Lucy lathered herself up in the mint olive oil soap that she had gotten at the farmer’s market the day before. Then she washed her hair in chamomile shampoo and rinsed it in a mixture of vinegar and lemon juice to make it shine. When she felt squeaky clean and cool, Lucy put on a fresh night shirt and went downstairs to get a drink of water. It was just past two a.m. and she couldn’t imagine that Kenny would be much longer.

  Lucy had met Kenny two years earlier when she had first been hired as a research assistant at a small, private college. Kenny had been in his first year as an adjunct professor. Because the college had a lot of on campus events and the staff was friendly and close in that drinks on Friday, brunch on Sunday kind of way, Lucy and Kenny had found their paths crossing often. They developed a fast, furious, and fierce attraction for each other, and soon found out that they were just as compatible in bed as they were out of it.

  After each earth shattering, star exploding, mind blowing, sexual adventure they would lie in bed, hands entwined, limbs tangled, and talk about the future that they envisioned together as a couple. At the center of their wish list had been a two story, center hall colonial, a minivan in the driveway, and as many children as God would serve to bless them with. Lying safe and secure in each other’s arms, the young love birds planned out a perfect future together.

  After only a few months into their relationship, Lucy and Kenny decided to get married in city hall during a semester break. Then they had celebrated with colleagues and friends around a bonfire. Wine, and roasted marshmallows had been the only thing on the menu, and just like everything else in their lives, it had been perfect.

  Lucy and Kenny’s wedded life together had been easy, comfortable, and blissfully happy.

  Until it wasn’t.

  Until a series of events occurred in the small college town that were so tragic, so evil in intent, that they shook the small community to its core.

  The first victim, Cassandra Mooney, had been found in a dumpster at the rest area two miles from campus on Rte. 54. Her body had been wrapped in black garbage bags and tied with thick nylon rope. Cassie had been an attractive, friendly, young woman with silicone enhanced breasts and a wide smile. She worked three mornings a week at the college cafeteria and took an occasional night course when time and money allowed. Cassie had been a steady favorite with staff and students alike because of her easy going nature and dedication to her job. No one underestimated the value of a warm, nutritious breakfast, especially during midterms and finals. To that end, Cassie had always made sure the coffee was hot and fresh, the bagels toasted to a perfect golden brown, and the pancakes light and fluffy. She had shared a double wide trailer with her sister, Barbie, over at Pink Flamingo R.V. The sisters both took their clothes off for money at the Golden Banana, a strip joint that was just past the town line. Despite Barbie’s insistence that her sister was no whore, the police did little investigation into Cassandra Mooney’s death, assuming that the murder was the result of a trick gone wrong.

  Bobbi Lee Gentry was the second victim, and she was about as different from Cassandra Mooney as she could get. Bobbi Lee had been a nineteen year old freshmen whose family had a large cattle farm somewhere in the Ohio Valley. She was fresh faced, freckled, and engaged to Stuart Sherwood who put a ring on it when she went home for the Christmas holiday.

  Bobbi Lee had planned to finish off the year, then return home to begin her life on the rodeo circuit as Stuart Sherwood’s wife. When she went missing right before spring break, the police chalked that up to pre-wedding jitters. The authorities denied that there was any connection between the two girls. However, when Bobbi Lee’s body was subsequently found wrapped up in garbage bags and mutilated in a strikingly similar fashion as Cassandra Mooney the town officials started to get nervous.

  With exams and graduation looming, the board of directors of Barnham College worked hard to keep it all quiet. However, they also took the necessary steps to keep their students safe. Curfews were mandated, a buddy system was instated, and night- time social activities were cancelled. After several weeks passed without incident, the board of directors heaved a big sigh of relief. Restrictions were lifted, and soon it was back to business as usual.

  One month later, Annie Harbor, the attractive, thirty something vice president of Barnham College went missing. The state and local officials from two
counties joined in the search for Annie. Areas were gridded off while search and rescue teams from three counties combed the sights; cadaver dogs were called in. On the third day, Annie’s body was ferreted out by one of the highly trained police dogs. While both law enforcement and locals watched on, the animal dug at a large area of dirt near a local landfill. Annie Harbor had been raped, mutilated, and wrapped in a garbage bag tied with heavy nylon rope. Because poor Annie’s death had pretty much clinched the idea that the sleepy college town had a serial killer on the loose, the Federal Bureau of Investigation had been called in to take over the case.

  When the news and particulars of Annie’s murder were released, the college campus and surrounding towns became gripped in a whirlwind of abject terror. Students left the area immediately and in droves. Classes were cancelled, buildings were closed, and police officers were visible at every corner. Flights were booked, bus stations and train stations were jammed. Faculty bid a tearful goodbye to each other, cleaned out their offices and left their keys clattering on the desks as they slammed the doors behind them.

  For Lucy and Kenny, it had been an incredibly shocking, abrupt, and painfully sad ending to their fairytale existence. In the beginning, it had been hard for Lucy to convince Kenny to leave. He had wanted to be there, to stay close to the investigation. Kenny had told his wife that he felt it his duty to help out in any way he could, maybe even set up a town watch. But Lucy was not so civic minded and could not get out of town fast enough.

  Annie’s death had hit Lucy hard. Annie, Jamie (Annie’s boyfriend), Kenny and Lucy had spent many nights together sitting around the old stone fireplace in Annie’s home. Over glasses of good wine, they would debate world affairs, the ins and outs of politics, sex, and religion. Nothing was out of bounds for them. Although the group’s conversations could become somewhat lively, the discussions were always amicable, fun, and filled with good intent.

  While Lucy loved and admired her husband for his sense of duty, she had put her foot down. Even if Lucy hadn’t been scared, which she most definitely was, everywhere she looked, everything she did, reminded her of Annie. And when it became well known that Annie’s boyfriend, Jamie, had been brought into questioning, Lucy knew she couldn’t stay. Just the thought of Jamie hurting Annie was so ridiculous and so high on the creep out factor that it made her sick. Lucy needed to get away from all the death, and dark shadows that hung like a plague over the formerly happy, little town. After Jamie had been cleared of all suspicion, the investigation had taken a turn towards the faculty. The scrutiny had been intense, and the interrogations had gone on for hours.

  What did you see?

  What did you hear?

  Where did you go?

  What do you know?

  ARE YOU SURE?

  It had been a horribly tense time for not only Lucy and Kenny Brewster, but also for the few remaining faculty members. With everyone beginning to look at their former friends with suspicious eyes and searching gazes, Lucy knew the sooner she and Kenny got away the better it would be.

  So, now, here they were at the lake to rest, rejuvenate, and relax. At first it had been all good. There was a small barn on the property that was perfect for Kenny to shut himself away in and work on his dissertation. On Lucy’s part, she tried her hand at gardening and making bread. Around noontime, she would take the latest crusty creation, a couple of hard boiled eggs, thick slices of sharp cheese, cold chicken, fruit, icy, cold bottles of water. Lucy would cheerfully pack it all up in a wicker basket and set off to have lunch with her husband.

  Once at the barn, Lucy would softly knock on the door and smile when she heard the furious clicking of the old typewriter that Kenny insisted on using. He would meet Lucy at the door, lock it firmly behind him, and take the picnic basket from her. They would hold hands and walk along the wildflower meadow until they found the perfect spot. After enjoying a lovely lunch together, Lucy would return home. She would enjoy the afternoon relaxing, reading, working in the garden, or doing whatever else she wanted. It would be later in the evening, usually around nine o’clock, before Kenny came back home. Lucy would have a beautiful candlelit dinner prepared. Kenny would help with the dishes. Then the couple would spend the rest of the evening holding hands and watching old movies together. However, recently Kenny had become more and more involved in his writing, and now he rarely came home before midnight.

  Lucy, still reeling from the recent deaths and police investigation, had not dealt with her husband’s self-isolation well and began to sink into a depression. She had started to have memory and fatigue issues. It became almost impossible to get through the day. Kenny had been concerned and had put his writing aside for an entire week to pamper Lucy. During that week, he watched her carefully to make sure she got a good balance of rest, fresh air, and exercise. Kenny, feeling guilty for having neglected his wife, treated Lucy to a nice steak dinner at one of the better restaurants in town. After that, they took a trip to the local health food store. Armed with a veritable army of vitamin powders, protein bars, and plant based nutritional supplements, Juliet had had high hopes for a complete recovery. However, despite it all, Lucy seemed to be getting worse. Wrestling up the energy she had left. Lucy began to furiously research her symptoms and plausible causes. And just today she had found it.

  Voila.

  Stachybotrys chartarum

  Apparently, the pesky little beast, otherwise known as black mold, could cause multiple health problems including aches and pains, headaches, fatigue, and memory loss. And wouldn’t that make all the sense in the world? Living in a lake side community the air was always thick with moisture. The old wooden house, with its cracked pine boards, and old plaster walls, was like a petri dish for that kind of stuff.

  Lucy sighed as she glanced at the clock on the wall. She was wide awake and knew that Kenny would be home soon, so she might as well wait up for him. Maybe they could even walk out on the dock and watch the sunrise together. The thought made her smile, and an excited energy surged through her body. Why not put the time waiting to good use? Lucy decided to begin cleaning with the mold solvent she had bought at the market just today. She brewed a fresh pot of coffee, pulled off her nightshirt, put on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, pinned up her hair, snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and got busy. Lucy scrubbed down everything in the bathroom, which is where the article she had read said should be her first go to.

  When she found small dark clusters of spores where moisture had gathered behind the tank of the toilet, Lucy felt validated. She followed a trail of thickening black streaks under the drawer of the vanity. Because her head had begun to hurt, and her chest had started to feel tight, Lucy thought it was best to cover her nose and mouth. Remembering that Kenny had bought a fresh pack of red and blue paisley bandanas she went searching for them. She remembered that he had left them in his duffle when they had moved to the lake house, but she didn’t remember where he had put the heavy canvas bag.

  She looked under the bed and found nothing but dust bunnies. Nothing in the closet either, or in either chest of drawers. Now, Lucy looked up with trepidation at the trap door in the ceiling that led to a small attic space. She decided that maybe she could just have a feel for the duffle. Lucy was afraid to put her hand up there in the dark, because if she did and it landed on something small and furry? She knew she’d die on the spot.

  Just for good luck, Lucy touched the Martisor around her neck, and immediately felt better. Her Romanian grandmother had given Lucy the amulet when she was just eight years old and Lucy never took it off. She sighed as she remembered the night when she had given her friend an amulet almost identical to her own. Lucy had had it specially made for Annie for her thirty fifth birthday. It pained Lucy to think that Annie had been murdered just a few days later. The gold chain had been found close to the body, but the amulet had been ripped off the chain. Lucy had been desperate to find the good luck charm. She had even gone back to the crime scene several times, in the hopes that maybe s
he could find it, but law enforcement would not let her near the place.

  Shaking away a feeling of foreboding, Lucy climbed carefully up on the chair, and pushed the trap door aside. Her gloved fingers patted the floor of the rafters. Growing bolder now, but still thinking that any moment her finger would be bitten off by a rabid bat, Lucy gathered all her courage for one last reach. When her hand hit the rigid canvas fabric, Lucy cried out in victory and did a small fist pump in the air. Then she pulled the duffel down from the attic. It was surprisingly heavy, and Lucy struggled to keep her balance as she stepped down from the chair.

  Lucy sat with the bag on the floor. When the zipper caught on something inside the duffle, she broke a nail trying to force it. But she tried again and this time managed to pull the zipper through. Lucy felt at once rewarded because there they were, the red and blue bandanas were sitting right there on top of some other clothing. But to Lucy’s disappointment, the bandanas had already been worn and were now covered with fine dirty dust. Hoping to find something else she could use, Lucy pulled the dirty cotton scarves and put them aside. Then, she continued to forage through. Next, she found a mud- dried pair of jeans, and a white t-shirt that looked like it had been splattered by red berry juice. She didn’t recognize the clothing as anything Kenny would wear and assumed that the duffel had been in the attic when they had rented the cottage. It had to be coincidence that the two bags looked identical. Khaki colored canvas duffle bags were a dime a dozen and could be found just about anywhere. Same was true with the red and blue bandanas.

  Curious now, Lucy dug right into the rest of the contents for a closer look. Under the clothes she found a roll of heavy ply plastic garbage bags, tightly bundled thick twine, silver duct tape, a compact shovel, and a small box.

  Lucy shook her head and swallowed the bile that rose in the back of her throat. An odor of old, tarnished copper came rushing up from deep in the bag and hit Lucy in the face with the force of a tidal wave. Lucy picked up the tee shirt she had cast aside and examined it more closely, only to discover that those red splatters were not what she had first thought. With dread, Lucy sought and found the same blood splatters on the muddy pants, and on the blade of the shovel. The bag smelled… evil. The strong stench of the dirt, dust, and blood lingered in the air like the sweet smell of a depraved soul…like the decaying perfume of the dead.