by Jay Sigler
I ran back to my toolbox, grabbed another roll of duct tape and a razor blade. I pushed the razor blade out with a click of my thumb. The shortest distance between two points is a line, so I calculated the quickest way to remove the tape was to slice one straight down the right side of his face, starting just under his bruises and ending at his chin. The hanging duct tape balanced the hanging flap of cheek on the other side of his face. I admired the symmetry. I ripped the rest of the tape from his mouth. He started babbling nonsense as he finished spitting up the rest of his most recent meal, my friends, right at my feet.
“P… p… p… please. I don’t know what you want. I… I… I… I don’t know what you think I did, b… b… b… but….”
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” I spoke each word as I ripped off a new strip of tape and wrapped it around his mouth again. He was no longer going to choke and die and I didn’t want to hear his version of the truth. I had mine.
Chapter 26
That Friday on the train, I was truly alone; as anticipated, Neil was missing. The last of my train friends were gone. I sat in my seat, going through the events from the previous night. It was like trying to imagine someone else’s dream. Before I left that morning, I had gone downstairs and held the chloroform rag over Shawn’s newly deformed face to keep him knocked out for the day. I remembered something about rings and razors. Then I remembered Julie and her fiancé were coming over for dinner.
I did nothing work-related the entire day because I was too worried about Julie coming over. The house wasn’t clean. I had no idea what to cook. Plus there was a tortured man dying in my basement. I hoped they didn’t mind chicken and rice. Panic clenched my heart with its icy fingers. Anxiety constricted my lungs, not allowing full breaths of air. I wanted to call off the dinner, but I had already decided that tonight would be Shawn’s last night alive and I needed the alibi. The plan was to entertain them for a while, then sometime during the evening go into the basement for another bottle of wine or some other believable excuse, and end it. If I had learned anything from my useless two-dimensional life lessons, it was that cops are very good at pinpointing the exact time of death. Later, when Shawn was either found in a Dumpster, appeared to be the victim of a car accident or something else I hadn’t yet thought of, and anything led back to me, then Julie and her fiancé would be able to vouch for my whereabouts in those exact minutes.
“So, are you ready for tonight?” Julie made a point to come over and ask me.
“Sure am,” I said, conjuring up the best smile I could. I really meant, “Fuck no.”
“Lookin' forward to it,” she said and left before another awkward pause could happen. I thought she lingered just a moment too long and wondered what that meant, but told myself I was just imagining things. I left an hour sooner than usual to catch an earlier train so I could get home and finish cleaning. I also needed to get groceries and make sure Shawn couldn’t make any noise.
I walked into my house and nearly dropped the plastic bags filled with chicken, rice, and wine out of my arms. I heard blood-curdling screams of pleading and pain, only slightly muffled by the thin wooden door separating the basement from the kitchen. I set down the bags and had a moment of sheer terror as I ran downstairs. How long had this been going on? Had anyone heard his screams? How had he woken up and removed enough of the tape to scream that loudly?
I reached the bottom of the stairs and ran to where I had left Shawn. He had somehow knocked the chair over onto its left side, turned at a perfect ninety degrees from how I had left him. He must have landed on his head as evidenced by the pool of blood and pus all around him, dripping from his face. The fall had torn open the razor cut in his face; the blood must have acted as a lubricant, allowing the tape to slide down from his mouth.
“Shut your fucking mouth, NOW!” I screamed at him. I kicked him in his broken ribs and he let out an even louder cry of pain. I realized that this only created more noise for anyone that might be listening. I forced myself to speak in a calm, rational tone. “Please, stop your screaming before I am forced to hurt you. Again.” I didn’t think he heard or appreciated my calm request over his mind numbing screams. I picked up the back of the chair and righted him.
“M… M… Man, let me go. I don’t know what you think I did, but I d… d… d… didn’t do it. I… I don’t even know you… Please?” His hysterical attempt to rationalize with me was amusing. No fucking way. It was too late to turn back now. I would have my revenge tonight, for everything this asshole had taken from me. I used more duct tape to cover his mouth. By the time I was done, he was a silver ninja with only his eyes and nose showing through strips of tape. He almost looked like one of those scorpion mummies from my dream. Luckily for me, I had already broken most of his ribs, so writhing legs weren’t a threat.
I poured more chloroform over the still damp rag and held it to his face. I watched him drift off into what must be a better place. I wasn’t sure if he had awakened before I got home that day because he built up a tolerance to the chemical, but I wasn’t about to take any chances of him waking up again while my guests were here. To make sure he was really out, I took a hammer and hit his right kneecap. His bound feet pulled up straight against the tape holding them to the single chair leg, but this was expected. His reflexes were in good condition. He wasn’t. But he didn’t wake up, so I went upstairs to prepare for my guests.
Chapter 27
I couldn’t remember the last time I had cooked an actual meal for anyone. It was most likely for Vicky when she was alive. As I sat there preparing the chicken, I remembered that I really used to love to cook for her. She would always sneak into the kitchen and pick at whatever I was making. “Just to see if it was even edible,” she would say to me with a wink and a smile. We both knew it was because she really did like my food and it was her excuse to come into the kitchen. Personally, I liked the idea of taking time out to prepare something specifically for another person. And in a way, I was still doing that for her.
While I was lost somewhere between a flood of memories and a mushroom sauce, the doorbell rang. They were here. More specifically, she was here. I opened the door and it was just Julie.
“Hey… there…” I greeted her, looking around her for her fiancé.
“Hi. Listen, Pete is so, so, so sorry that he couldn’t make it. He got really sick at the last minute. I didn’t want to cancel so I just came by myself. I hope that’s okay? I know how important this is to you.” She really meant it was important to her.
“Sure, sure,” I replied thinking at least I wouldn’t have to stumble over his name the entire evening. Then I wondered why I couldn’t remember that his name was Pete. It was such an easy name to remember.
“Are you really sure it’s okay?” she asked, turning her face to look into my eyes which had drifted off into the distance thinking about her fiancé’s name.
“Oh, right. Yeah, sure, that’s fine. Thanks for still coming out. I know it’s a long drive, especially by yourself.”
She laughed. “I think I can handle a two-hour drive out from the city.” If she was that worried about me not wanting her to come by herself, she should have called first before making the journey all the way out here. But I didn’t mind; I really needed the alibi.
We looked at each other, smiling, eyes locking for a moment. I invited her in, taking the bottle of wine she had brought with one hand and helping her take her coat off with the other. “I know you said not to bring anything, but I always feel bad coming empty-handed to a person’s house.”
“Oh, it’s okay. The more wine, the better, I always say,” I said, actually for the first time.
She looked at me with a tinge of regret in her eyes, possibly thinking that alcohol might not have been the best idea given my recent appearances at work. She shrugged it off, took the bottle back from me and said, “Where do you want it?” I told her to just put it on the counter while I went to hang up her coat.
I thought my plan would still work if it
was just her. An alibi is still an alibi. I just needed to slip away for a few minutes, do what I had to do, and get back to her. I hung her coat on the coat rack and walked back into the kitchen. She was staring at the two nail holes in the floor I had never gotten around to filling in, a gaping memory like an open wound. I coughed to announce my return and she snapped up, embarrassed to have been caught looking.
“I just can’t bring myself to patch up those holes. It’s a terrible memory of her, but I just can’t do it.” This was one of the few truthful things I said all night.
“Oh, you poor thing. I can’t even begin to imagine,” she said, rubbing my shoulder, attempting to turn this into a pity party. Maybe this was the reason she had come here by herself; she needed this more than I did.
We entered an awkward silence, waiting for the moment to pass. To hurry it up, I asked, “What do you say we crack open that bottle of wine?”
Her answer was a half smile, half frown; it just made her mouth a straight line and she nodded. I dug through a cabinet I hadn’t been in for months and found the wine opening set. Vicky and I had bought it for ourselves at a discount when no one got it for our wedding. A tug of sadness pulled at my heart. The last time I had used this set was our five year anniversary when we got extremely drunk together. The joke that night was that we had gotten some pretty strong cheese, since it couldn’t possibly have been the wine. This memory of cheese faded into the image of yellow pus on my basement floor. Fury with Shawn crept in knowing that there would be no more future memories. I longed to excuse myself for a few minutes to finish the job.
Julie must have thought I was staring too long at the wine opening set. “You know how to use one of those or do you need some help?”
“Nope. I got it.” I proceeded to open the wine bottle with all the professionalism of a connoisseur. “First, tilt the bottle for presentation and open on an angle. Never set the bottle flat and open it. It’s just tacky. Approach the cork with the corkscrew at an angle to ensure your first twist drives the screw into the exact center of the cork. This prevents the cork from breaking while ensuring it will pull out completely. Two and a half twists in and pull the cork out. Done.”
“Well, I’m impressed. Did you take a wine class or something?”
“I got Wine Drinking for Dummies some Christmases ago and that always stuck with me.” I thought it was amazing how you could remember the littlest things and completely forget about the bigger ones.
“Very professional, regardless of where you got it from.”
I poured two glasses of the Pinot Noir, noting how similar it looked the puddle on my basement floor, and set them down in front of us on the kitchen table. “Here’s to good times and better friends.” My toasts were never my strong point. Vicky once helped me through a toast I was asked to give for my dad at his sixty-fifth birthday party. And by “helped” I mean she didn’t laugh when I raised my glass, looked at my father and said, “Here’s to good times and a better father.” I was always toasting to good times. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.
Our glasses clinked and we both took long drinks, each trying to think of the next thing to say. She thought faster than I did, most likely because I was already drunk.
“So, I hope you don’t mind me getting a little personal, but how are you doing? Six years we’ve been working together and I’ve never seen you like this. It seems like you’ve just shut down since… since… you know.”
“I’ve been coping well. It’s gotten easier as time passes.” Not true.
We stared into each other’s eyes, a strange vibe occurring that I hadn’t felt since Vicky was alive. She sighed, with whatever she wanted to say right on the edge of her lips.
“I… don’t know how to say this, but….”
The oven timer went off, ending whatever trance we were about to fall into before it began. We both shook our heads, as if waking up from a dream.
“Chicken is ready. I hope you’re hungry.” True and not true. The chicken was ready, but I didn’t really care if she was hungry. My mind was consumed with finishing the job in the basement.
“You know it,” she said, seeming almost happy that something had stopped her from continuing.
I refilled our glasses with the rest of her wine and brought over two plates of chicken and rice, mixed together with an old secret family recipe, which was really a can of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup. The old secret family recipe thing is just what I tell people because that’s what everyone’s supposed to say when they make something very basic. It’s something so simple, you try to disguise it as something difficult. That happens a lot.
“Dinner is served,” I said with a light bow like a fancy waiter. You’re also supposed to do that.
“Everything looks great and I’m starving,” she said and took a bite. “Perfect!”
I thought the wine was starting to get to her because she just kept talking about work and her fiancé. I let my mind wander to Shawn, but still paid close enough attention to nod in all the right places. It was something I picked up from Frank.
“….And then you know what he did?”
“What did he do?” What was Shawn doing?
“…Came over and threw me in the pool!”
“Ha ha ha. That’s crazy.” I hated Shawn with all my heart and just wanted this to be over. It would be due justice for killing my friends and my wife. My anger was rising.
“You know how when you…” she continued.
Nod. Nod. Nod. How long ago did I put the chloroform on Shawn? I think the time was getting close. Friends and wife would be avenged. Adrenaline was pumping.
“…The bathroom?”
“Ha ha ha. The bathroom, great!” I remarked, encouraging her to continue. When her stream of words was interrupted by silence, I was actually forced to pay attention. She looked at me through one squinted eye and one raised eyebrow.
“I asked you if you minded if I went to the bathroom…”
Shit, my mind had wandered too far. “Oh, sure. Of course. It’s down the hall to the left. While you’re in there I’m going to run down to the basement and get more wine, okay?”
She blushed through her already reddening cheeks. “Okay, but not too much more.” Her smile indicated that she wasn’t the only one telling lies this evening.
She walked down the hall, not quite following a straight line and I knew I had to hurry. I opened the basement door. It was time.
Chapter 28
I hurried down the basement stairs, the anticipation of the moment coming to an end like a wrecking ball released into a brick wall. Shawn was still unconscious, taped up just how I had left him. Dried blood and pus crusted over his mutilated face, alternating red, yellow, and black. He looked how I had felt these past few months.
I only had until the toilet flushed upstairs, so I grabbed the razor blade and clicked it open. A surge of memories flashed through me with each step I took towards him. The picture of Vicky and me at Yosemite Park. Our wedding night. Arguing with her the final morning I saw her alive. My best friend and lover for over ten years. Rob and Gina, fighting but in love. Frank, a man who chose to ignore his pain, keeping a positive attitude through a worn down life. Sheila, eating herself to death, trying to find comfort in food as a way to deal with her pathetic, ugly life. Neil, hoping to remain young and desirable in anyone’s eyes despite growing old alone. This was for all of them. For who they were, what they had become, and what they meant to me. I pressed the blade against the left side of his neck until it popped through his skin and disappeared. Then I dragged it slowly across to the other side. The shortest distance between my pain and redemption is a straight line.
From behind, I held his forehead with my arm and tilted his head back to avoid being squirted with blood. Shawn remained unconscious the entire time. After the initial geyser dissipated, blood escaped his body in red streams synchronous to his deep breaths. I sat there in silence, just holding him in his last final moments. When his breathing s
topped completely, he was dead.
I grabbed a bottle of wine and headed upstairs just as the toilet flushed.
Chapter 29
We met in the hallway at the same time, she walking back to the kitchen, me coming up from the basement. “Are you okay? You’re sweating…” she asked me, reaching up to touch the beads of perspiration on my forehead.
“Oh, yeah, fine. I, uh, just ran down the stairs to get this,” I said as I raised the bottle. “Just need to catch my breath.” But the real reason I was sweating was panic. I had been expecting some cathartic release after killing Shawn; I had been counting on it. But there was nothing. I still felt empty inside. I should have felt happiness after putting the person that killed my wife and my friends to rest. I chalked it up to having a corpse hidden in my basement and hoped that once the body was gone, I would feel the release. “Do you want to go sit in the living room?”
“Sure, but I don’t want much more wine, especially if I have a two hour drive home... Unless of course…” she began, her right hand caressing my left arm. I jerked away from her, immediately regretting my overreaction. She was probably just concerned. She quickly brought her hand back to her side.
We walked into the living room with full glasses of wine and she proceeded to talk. About what, I didn’t know, as my mind raced a mile a minute in a thousand different directions. I had just killed a man. But that man had killed my wife, so it was justified. But it was still murder, so that was not okay. But that man had killed my friends, so it was okay. I felt like throwing up.
I interrupted Julie mid-sentence and excused myself to go to the bathroom. I needed to pull myself together. I grabbed the little flask I kept hidden in the medicine cabinet for such occasions and drank half of it in one long calming gulp. It helped me to think it all through logically. The world started to spin. Vicky was all I had in my life. After she was taken from me, I only had my train friends. And Shawn had taken all of them from me. He had taken everything. He needed to be stopped and the police had been of no help. I had to do it. Whether you called it murder or revenge, it was justified; it was the correct thing to do. As I set down the empty flask, I felt better. Calm.
