by Glen Johnson
Jasmine’s life was ending painfully, degradingly, unjustly and untimely because of one evil man: Adam Spindler, a twenty-six-year-old that had contracted HIV from an ex-girlfriend who was also a carrier; she had never been tested and unknowingly passed along the virus. Angered, and twisted by contracting the disease, Adam Spindler took his anger out on others. His ex-girlfriend had moved up country, and he couldn’t find her to take his anger out on her, so instead, Adam Spindler took a syringe of his own blood and went to the local nightclub where he had first met his ex-girlfriend, and proceeded to inject females of the same age, with the same long blonde hair and beautiful bodies. He managed to inject seventeen young women before the alarm was raised, and he was finally wrestled to the dance floor.
Jasmine was one of those seventeen. She had been out enjoying a friend’s nineteenth birthday party. It had been the first time she had ever been to that particular nightclub.
She had remembered arguing with her mother just before she left. Her mum didn’t like the drunken Saturday night scene, and Jasmine rarely went out drinking.
Life was full of if only moments.
Her father had been a drunk before he ran the vehicle into a tree that killed him and two other men, while on the way back from the local pub. Her mum was always worried something would happen to her also. In a roundabout way, it had.
Jasmine coughed, bringing up a clot of flem and blood. Within seconds, her mother was wide-awake and at her side. Years of constant vigilance made her mother a very light sleeper.
“Its okay baby, mothers here.” Jackie said, and she used a Kleenex to scoop the clot of yellow flem up and toss it into a bucket by the bed.
“Sing, sing a song; sing out loud; sing out strong. Sing of good things not bad; sing of happy not sad.” Her mother had picked up a strange habit of singing nursery rhymes under her breath while attending to her daughter, as if she had run out of things to say and needed to fill the silence. Or maybe she was just trying to divert her mind from seeing her only child waste away in front of her.
“Today’s the day darling,” her mum announced. “Today’s the day it all ends!”
Jasmine was a perfect A student. She won a place at the local university because of her grades. Marine Biology was her passion. Phycology was her field – the study of algae. One day she had hoped her work would help change the world. Her university had a grant to study the effect of algae and oxygen levels. The ocean’s plants and algae produced between seventy and eighty percent of the world’s oxygen, and because of the ever dwindling rain forests, if they managed to cultivate the ultimate algae that could spread and cover thousands of square miles out to sea, then deforestation wouldn’t have the same impact as it does now.
The many hours she had spent peering into a microscope and studying Petri dishes seemed like a lifetime ago. Because of that, in some ways she could appreciate the virus that was ravishing her body. She knew that at a cellular level, the disease was infecting her helper T cells, her macrophages’ white blood cells, and her dendritic immune cells. The perfect unstoppable invasion.
When first diagnosed, she had spent every waking hour studying up on what it was and what it meant to her. Almost ninety-three thousand people are believed to be HIV positive in the United Kingdom alone. With maybe another ten thousand undiagnosed. The latest statistics that she could find showed that between thirty-one and thirty-five million people are carriers worldwide, with a death toll of between one and a half to two million yearly. Most of those deaths occurred in third-world countries; Africa was the worst. For a modern, rich country, such as England, very few die due to the disease. She found out, for example, that a person diagnosed at thirty-five could quite easily live into their seventies, due to the advancement in medicine, and die of natural causes.
Jasmine was one of the exceptions to the rule. The virus ravished her body within the year. HIV – Human Immunodeficiency Virus is recategorized as AIDS – Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome when the immune system is so weak it can no longer fight off a range of diseases. In the end, something as simple as the common cold could kill her.
Out of the seventeen women injected only fourteen contracted HIV. One committed suicide within weeks, another died due to already having a serious aliment and mixed with the HIV-1 she died within the year. So apart from Jasmine, the other ten females would need to take tablets for the rest of their lives, but they were otherwise healthy.
Her mother was now smearing a soothing cream on some of her lesions on her arm.
“Splish splash, I was taking a bath, long about a Saturday night. A rub-a-dub, just relaxing in the tub,” her mother sung.
Jasmine’s eyes went to the eight-inch hunting knife that was resting on the bedside cabinet; it was surgically sharp; her mother had been up late into the night sharpening it.
Jackie took the respirator off her daughter’s nose and hooked it over the back of the bed.
“Today everything changes baby. Today we will be free.” She had a big smile stretched across her face. It had been a while since her mother smiled.
Jasmine tried to speak, but her raw throat just made a croaking sound.
“Shh, shh, baby. It will soon be over. I know you’re excited as well.” Jackie folded down the sheets, to reveal her daughters painfully thin, blister-covered body. During the night, some of the swollen lesions had popped, leaving splotches of blood all over the white sheets.
As she worked cleaning the sores and wiping away the blood and puss, her mother would quietly talk to herself when she wasn’t singing.
“My beautiful baby. So sweet. So lovely. A shining star. Hair so long and golden blonde.”
Jasmine’s hair fell out due to the radiotherapy; all that remained was a scabby scalp, covered in lesions and Psoriasis – a pinky, itchy sore that looks like silvery scales.
“Almost time baby. Almost time. We shall go for a drive, and it will all be over.
“Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink, and the little grey mouse; she called hum Blink, and the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard, but the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.”
Jasmine did not need breakfast; the intravenous drip gave her all the nourishment her body needed. Her mother disconnected the peripheral cannula on her forearm.
With the blood cleaned away, her mother started to dress her. Her every touch was excruciating. Jackie covered her in a soft, woollen pink tracksuit; a shocking, violent pink that strained the eyes and appeared nowhere in nature. Jackie did not bother putting any shoes on her, just thick warm socks.
Her mother left the room, to go and open the doors, so she could carry her shrivelled body to the car.
Jasmine’s eyes never left the knife that rested on the bedside cabinet. She wished so much that she could speak, talk to her mum, tell her everything will be all right, that she loved her more than anything in the world. However, she knew her mothers mind was set. She wasn’t going to see her daughter waste away to nothing, without doing something about it. This would be the first time her mother felt like she was accomplishing something. Every other decision and action was taken away from her. This was her last and only option.
She could hear her mum singing another nursery rhyme.
“A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you’re fast asleep. In dreams, you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for you keep.”
Next to the knife rested Jasmine’s pills. There were so many to take – eleven a day. Only three were to try to keep the disease at bay; the others were to combat the side effects.
“Here you go baby, nice and slow,” her mother said as she raised her up into the sitting position to be able to swallow the tablets. Each touch of her mother’s hand sent pain shooting along her body. She screamed inside with each touch.
Six hundred milligrams of Atripla, two hundred milligrams of Complera, and three hundred milligrams of Comdivir. Each tablet felt like the size of a bullet going down her raw throat. Each was accompanied
by coughing and choking. She was only meant to take one of the tablets, but to help her to this special day her mother had bumped up the dosage.
“All done baby. Mummy loves you.” This was followed by a kiss on the forehead. Jackie wiped a tear from her daughter’s eye.
“It’s time my sweet baby.”
Slowly, she lifted her daughter off the blood-covered sheets. Her six stone, nine-pound body felt like a child in her arms. Jasmine looked like a body you would see in an old black-and-white photo from Auschwitz.
Jackie quickly made her way through the bungalow to the car. She sat Jasmine up as best she could, with the seat back a little too far to be sat upright, and secured her in with the seatbelt. Jackie then made sure the car was hot enough, and ran back into the house, to grab the knife and close all the doors.
Jackie knelt down next to what had been her daughter’s sickbed for many years. She rested on her elbows on the bloody sheet and prayed to God for the first time since she was a child. She did not believe in praying everyday. Truthfully, she did not really believe in God, but at this moment, she would try to get all the help she could.
“Give me the strength I need Lord. For Jasmine. You have already taken our future away, so give me the strength to do what needs to be done. Amen... you bastard!”
Jackie looked around the room. She left the tablets; Jasmine would never need them again. She slowly walked back through her home, looking at everything as if it was the first time she had ever seen it before. It is not until you are about to lose something, that you really see it for the first time, Jackie decided.
Jackie did not bother locking the front door; it would make it easier for the police to get in later.
“It’s a world of laughter, a world of tears. It’s a world of hopes; it’s a world of fear. There’s so much that we share that its time we’re aware, it’s a small world after all,” Jackie sung with her head resting against the front door.
“It’s time!” She stood straight and arched her back.
Time to be strong for my daughter.
Jasmine was leaning forward, straining against the seatbelt. Her mum helped her sit back up.
Jackie noticed blood splotches on Jasmine’s tracksuit, where her swollen lesions had popped while moving her.
“Let’s do this baby. Mummy loves you more than anything in this world. Now and forever.” She kissed her daughter on the cheek and started the Ford Fiesta.
She leaned over and put the eight-inch knife in the glove compartment.
It was 7:26 AM on a cold, wet January morning. It started to rain, a lazy drizzle that covers everything in a depressing mist. The sky looked like a huge grey slab of concrete.
“Wait ‘til the sun shines, Nellie, when the clouds go drifting by. We will be so happy, Nellie; don’t you sigh.”
The silver car slowly made its way along the dull, wet streets. It wasn’t long before they exited Kingsteignton, through Newton Abbot, and through Bovey Tracy, or as some call it, the Gateway to the Moors, heading towards Dartmoor.
Dartmoor was stunning, even on a wet day. Lush contoured hills, covered in huge, pushed up mounds of granite, with vast stretches of spidery ferns and cloud shrouded woods. It was the perfect location to end it all.
Jackie did not turn the radio on. These would be the last moments with her daughter, so she wanted to cherish every minute.
“You were always so beautiful, baby. I have always been so proud of you. Heaven will be blessed to have someone like you up there.”
Jasmine was fading fast. Even though the heating was on full, she was shivering. It was the most activity she had done in over a year. She had not left the house in almost two.
“Hang in there baby. Almost time. You have to hang in for a few more minutes.”
The car cleared a cattle grate, the jolt made Jasmine grunt in pain. Her head lulled forward.
“Come on baby! Stay with me darling!”
Jackie parked the car on a quiet side road, in the village of Prince Town. To their right, in the near distance, huge dark grey walls veered straight up, thick and imposing.
“Anytime now baby.” Jackie leant over and took the knife from the glove compartment. “It will soon be over baby. Mummy loves you more than life itself.” She placed the knife on her lap.
Jasmine’s breathing had turned shallow, and she was having trouble keeping her eyes open.
“Not like this baby. Come on darling, stay with mummy!” Jackie cried. She checked the clock on the dashboard, and then searched the street in the distance.
There he is! Adam Spindler. The bastard!
“It’s time baby! It’s time.”
Jackie restarted the engine, shifted gear, and put her foot to the floor. The car wheel spun for a fraction of a second before shooting forward. There were only a couple of people around in the rain.
Adam Spindler was convicted of fourteen charges of attempted murder, and because none of the victims physically died due to his actions – they always toss in the word mitigating circumstances – he merely received an eight-year prison sentence. In addition, because of receiving counseling and good behaviour, he was let out after only serving four. He exited Dartmoor Prison just minutes ago.
Jackie spent months planning everything. Checking release times. Checking where the prison exit was located, and which direction he would have to walk. She knew his father had died of a heart attack when he had found out about his son, and his mother had disowned him, due to shame, and he had no friends to speak of, due to no one coming to his defense as character witnesses. She was sure he would have to walk to the closest bus stop. If someone had turned up to give him a lift, she was prepared to ram the vehicle.
“Bastard! Fucking bastard!” Jackie shouted as her car sped across the distance. Tears streaked down her face, and sobs wracked her body, as she saw the man that had sentenced her daughter to a painful, slow death.
Adam Spindler was halfway across a zebra crossing when he noticed the speeding car. His brain froze, and his body shut down. He stood with his arms by his sides; one clutched his worldly belongings in a small battered suitcase, as the almost one tonne Ford Fiesta hit him head on.
His legs were crushed, as his body hit the bonnet, and his head bounced off the windscreen. A spider web of cracks announced where his head impacted.
Jackie screeched on the brakes. The car skidded to a halt. Before the engine spluttered off, she was out of the car and around to the passenger’s side door.
The crash had taken its toll on her daughter’s body; blood bubbled from her lips.
“A few more minutes’ baby. Hang in there!”
Jackie unlatched the seatbelt and lifted her daughter from the car.
Adam Spindler was lying on the wet road, twisted and broken, but still very much alive and conscious, and with medical help and surgery, he would most probably make a full recovery.
A couple of people had exited some shops and stood watching from the pavement. One woman was phoning for an ambulance.
“Do you need a hand?” A middle-aged man asked, thinking Jasmine was injured during the crash. He recoiled when he looked down at the shrivelled, ulcer-covered body.
“What the fuck?”
“MOVE!” Jackie screamed.
The man tripped on the pavement as he took a few steps back.
Adam was in unbelievable amounts of pain. Both his legs were shattered, and he had broken ribs and one broken arm. A clear liquid was also dribbling out of his nose and ears, mixed along with blood; this showed he had a fractured skull.
“Help me... P-p-please...” he mumbled when Jackie came into view.
Jackie laid Jasmine on the top of Adam’s broken body.
Even in his pain filled, delirious state, Adam was confused as to why a woman was laying another person on him. In too much pain to move, or even put up his arms, Adam looked up as Jasmine looked down into his bloodshot eyes.
Adam did not care about the lives he had forever changed. He did not even
bother to remember the female’s names.
“This is my daughter, Jasmine Emma Melville. You injected her with your tainted blood!” Jackie was knelt down beside the two bodies on the wet road. She now wrapped her daughter’s hands around the eight-inch knife.
“Go to hell where you belong, you evil bastard!” Jackie screamed.
The people watching from the pavement were confused and dumbstruck, as they watched the woman guide the thin girl’s hands, which held the knife, over the injured mans heart. Then, together, daughter and mother slowly pushed the knife through the skin, cracking the breastbone then into Adam Spindler’s black heart.
Jasmine kept her eyes wide-open, watching his wide-eyed fear and pain. She was going to die because of this man. At least she would take him with her.
She felt the last lungful of air leave Adam Spindler’s body, as a bubble of blood popped on his lips. She leaned in closer and sipped the breath into her lungs. Then as the last of her strength left her, and her body finally gave up the fight, Jasmine Melville let out her last painful gulp of air.
*
When the ambulance and police officers finally turned up a bizarre scene confronted them. The crash they could understand; the broken, bleeding body on the wet tarmac. The mother sat up against her car door, rocking the body of her lifeless child, while crying. However, what was most confusing was the handle of a knife protruding from the dead mans chest?
The woman started to sing what sounded like a nursery rhyme, as she wiped blood from the girl’s face. “The fuzzy caterpillar curled up on a leaf spun her little chrysalis and then fell asleep. While she was sleeping, she dreamed that she could fly, and later when she woke up she was a butterfly!”
-3-
Mans Best Friend
