Crime, Thrillers & Mystery / Til Death Do Us Part (part 1)

Driving home from work that day, was the same as it had been for the past 10 years. There was tons of traffic. I cursed at the driver who cut me off, and tried not to be pinned against the guardrail as someone tried to merge with me in his or her blind spot. The same monotonous tunes played on the radio. The same CD’s sat in my console. The only thing different was the cigarette hanging from my lips.

After all, I had tried quitting so many times before. I just couldn’t seem to stick to it. My wife was going to be disappointed. This was the longest I had gone – three weeks. Work was stressful, the new budget came out, and I didn’t get the raise I was hoping for, everything was going wrong.

She was upset. I knew before I called on my last break and gave her the news, she would be. The conversation didn’t go well, she sounded distant… almost withdrawn. I could understand why. We were hoping to do renovations with the extra money. Now, we would have to wait.

I turned down the street that led to the cul-de-sac. In the winter, you could barely see our house because of the mounds of snow that the plows piled in the center of the road. I didn’t even make it half way down the road when I had to stop and pull over. There were paramedics and police cars blocking the way.

Once parked, I opened my door, stepped out, and began making my way to the house. I had to make a mental note to go get my car later. Although, the way my memory was, I would most likely forget.

Almost immediately, a police officer approached me. His uniform was crisp, but his eyes looked troubled. I wasn’t sure why I noticed that, I pushed it from my mind.

“I’m sorry Sir. I can’t allow you any farther,” he said, with a thick Irish accent.

“What’s the problem Officer? I’m just trying to get home. Honestly, it’s been a rather long day, and I want to relax.”

“My apologies, but we have a situation here, and the road is not accessible.”

“Look, I’m not trying to be difficult. I just live at 367. I can walk across the lawns. No one would even know I’ve been here.”

“367, you said?” His brow furrowed.

“Yes, it’s right at the end.”

“I need you to wait right here for a moment, please?” He waved another officer over and whispered in his ear.

The other officer, dressed the same as the first, looked from me, to the one who called him in the first place.

“You’re certain?” he asked, looking between us again.

“That’s what he said.”

“Sir?” the second officer began. “I’m Officer O’Brien, would you mind coming with me? There is something we need to talk about.”

“What do we need to talk…” I broke off, looking back and forth between the two men. “Wait… you’re at my house aren’t you? Where’s my wife? Has something happened?”

“Sir, if you could just…” he tried again.

“Yes, yes, I’ll go,” I said sounding worried. My stomach felt like it had lead in it, and every movement felt extremely forced.

He grabbed hold of my arm and led me to a cruiser. Opening the door, he asked if I wanted to take a seat.

I shook my head and leaned against it instead.

“Sir, I’m going to ask you some questions,” he said softly.

“The name is Trevor. Is my wife alright?” I felt weak in the knees. My head was spinning, in the end I fell back against the car for a moment.

“I can’t answer that at the moment Sir. If you could just answer my questions, then we can find out, alright?”

“Go ahead,” I said, staring at the ground.

“Right, well Trevor, do you own a gun?”

I lifted my eyes up, surprised.

“Yes, but it’s never been fired. Hell, I don’t even know if it works.” I said confused.

“You don’t know if it works?”

“It was my grandfather’s. Before he died, he gave it to me. I kept it on the shelf in my office, in the display case. I only take it down to clean it.” I looked around impatiently.

“What kind of gun is it?”

“It was an 1800 something carbine. He got it from his father after he left the war. It’s been passed down through our generations.”

“You own no other gun?”

“No, I hate them. Only reason I have that one is it’s a family heirloom.”

“Then you wouldn’t know how your wife came to be in possession of a 9mm?”

“What?” I shouted. “There’s no way in hell I would have a gun like that in the house!”

“Sir, please try to calm yourself.”

“Look, I want to know what’s going on with my wife and I want to know now!”

“They’re wheeling her out as we speak.” He nodded toward my house.

I saw a gurney being carted from the front door and a sheet covering it. I tried to run toward the house but was quickly stopped and held back.

“She’s…?” I pleaded with my eyes.

“I’m afraid it looks like we were too late.” The officer looked apologetic.

“What the hell happened? I just talked to her a little more than an hour ago. She was fine… well not exactly fine but she was alive!” I fought against the officer, trying to reach her.

“What do you mean ‘not exactly fine’?” he asked, trying to distract me.

“I called and told her we wouldn’t have the money for the renovations. My raise didn’t come through. It wasn’t in the budget. I was going to tell her when I got home that I might have some side work. One of the guy’s needed a hand with a part time job. It would have helped.” I waved my hands wildly. I just needed to be with her.

“How did she sound on the phone?” He gazed intently at me, hanging on every word.

“I just want to be with my wife!” I cried.

“I can sympathize with you, but we need this information.”

“Fine,” I said sounding defeated. “She was upset, anyone would be. We were counting on it to come in. She got quiet. Then she told me she had some things to do around the house. So, we ended the call as we always did, and I went back to work.”

“Nothing seemed really ‘off’ to you?” He looked from the ambulance to me.

“No, I’m telling you. She was upset. Hell, so was I. We were looking forward to fixing up the house. I would like to go be with my wife.” I pushed myself off the cruiser.

“I’ll drive you.”

We got to the hospital and they told me that there wasn’t any way that I could identify her by looking at her. There was too much facial damage I was told.

I hated to admit it but I overreacted. I screamed and yelled. Told them they were lying. At one point, I vaguely remembered hitting someone. I knew there was no way she would have done damage to her face. I tried to tell them, they wouldn’t believe me. She took too much pride in her appearance. It took hours to calm down. Finally, the doctor gave me a sedative and one of the officers took me into a room so I could come to terms with things.  

When I was more coherent, I made all the arrangements for when they were going to release her. It all seemed surreal. This wasn’t my life. It was really someone else’s. I was just seeing it through their eyes. That was what I kept telling myself.

The police wouldn’t release the house. I had to stay that night in a hotel, plus a couple nights after that. While I was there, I had the preparations for the funeral taken care of. It was something I thought wouldn’t be needed for at least another 50 or 60 years.

I made all the phone calls to friends and family, listened to all the apologies and wasn’t able to answer why this happened. I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone. I couldn’t believe she would take her own life. There was no way it was true. There had to be a mistake.

The day of the funeral, I finally broke down. I sat by her closed casket, watching everyone streaming in and out of the room. It all felt wrong, like walking through a dream. People would approach me, offer their condolences then slink over to some abandoned part of the room, and stare as if I had suddenly grown a second head, or something.

Mercifully, the wake ended and the service began. Her brothers, all four of them, walked her casket down the aisle and placed it at the stairs on the pedestal. They, like me, were trying to keep it together. She was their ‘baby’ sister though, the youngest of five. It had taken me a lot of work to win them over; to convince them I wasn’t going to walk in, break her heart, and walk out.

Once the family was reassured, everything went well. They were supportive and even helpful. It was great, if not annoying at times. However, right then, I was glad they were here. I couldn’t handle being alone, having them here meant it wouldn’t be overwhelming.

How I made it through the funeral, I wasn’t entirely sure. I did though. I kept looking for her. I would catch a whiff of someone wearing her favorite perfume, Red Door, and I would think she was there. When I turned around, she wasn’t, and I was left devastated all over again.

The last conversation we had played repeatedly in my mind. I tried continually to figure out what I could have said or done differently. I couldn’t come up with anything.

When the Pastor finished the service, we filed out of the church and headed to the cemetery. They provided a car so I wouldn’t have to worry about driving. That was probably a good thing. All I felt like doing today was wrapping myself around a tree.

I climbed in the car and waited for everyone to be ready to go. Burying my head in my hands, I started to cry. The windows were tinted. Luckily, no one was able to see. While I was crying, I realized something that scared me. I wasn’t only upset that she had done this, and I still hadn’t gotten any answers as to why. I was angry too. I was very angry. She left me.

I didn’t know how to deal with that. Not right now at least. I tried to bury it, along with everything else I was feeling. I had to be strong for the rest of the family. They needed someone to find out the answers to their questions, and I swore I would provide that for them.  

Somehow, I made it through the trip to the cemetery. I placed a single rose on her casket and said one more good-bye. I nearly collapsed when they were lowering her into the grave. I thought I was going to lose it completely right there.

The director of the funeral home arranged it so I could be dropped at the hotel. When I got back to my room, I called the precinct to find out if they could tell me anything about what happened to my wife, or when my house was being released. They told me I could go home the next day but they didn’t have anything else to tell me.

When I woke the following morning, I packed up and went home. Driving back there was surprisingly difficult. The closer I got, the shakier I became. It got so bad I had to pull over and wait for it to pass.

I spent as much energy as I could, the past few days, trying to ignore what I was feeling. Now that I was going home… it was too much. Every part of my body ached. I wanted her home.

I couldn’t believe what I had been through. Burying my wife seemed like an impossibility. It wasn’t right. We were supposed to grow old together. She wouldn’t kill herself… not over me not getting a raise. That didn’t make sense. There had to be something I was missing.

With new determination, I sped home. I was going to find out what happened and I wouldn’t rest until I did. Her family offered to be with me when I got to the house, but I felt that this was something I had to do on my own.

Pulling into the driveway, I shut off the ignition and sat there for the longest time just staring at the house. ‘Had it really only been a few days since I was here last?’

It looked the same as it always did. The same as every other house on the block, except for the shutters I had put around the windows. I couldn’t help smiling at the memory. She had given me such a hard time about putting them on the house. Even went as far as to tell me she thought I lost my mind when I climbed the ladder to the second story with them strapped to my back.

It was so strong a memory, I could almost see her on the front step shaking her head and laughing. That brought on a new wave of tears. Here, I thought I spent all those at the funeral.  

Getting out of the car, I was hit with memory after memory. From, the day we bought the house and how happy we were. To, the day I came home to find she was dead. It all flashed like a movie through my head.

I couldn’t breathe. Leaning against the car, I hoped the memories would stop. It seemed that when one would stop another would start.

Slowly, I made my way to the front door using the car then the house for support. Touching the handle, sent a jolt of electricity through me. It was as if someone rubbed their socks on carpet and then grabbed my hand. I jumped back, rubbing my hands together to get feeling back into my fingers.

‘It’s now or never,’ I thought, clutching the doorknob again.

When I walked in, I was extremely surprised by what I saw. The house was a disaster. I couldn’t believe it. From the front entrance to the living room, there was foam everywhere. I stepped over potting soil, and destroyed plants. The entire house looked like I had walked into a war zone.  

‘How could they think she did this?’ I wondered. It all felt wrong.

There were holes and scratches on the walls. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, they traveled all over the rooms. Pictures of us that spanned the fireplace had been smashed and ripped apart.

I knelt down on the carpet. Brushing the broken glass aside, tears filled my eyes as I saw my wife’s face scratched out of our wedding photo. I looked at the other pictures, and saw they were all the same. It didn’t matter that they were ripped. In every single picture, her face was gone.

“What the hell happened here?” I asked the empty room.

At that moment, the phone rang scaring me. I dropped the picture of my wife, breaking a piece of glass and cutting my hand.

Cursing, I went to the kitchen. The phone was forgotten, I focused on cleaning myself up. Then the doorbell chimed. I didn’t want to deal with anyone, but I couldn’t stop myself from answering the door. It was as if my feet had their own thoughts.

Opening the door, I saw her brothers. They stood there, their faces solemn, with matching expressions of concern.

“We know you said you wanted to do this on your own,” Greg, her oldest brother said.

“We couldn’t let you do it. You’re family,” Doug, the youngest said.

It was a wall of men, and I knew I was out numbered. There was nothing else to do but stand aside and let them in.

“The house is a mess. I don’t know what was going on when everything happened, but it’s destroyed. All of it.” I watched as marched they passed me.

“You don’t have to worry. We’ll get this place back in shape in no time at all,” Heath, the middle brother said.

All four brother’s nodded.

I heard Greg inhale deeply as he looked at the damage.

“Look guys…” I stammered.

“You’re not talking us out of this,” Peter, the last brother said.

“You’ve lost…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish.

“We know.” Greg put a supportive arm around me. “We’re here to help.”

“So let’s get to it,” Peter said.

The next several hours were spent tossing the furniture that was beyond repair, out. They kept at it until the house looked, somewhat, livable again. The five of them collapsed, exhausted. There were still holes in the walls but the majority of the mess was gone.

I looked around, and saw all the pictures of her were gone. One of her brothers must have taken care of that, I hadn’t seen them do it though.  

We sat around the living room, too tired to move. None of us were speaking. For me it was hard to find words. I had spent the last 10 years with their sister. Now, with her gone, I had figured it would change everything. There was nothing tying them to me, they owed me nothing. Yet, here they were.

“Okay, someone needs to order food. One thing I know is, I’m hungry and honestly Darrin, I’ve heard about your cooking,” Greg said amiably. “I didn’t work my ass off for Mac and Cheese.”

The five of us laughed at that. I knew I couldn’t cook. She was always making jokes about how if it wasn’t for her, I would have starved or maxed out on take out. I smiled at the memories.

“Take out menu’s are in the kitchen guys. What’s everyone in the mood for?” I asked, reluctantly getting to my feet.

Shouts of Pizza and Chinese were thrown at me.

“Fine. We’ll order both!” I laughed heading to the kitchen.

I reached into the second drawer, where she always put the menus. My hand hit a small box. I pulled it out, confused. It was gift-wrapped. I had never seen it before.

Turning it over in my hands, I saw my name written on a small hand made card. I leaned against the counter, the wind knocked out of me. It was her handwriting. Soft flowing letters, she had always used.

I pictured her sitting at the table, trying to decide on what to say. She would stay for hours until just the right words came. How she had the patience for that, I didn’t know.

“Darrin! We’re starving. Where’s the menu’s?” Greg called as he walked into the kitchen.

I didn’t answer, I just stared at the small box in my hands.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked concerned. “I was only kidding.”

I looked up, finally seeing him.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know. She…” My voice broke mid sentence.

“Let’s go. You don’t need to deal with that right now. You’re not ready,” he said, grabbing a handful of menu’s and my arm. Together we headed back to the living room.

“Thanks,” I said barely above a whisper. I couldn’t help looking back to the kitchen and wondering what was in the box.

“No problem.” He patted my shoulder, and then turned to the others. “Okay who’s ordering the grub? Let’s eat!”

Shouts and laughter filled the room. I tried to ignore the pull from the kitchen, but found myself continually looking there.

Greg bumped my shoulder as if to say ‘leave it for now.’ I nodded and turned back to the conversation.

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