This chapter has scenes of suicide, implied spousal abuse, and a psychotic break. Those who are sensitive to this should not read this.
I had a sudden urge to reminisce. All the way back, way back, back to the time when I first met Carla.
We met in college. I got a baseball scholarship, and she was studying English. I think she wanted to be a teacher or something. She was cute, the way she took her studies seriously. She also liked to go to campus ragers. I saw them as underage drinking parties. She didn’t care, she was having fun in her away from home, carefree way. I indulged her, let her have her fun. Because when it came down to it, we looked good together. Me with my square jaw, her with more rounded features. The perfect contrast, and everywhere we went people noticed that. There were plenty of nods of approval from friends and strangers alike. Her family wasn’t sure we were a good mix, but who cares about them. I knew I wanted her, and it didn’t take a lot of convincing for her to agree, just a few well aimed tweaks, small ones, enough to let her know that her future was with me. After college we got married, and I went into the police academy and became a cop. She tried to become a teacher against my wishes, all it took was a few more well aimed tweaks to make her forget about that. That and a few conversations with whatever school board that was hiring her as a substitute. After all, we were a family, and as a family I needed her home to be the perfect housewife. We tried to have a kid, still do, but nothing came of that. The sex was good, as far as I was concerned, and it always left me relieved, like I was loosing all of the day’s pressures. I don’t know if it was me or her, or the tweaks, but I made it her fault we didn’t have kids and put extra pressure on her to be a good stay at home wife, the key being stay at home and not get mixed up in anyone else’s drama. I couldn’t control the world, but I could control what went on in my house. When I became a detective I found us a nice house in the suburbs, something she would think was warm and cozy, a perfect tree lined neighborhood, complete with lawn mowers roaring in the distance, dog walkers and slow traffic, perfect lawns in front of perfect homes. And all she had to do was be the perfect housewife and have my kid. She was my own personal puppet, dancing to my beat, moving in predictable ways, always prepared for when I left for work and when I came home. Cooking my meals, washing my clothes, and being quiet as I watched the game. Was that asking so much?
Apparently it was, because she left me, to dangle their on her own string. She had on her best Sunday dress, the pastel yellow one with the skirt ruffles. And white shoes, the low pumps with the bow on them.
That’s when it all came flooding back. I found her here earlier this morning. I was pissed about the alarm not going off, so I looked for her, still in my pajamas. After searching every room upstairs I went downstairs expecting to find her in the kitchen. She wasn’t in any of the rooms I passed and not in the kitchen. I was getting upset, and that’s when I noticed the door to the cellar was slightly opened. I closed it, thinking that’s another thing to talk to her about, then opened it. It seemed odd that it was open, out of place. I looked down the stairs and called her name. The light was on so I went down for a look.
To find that she had left me. She threw away my puppet strings and found one of her own. She decided to leave me in the only way she could. I could find her if she went to her family or her friends, but she chose to go to the only place I couldn’t follow, couldn’t bring her back, couldn’t pull those puppet strings and return her to the only place she belongs. She dangled there, body completely limp and sagging under her own weight. Her face looked, looked…
How could she leave me like this. Life here wasn’t bad, and all she had to do was keep the house clean, and my laundry, and cook, and have a drink ready for me when I got home. How could she!!! I put up with her many flaws, helped her to be a better wife, taught her what she needs to be to me, and this is how she repays me!!!
After that things began to blur. Yes, she needed to be tweaked, but because she was gone there could be no tweaking. But someone had to suffer. I vaguely remember grabbing the axe and going over to my neighbors house, vaguely remember chopping those bastards up for putting ideas in Carla’s head. Damn neighbors, always trying to get in your business. Through the blur and my white hot anger I went to work. Someone had to pay for this, and if they had just left well enough alone they wouldn’t be a pile of pieces now, would they? Would they?! And now it was that nosy woman’s turn, for being nosy, for getting in my business. Miss Greene, I hate you so much.
The anger was rising again, from deep in my soul. It was like a heating coil that starts off black, then turns red, and gets brighter and brighter, eventually becoming white hot. The cops were talking to me, but I couldn’t hear them through the white noise building in my ears. I was being consumed again by anger, rage, hate, all of the things I try to leave at my door, now un-bottled, bubbling up and out, a white energy that was filling my eyes, first around the edges, slowly working its way around my vision. My fists clenched, my teeth gritted, my face contorted, a low growl left my chest, up and out through my throat, and the whiteness was getting bigger and brighter and all consuming. The white noise had filled my ears, garbling the words the cops were saying to me. Something had to be done, about that woman, about anyone who ruins my home. I barely registered someone trying to grab my arm, but before they could get a grip I lunged for the axe…
