#slowly the marriage fell apart and things got worst when bitch ended up losing her job and then also lying about it until one day while she

[rohitkkumar]

Pooja Batra celebrates International Yoga Day 2021 by doing tripod headstand

I married young, and had two perfect daughters, but my marriage was far from perfect. We had been young and in love. I was entering the community college and Denise was starting her senior year when we decided to tie the knot. Her family’s ready acceptance of me was a huge factor – the family I’d never had, making me feel like a real member of theirs. I can admit it now; I probably loved being a part of the family as much as I loved Denise.

Our split up was inevitable, two teenagers who knew nothing about life thinking their infatuation with each other would make everything else workout. I wasn’t an all-star, super jock, Rhodes Scholar with a 12″ swinging dick. I was just your average student, A’s and B’s, spending some bench time on the football team to get my letter, and losing my virginity at 18 to the girl I’d eventually marry.

When times got rough, we didn’t know how to handle it, and struck out at each other. Her family often stepped in and helped out when they could, but time after time, the great sex wasn’t enough to make up for the difference in our wants, needs and ambitions.

In the end, we gave up. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle we made it through 5 years. Our devotion to our children allowed us to finally see past our own issues, and work out a remarkably amiable truce, with our girls at the center. Even though Denise and I couldn’t live together, it turned out we got along a lot better divorced. We shared our daughters’ time, lived only one neighborhood apart, and worked together as a team to make our personal differences have as little impact on our girls as possible.

I had initially shared an apartment uptown, but eventually bought one of the smallest houses in the same school district, just to make things easier. It was a lot more than I needed most of the time, but when the girls stayed with me it felt like a home. And we only lived a couple of miles apart.

The neighborhood was nice, predominantly younger families, in older, smallish homes. Most of the people were cordial, kept up their property, and after a few years I knew many by name and would exchange greetings at the grocery store, or when out shopping. I had become suburbanized.

This was our fourth Christmas since the divorce. Denise was living with Eric, who I wish I could despise, but he was a decent guy with a great job and lousy taste in sports teams. He doted on my girls without trying to take my place. It had taken a while, but we’d developed a friendship, which wasn’t a bad thing.

My child support was pegged at just over $1500, with the kids on my health insurance. Even though we weren’t married long enough for alimony to kick in, I was paying another $500 a month just to make the kids’ lives better. And for me, that was all that really mattered.

The expense had been rough at first, but with little to concentrate on other than work, my performance skyrocketed. Two promotions in three years had made the financial aspect much less problematic, but increased travel had made the ability to be available for the girls less guaranteed. Denise was good about it, and worked with me. In return I picked up some more of the girls’ expenses, including music lessons and a piano.

Christmas was special. We celebrated Christmas an an extended family. I’d come over early, and we’d have a big family breakfast and open all the presents together. I really went all out to make sure the girls got their favorite items. At six and eight years old, they were still young enough to have simple wants, and the magic of Christmas was as real as it gets. The in-laws would come over in the afternoon with more presents and we’d have a good old fashioned Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It was nice to be part of something.

I got a Christmas shut-down at work and Denise didn’t, so we agreed that they’d stay with me from Christmas to New Year’s, and any time she could get off, we’d usually work out something to get her time with the kids. It was understood that I wouldn’t leave town, at least not for more than a day.

Summer was great with the 2 weeks I got to spend with them, and we’d usually spend it on the beach. Christmas was still different. Christmas was magical.

I always was given the girl’s wish list, but I’d also start my shopping in late November for the must have items of the season. And I wasn’t stingy; I’d buy them all up, just to make sure I didn’t miss any. Stores, online auctions, Craigslist, I’d use any way possible to get my hands on the hottest presents. The first two years I’d caught hell from Denise for buying everything on the list, leaving nothing for them to get. Now I received a separate list of things I wasn’t allowed to buy.

So it was that I had just finished wrapping my forty-fourth present, all in glitter Barbie paper for Briana, and in Hannah Montana paper for Allora. December 5th, my earliest date so far to finish the bulk of my shopping. Sure, I’d pick up a few more things, including something for Denise and Eric, but my girls were taken care of. The presents were carefully spread around my living room, where they’d remain on display until just before Christmas, when I’d bring them over to Denise’s in a big ceremony.

The call came from Denise’s mother, Sharon. It took me 11 minutes flat to get to the hospital. I was still too late. Denise and Briana had both died en-route. Eric had passed away only ten minutes before I’d arrived. But Allora, my perfect little Allora, was fighting for her life, in critical condition. She’d always been a fighter, would never back down from any challenge. She’d beat this too, I just knew it.

It was a freak accident, with a car dodging out of the way to miss a coyote on the road. An 18 wheeler behind the car did his best to avoid the car in front of him, but ended up fishtailing, and taking out a suburban in the next lane over. That vehicle crossed the median and hit my ex-wife’s family van head-on. Six dead already and one little girl still fighting hard for her dear life.

Sharon and I kept a vigil over the little towhead, and when the doctors came out after 6 hours and declared the worst was over and she was in stable condition, we fell into each other’s arms and cried like children.

We stayed by her side, one of us always present, and Sharon called me when my baby woke up and spoke. For three long days we watched her slowly heal in the hospital, the worst of her bruises, cuts and contusions blossoming on the second day, and only just starting to fade again. I’m not a religious guy by nature, but I found myself on my knees beside her bed, praying to God to take care of her, and giving thanks for pulling her through this horrendous disaster.

At 4:18 pm on December 7th she passed away.

No warning, no reason, she was there, and then she wasn’t. The doctors suspected a clot. I suspected incompetence.

I finally understood how a person could get so down on themselves that life might not even feel worth living.

I went home and shut myself off from the world. After a while I took the phone off the hook. Hell, let’s be honest, I ripped the fucking wires out of the wall so I didn’t have to listen to one more bleeding heart tell me they were “sorry for my loss”. The cell phone was easier. I just turned it off.

Several people from work came by and assured me that I could take as much time as I needed. They’d bring me food, and news, and would leave as soon as they felt they’d spent the minimum time required socially by the situation.

Denise’s family took care of the funeral arrangements. They attempted to call, and even stopped by for my input. I gave them a check for $10,000 to take care of the girls, nearly wiping out my savings. What was I going to spend it on now? I couldn’t bring myself to go to the showing but I did take a shower and put on a suit for the funeral. It was a bleak day, gray skies, 20 mile an hour winds threatening to tear the top off of the outdoor tent. The ground was soggy from rain the previous night. Just perfect.

“Thanks, God. Piss on a guy when he’s down. Well, fuck You too.”

I shook the required hands, and kissed the offered cheeks until I just couldn’t take it any longer. All these fake people. Fake emotions. Tell me how sorry they were then go home to their perfect little families and eat meatloaf. Fuck’em. Fuck’em all.

Fourteen days. Two solid weeks in that dark house. I wouldn’t turn on any lights. No TV. I didn’t bathe, I didn’t shave. I sat in my chair or I lay in my bed and wallowed.

I had a few visitors after the first couple of days, but I’d rarely let them in, and before long they had the decency to stop showing up. Only Cathy from next door wouldn’t let me sink into complete oblivion. Every day, at least 3 times a day, she’d check in on me. I wouldn’t have let her in, but she had a key to the back door for emergencies and wasn’t afraid to use it.

She’d open the windows a crack, and goad me into getting out of bed and at least sit in the living room. She’d bring food, which she’d set in front of me, and refused to leave until I at least tried it. I insisted on getting my key back, and she handed it over willingly enough. And showed up again the next day. She’d made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me into eating her breakfast.

And she’d talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired just listening.

All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip, school gossip – she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up, or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun had set) and fill me in.

I didn’t care.

It had been two weeks since the accident. I’d lost more than 10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy wouldn’t let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to respond, bring me back to life.

Then one day she let me have it with both barrels.

She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard. “Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn’t fair, but as bad as you have it, there’s always someone who has it worse. Often in your own backyard if you have the eyes to see it.”

“What do you know about it?” I snapped viciously. “I notice your kids are alive.”

“I know my mother died when I was six, and my father left when I was thirteen, leaving Mike to raise my sister and me. He was seventeen years old. But he manned-up and did the job the best he could. That’s what I know. Life is hard.”

“Life is hard. Life’s a bitch and then you die. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When God closes a door he opens a window. If I hear one more God-damned cliché I swear I’ll kill something,” I growled.

“Alex, you got a raw deal. You had two perfect little girls, and now they’re gone. Your past is shattered. Your little bit of immortality is lost. And as bad as you’ve got it, I’d remind you others have it worse, and they just press on. You need to as well,” Cathy told me, kneeling beside me and holding my hands.

The woman barely knew me. A middle-aged mother of three with grown kids, and a workaholic husband. Her life was her home, keeping it immaculate and decorated for every holiday and season. Now it seemed I was her newest project. Why should I matter that much to her? Couldn’t she see I didn’t want her help?

“Sure, starving Ethiopians, children in Nigeria dying of aids, Tibetan monks martyred, it’s a tough world. Boo hoo.”

“You don’t have to look as far as Ethiopia or Tibet. There are people right here, right on your own block that are really struggling. Open your eyes. If you don’t like the unfairness do something about it. Even up the odds a bit. Make a difference somewhere. Get back to living.”

Something she said must have gnawed its way down to my subconscious. I spent my usual 14 hours or so in bed, but when I awoke I was thinking about her constant comments about someone in my own backyard that had it worse.

I cataloged each person on my block, in my head, and nobody really had it that bad. Sure, Neil, three doors down had lost his job, but his wife was still working, and he was looking. The Harris’s on the corner had a boy in Iraq, but as far as I could tell he was still Ok, and they had three more at home. The Martins, one down from the corner, fought all the time, and even had the cops called in on them once but they were still together. What did Cathy mean?

I expanded the radius of consideration to include the blocks surrounding us. Then it hit me. Across the alley in back, two houses past Cathy’s own. Six months ago. Barry Morrison had driven into an empty field behind the local middle school and eaten a bullet. I didn’t know much about the family – I just knew there was one.

When Cathy came over, I had showered off the top two layers of grime and sweat, and was drinking a Coke in the living room.

“Good morning, Alex, beautiful day outside. Why don’t we go out on the porch?”

“The Morrisons. Tell me about them.”

She placed her mug of tea in the microwave, warming it up, then walked out my front door and sat in one of my rocking chairs out front.

Irritated, I followed, and sat in the chair beside her. “The Morrisons?”

“Sandy and her daughter Erica. You won’t see much of her; she’s working two jobs trying to keep the house over their heads. They’re still fighting with the insurance company over payment. Suicide clause won’t pay under two years. He had insurance for years, but just around two years ago he changed the terms. She’s been trying to sell the house, but it’s underwater, and nobody’s buying.”

“How’s the little one?”

“Erica’s not doing so well. She’s seeing a counselor twice a week, and hardly speaks anymore. The school’s talking about holding her back,” Cathy explained. She sounded sad.

“Do we know anything more about why he did it?”

“No crimes, he wasn’t fired, no embezzling, it’s not clear what it was about. Apparently he’d been depressed for quite a while, but the underlying situation is still a blank as far as I know.”

“Harsh on the family, going out like that,” I told her, finding the whole idea hard to grasp.

“To say the least. The poor woman is worn to a frazzle.”

“And how does this all matter to me?” I asked.

“It doesn’t. It doesn’t have to matter to anybody. They’re on their own. Alone.”

“No family help?”

“Not that I know of. If they’re around, we don’t see much of them, that’s for sure.”

“Cathy, how the hell do you know all this stuff?” I had to ask.

“People just like to talk to me. I’m a very good listener,” she told me with a big smile.

We sat quietly enjoying the crisp air, finishing our drinks.

“You’re a good neighbor too, Cathy. Thanks,” I said softly.

“That’s what neighbors are for,” she said, reaching out and patting me on my arm.

That’s what neighbors are for.

* * *

Cathy brought me dinner again and I realized I was starving. She beamed at me when I finished the whole platter.

“Let’s go for a walk, Alex. You could use a stretch of the legs.”

It had gotten chilly, and we bundled up a bit. She took the lead and we walked down the block and turned up the neighborhood. We headed back up the next block and she regaled me with the entire history and habits of the inhabitants of each place we passed. She might have been a good listener, but I had to wonder when she ever was quiet long enough to hear anything.

It was obvious when we got to Sandy Morrison’s place. The “For Sale” sign was a dead giveaway. The unkempt yard and overgrown bushes indicated a lack of care for months. It couldn’t help with the sales prospects. The door paint was faded, and there were no Christmas lights or decorations set up. I thought the Realtor wasn’t earning their commission, letting the place show like this. Through the window I could see a desktop Christmas tree, maybe two feet tall, lit up all in white.

Strangely, Cathy stopped speaking before we got to the house, and didn’t speak again until the end of the block. “Sad,” was all she said.

We took a round-about path back to my house, and our conversation had returned to the safety of weather concerns, community issues, and such, carefully skirting any discussion of the Morrisons.

I was feeling the chill after the walk, and invited Cathy in for a cup of coffee, Irish fortified if she so desired.

We drank our coffee in front of my gas fireplace, warming our old bones. Damn that neighbor of mine, and her good intentions! She’d not only gotten me to think of something other than my own misery, and the unfairness of it all, but she had me thinking about those poor girls behind me, and what they must be going through. Damn it! It wasn’t fair.

I guess I still wasn’t ready for pleasant company. Angry at the world, I threw my mug at the wall, shattering it, and leaned over with my head in my hands, doing my best to hold back the tears. Big boys don’t cry.

Cathy stood and ran her fingers through my hair for just a moment before leaving out the back door. Kind enough to leave me alone to wallow in my misery a little longer.

* * *

December 22nd. Just three days until Christmas.

When Cathy came over that morning, I was already up and dressed. I had my working duds on and coffee and bagels ready.

“You’re up early,” she commented, helping herself to the java.

“It’s almost 10,” I reminded her. “Not so awfully early.”

She laughed. “Seems to me anything before noon is quite early as of late. Got plans?”

I nodded. “Thought I’d head over to the Morrison’s and see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a little more presentable if they’re really planning on selling it.”

“That’s mighty neighborly of you.”

“It’ll give me something to do. I need to get out of this damned house.”

After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass was dormant, but long, and the bushes were out of control. I didn’t notice when Cathy left, but she returned in a few hours with some sandwiches for lunch, insisting I take a break.

I’d finished the bush trimming and had mowed the lawn, bagging the trimmings. I was just finishing the edging when she appeared. I took a break, and listened to her chatter about the neighborhood activities, and how sad it was that in the past few months nobody had offered to do as much as I had.

“I guess we victims of fate need to stick together.”

“It already looks 100% better. If you want to work in the backyard, I have a key to the gate.”

“It figures you would.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“It just doesn’t surprise me. I bet you’ve been helping out when you could.”

She sighed. “Not too much. She’s too damn proud. Doesn’t want any help from anybody.”

I shook my head. “Now you tell me. She’ll probably call the police on me.”

“So what if she does? You know you’re doing the right thing. I’ll bail you out if need be.”

I let her unlock the back gate, and saw I had my work cut out for me. The back yard was worse than the front. The fence needed work as well, some boards were broken and loose, and one whole section was sagging. Luckily, my tools were only a couple of hundred feet away, across the alley, and I was soon at work, determined to finish before the residents arrived home.

The biggest problem was one of the fence posts which had rotted out at the bottom. A new post and some quick-setting cement, solved that problem. Within an hour I’d be able to reattach the fence crossbeams to the new 4×4.

I turned to see a young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, watching me from the porch. Crap.

[sending-the-message]

My Wife Thinks I SleepWalk (Part 13) by TuckandRoll91

This is going to hurt.

Audrey was released from the hospital the next day. Honestly, I think they only kept her as long as they did due to her mental state, which was, understandably, not good. None of ours was.

“Addi’s parents asked me to pick out clothes for..for..her..” She told us at my door, unable to bring herself to say ‘funeral’. “I can’t. I can’t go back there.”

Sarah nearly scooped her up, as she ushered her inside, but was careful of her arm in the sling. Audrey was referring to the studio apartment she had shared with Addison, a couple blocks from the spot where Addison died.

“I can’t go back there, alone.” She finished, choking back tears.

“You don’t have to—“ Sarah began.

“We’re coming with you.” Claire finished.

Audrey weighed maybe a hundred pounds after gorging on beer and pizza. I had never seen her look so thin, as she did that day. Before I realized what I was doing I’d gathered her up in my arms, and just held her, if only to remind myself that she was still there. I felt hands on my back, and arms wrapping around me, Claire’s, Sarah’s, Audrey’s. It took me a minute to realize that some of the tears flowing were mine.

When we got to Audrey and Addison’s apartment, I collapsed on the couch, opting to let them go through Addison’s things. Instead, I got lost. That’s easy to do when your memory is like mine. This place, less than a year past. Claire and I had been dating for about three months. We all went to Auds' and Addi’s place to play some silly card game.

“I shit you not,” Addison said, laughing, “My mom tried to convince me I wasn’t gay.” She picked up her drink and took a healthy swallow. “She actually tried to tell me that I wasn’t gay, I just needed to find an effeminate boy with a small penis.”

“No.” Claire said in disbelief.

“Oh, this is true.” Audrey added.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” I replied, conscious of the fact that I was the new person in this circle.

“Nope.” Addison grinned. “They came around eventually, but I was fourteen! I’d never even kissed a girl, or a boy for that matter, and my save-yourself-for-marriage mother is trying to convince me to just fuck a guy with a little dick and see how I like it!”

“That’s horrible.” I said, trying not to laugh.

“Mortifying.” Addison corrected, “But Mom and Dad had my back, once they came to terms.” She explained, cracking open a fresh beer. “Dad went to the pastor at our old church. He gave him all sorts of literature on those ‘conversion therapy camps’—“

“That’s barbaric.“ Sarah said, without thinking.

“Exactly.” Addison continued. “Dad said the same thing. When Mom and Dad told the pastor they wouldn’t send me to one of those places, he told us not to come back.” She sipped at her beer. “Truthfully, that hurt the worst. I loved going to that church, I loved singing every Sunday, it was fun, really. And all my old friends acting like I had the goddamned plague or something. I was like, ‘look you stupid bitches, you can’t catch the gay.’” She chuckled. “If that were the case I would given it to Sally Weiss.” Audrey’s eyes went wide, Addison grinned at her, “Fourteen, baby.”

Audrey cocked her head and grinned back at her. Then, almost in unison, they blew kisses at each other.

This was the one time I wished I could share the clarity of my memory with someone. I would’ve given every conversation with Addison to Audrey, without hesitation. Because, I’d never forget her. For Audrey, the memories would slowly fade. Somehow, that seems almost worse.

Claire, Sarah, and Audrey had come up with an outfit for Addison: A violet turtleneck sweater dress, black leggings, comfortable shoes.

Then Audrey came out of the bedroom with a thick, fuzzy, woolen pair of socks. “She always gets cold.” She said, her breath coming in short, hitching gasps. “I don’t want her to be cold.”

Sarah caught her around the waist, before she collapsed completely, and I caught them both before they fell together. Whatever Audrey tried to say next dissolved into a sharp, keening cry. That time, it didn’t take me very long that some of the tears were mine.

Sometime later, we handed off the clothes to Addison’s parents. Audrey fell asleep, weeping in their bed that night, clutching Addison’s pillow. Claire curled up beside her and cried with her. Sarah and I stayed with them, until sleep threatened.

I slipped out because I knew better than to fall asleep in the apartment Audrey and Addison had shared for the past two years. Sarah slipped out because she had been sad for long enough and needed to get angry, or drunk, or both.

I walked out on the balcony, didn’t bother to find a chair, and just slid down the wall, until I was sitting on the deck. Sarah sat down beside me.

“She was the first one, you know.” Please, Sarah, don’t tell me this. “Addi was the first one to place her seal of approval on you.” Sarah said, as she reached into her purse and came out with a pint of Shit-Whiskey. She twisted the cap off and took a healthy swig. Then she offered it to me, I thought about waving her off, but took it anyway.

“Claire had a habit of dating douchenozzles.” She explained when I offered it back to her. “I, honestly, thought you were another one. Addi knew better. Don’t you fucking forget it.” She wiped her eyes, took another drink and handed me the bottle.

I put my arm around her and pulled her in close, kissed the top of her head, and said, “You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had, Sarah.”

By this time, she had handfuls of my shirt and was crying, a mixture of rage and sorrow into my shoulder. “Take care of her.” She managed, after she caught her breath.

“I will.”

“You fucking better.” She was quiet for a moment, “David, I was so scared. I thought I was going to die.”

“So was I.” I told her. “I’ve never been more afraid of anything in my life.” I was telling her the truth. The thought of losing Claire, it breaks a piece of me every time it comes to mind. “And that’s saying something, because I’m afraid of everything.”

Sarah gave me a look that said You?

“I’m afraid of road trips. Flying, boats, water. Falling asleep. Hell, my own reflection scares me sometimes. People have been trying to hurt me for my entire life.” I explained her, truthfully as I could.

“David.” I hadn’t noticed Claire had come out to the balcony. Her face had gone pale, concern etched on her face. “I-“

“The thought off losing you, I—Well, I’d rather die.”

She came to me in two quick steps and threw her arms around. “Baby. Don’t even think it. I’m not going anywhere. And I’d rather you didn’t.”

Addison would have rather died than lose Audrey. My choice forced her hand. For what had to be, the hundredth time, I wished I’d just taken the bullet.

“It isn’t safe here.” I told them both, then I had to start lying again, “If he wants to find us, he’s just got to turn on the TV.” I motioned to the News Vans that were already assembling at the end of the block. “There is a place, my dad used take me when I was a kid. Its secluded, off the grid, and we own the whole damned mountain. Claire and I are going after the funeral.” I looked at Sarah, “You, and Audrey are welcome to join us.”

Sarah grinned, “The thought of being locked in a bunker with you two makes me want to take my chances with the psychopath.”

“It’s not a bunker.” Well, there was a bunker, but it was hidden. “It’s a cabin on a hot spring, miles away from anything.”

“So miles away from help?” Sarah said, skeptical.

“If he manages to find us, and come after us there, Sarah, he’s the one that will need help.”

Sarah opted to stay with Audrey that night. I made sure that they had security posted outside. As Claire and I rode in the back of an armored SUV back to my place, I called my Dad.

“Hey David, shouldn’t you be sleeping?” He answered, “It’s a long drive tomorrow.”

Addison was from a smallish town about 4 hours away. We would all be making the trip in the morning for the visitation and service. “Yeah, Claire and I are on our way home.” I answered, “I need you to get the Lake Cabin prepped. We’re going there after.”

“Good Plan.”

“Yeah, one more thing.” I continued, “Can you get the Beast down there for me?”

Claire gave me a look, I waved her off and mouthed “In a minute.” To her.

I heard Dad chuckle on the line. “I feel extremely sorry for that bastard.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I said as he hung up.

“Beast?” Claire queried.

“My old truck.” I explained. “I don’t think my Honda could handle the roads out there.”

Claire nodded.

As Sarah had pointed out, I do have a gift for understatement.

The same armored SUV met us the next morning outside my residence hall. I had my suit, naturally, and Claire was a knee length black dress, with a sweater and an overcoat. The sky was overcast with low hanging clouds the color and texture of old asphalt, that were spitting an icy drizzle at us. I took off my jacket and hung it inside, after I let Claire in. Sarah and Audrey opted to ride down with Addison’s family.

Dad handed me a small black case as I got in the SUV, then went back to his own car. Inside was a Smith and Wesson 1066. The Semi-auto pistol was chambered in ten millimeter, and had three fully loaded magazines with it. I had chosen the pistol and rounds because it was a fast, relatively flat-shooting round. Plus, it had been known to defeat body armor. I’m not really a gun guy, but if you’re like me, it’s helpful to know how to use one. Besides, if it came down to it, a rusty spoon was better than nothing.

“David, what the hell?” Claire spoke up, shocked, as I took it, loaded it, and tucked it, in its holster, into my pants at the small of my back.

“It’s just a precaution, Claire.” I told her, “and one hundred percent legal.”

“Why do you need a gun? You’ve got a team of armed security shadowing our every move?”

“Odds are it will be an uncomfortable hunk of metal hanging on my belt all day, Baby.”

“I don’t like it.” Claire said, worry in her eyes. “I don’t like what this is doing to you. I mean, last week you wouldn’t even kill a spider, now you’re carrying a gun?”

“That spider,” She was talking about the one I caught in her shower and relocated outside, “Never pointed a gun at you.” I could tell she wasn’t happy with my answer, so I leaned over and kissed her, lightly, on the lips. “Once he’s caught, it will go back in the case, and stay there. I promise.”

She lifted her cat’s eye frames and dabbed at her eyes, then she crossed her arms across her chest and said, “I feel like I’m losing you.” As she stared out the window.

“No,” I took off my seat belt and slid across the seat to be closer to her, “Baby, No. This is really hard, on all of us. Losing Addi, worrying over Audrey, I know I haven’t been there for you like I should have. I’m sorry.”

“I miss her so much.” Claire took off her glasses and let the tears come, as she leaned back into me. “The distance is partially my fault. I guess I feel guilty for still having you. I didn’t, I don’t want to make Audrey feel worse.”

“I don’t think that’s possible right now.” I told her, being able, for once, to be completely honest with her. “There is no easy way through this, for any of us.”

“One foot in front of the other, keep moving forward.” She said with a wistful smile. “That’s what my Grandpa used to say.”

“I think I would’ve liked him.”

“He would’ve liked you too.” She turned her head to face me, and touched my cheek, letting her hand linger. “I will be with you, every step of the way.” She sat back up, “But I wish you’d stop beating yourself up. There were five of us. Four of us are still here because of you. We all know it, and Addison knows it. You didn’t kill her. He did.” Her light, shining, ferocious, in her eyes. “You are so gentle. Kind to a fault.” She smiled at me, “The fact that you actually feel guilty over this just confirms what I’ve always thought; I’m lucky to have you.”

“No,” I told her, as I kissed her neck, just below her ear. “I’m the lucky one.”

She put her arms around and held me tight. “When you jumped in front of me, and the gun went off. I was scared to death, not for me. For you. I thought I’d lost you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I knew exactly what I’d do if I lost her. I’d find myself on my very next slip, and put an end to it, in the hopes that it would be far enough back to insure she never even met me.

Of course, The news crews were trying to cover the funeral, too. I’ve never understood the fascination with money. Yeah, several of you are probably scowling at your screens right now. But, It’s alien to me. True, I’ve never wanted for much. But the things I do want can’t be bought. Since Addison’s death was national news, and she was a gay woman, of course a lonely little group of those idiots from Kansas showed up. But [redacted] University’s Concert Choir had also come. Bolstered by the choirs of several local Churches, they had surrounded those pig-eyed zealots, four deep, in their little cordoned off pen, and were currently drowning out their weapons-grade stupid with a selection of hymnals.

I made eye contact with an elderly black woman in a purple choir robe who was in that ring of song, as I held the door for Claire and mouthed “Thank You.”

She smiled back at me and waved.

The local police were doing their best, but simply did not have the manpower to keep all the press at bay. Camera flashes and spotlights trailed us as we made our way from that armored SUV to the front entrance of the funeral home. I had Claire by the arm, trying to lead her through the forest of microphones, when suddenly a woman appeared in front of us.

I recognized her, you probably would too, as she was on TV nearly every night. “Claire, who are you wearing?”

Claire stopped, utterly shocked, and completely aghast, then demanded, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Her reply momentarily silenced the din of shouted questions. “We’re about to bury a friend. Someone is burying their daughter, their sister today. And you’re most pressing question is ‘Who am I wearing?’” She screwed up her face in anger, “What the FUCK is wrong with you?” She shouted.

“There’s your sound-bite.” I snarled, as I took Claire by the arm again, and pushed past the woman, who had gone pale, realizing just how colossally she’d screwed up. Part of me hoped it was a live feed.

“Alright!” A man in what looked to be his mid-sixties, in the uniform of the local police department, shouted over the freshly renewed clamor, “You got what you came for, let these people mourn in peace!” Then he gave the order to his officers to evict the press from the premises.

Sarah was waiting for us when we got inside.

“Did you see that?” Claire growled, ‘Can you believe that?”

“Same bitch offered me ten grand and an internship if I wore a hidden camera in here.” Sarah grumbled. “If that is what being a professional journalist is about, I’m changing majors.”

“Seems like the field could use an injection of integrity to me.” Pete said as he came into the lobby to meet us. “David, Claire, it’s good to see you again.” He looked like he had aged ten years since I met him five days ago. “David, Mary and I wanted to thank you, The Funeral Director told us what you did, and I meant to ask you earlier, but things have been so hectic. We’re short a pallbearer, and Addison spoke highly of you.”

“Of course, Pete, of course.” I told him, I didn’t answer the slightly confused looks from Claire and Sarah. I had, tried to, at least, quietly take care of Addison’s final expenses. I guess I should have directly told the Funeral Director to call me an anonymous donor, rather than imply it, with a heavy hand. “It would be an honor.” One that I didn’t deserve, if I’m being completely honest. It was my fault she was gone.

The Public visitation had ended nearly an hour before we arrived, and for this last hour before the service was closed to all but friends and family.

A group of whom I can only assume to be aunts, uncles and cousins were clustered around a photo display in the back of the room, quietly sharing pleasant memories. Mary stood off to one side, staring at her daughter’s body, in the casket, as if trying to memorize every detail of her baby girl’s face, and occasionally wiping away tears. Audrey, along with Addison’s brothers sat in the front row of the chairs set up before the casket. She looked like she had her head bowed in prayer, and Addison’s two oldest brother were trying to comfort her. Claire and Sarah were talking with Pete I touched Claire’s and motioned to Mary, she nodded at me. I left the three of them to mouth the empty platitudes people mouth at funerals, went to Mary’s side.

Then I saw, that Audrey’s head wasn’t bowed in prayer. She was staring at a small box in her hand, covered in black velvet. Inside, nestled in white silk, was a gleaming silver ring.

An Engagement Ring.

Mary slid under my arm as my knees nearly buckled. “She was going to ask her at the end of term.” She never looked away from the casket. “She came to us when they were visiting over Christmas.” Mary’s voice hitched, as she took a breath. “I was going to have another daughter.” Mary said.

I heard Addison’s brother encouraging Audrey to give her the ring. ‘You’re our sister now.” He said. “She would have loved it.”

Audrey looked up at them, smiling through her tears. Together, they rose, and walked unsteadily, leaning on each other, to Addison’s casket. Audrey took the ring from the box, and carefully slid it on to Addison’s finger, with her brother’s now fully supporting her. She was weeping like a widow, because that’s what she was, when she kissed her fingers and pressed them to Addison’s lips.

“I’ll never forget you.” She whispered, “I love you, Addi.”

Claire was at my side, guiding me back to a chair, as the enormity of what my choice had done to Audrey crashed down on me.

It could have been five minutes, or five hours, But the preacher came in, administered the last rites, and funeral service. Just before the funeral home staff closed the casket, Mary stood, withdrew a roughly used, and obviously well-loved stuffed tiger from her purse, and tucked it under Addison’s arm.

Shortly thereafter, it was time to carry her out to the hearse. Addison Wright was barely five feet tall, and probably never weighed more than ninety-eight pounds in her all too short life. There were six of us.

She was the heaviest weight I’ve ever lifted.

After the graveside service, we went to the local Elk’s Lodge, for a proper wake. A few hours into it, Pete, Mary, and their sons decided to call it a night. Audrey thanked me for the offer to come with us to the Lake Cabin, but said the Wrights had asked her to stay with them for a while, and she couldn’t, didn’t want to refuse. Claire and I told her we understood, asked her to call when she got settled.

One of Addison’s uncles was flirting with Claire in that harmless way old men flirt with young women. It didn’t bother me. It never does. I would never fault a guy, or a girl, for that matter, for trying to make a little time with a woman like Claire. After all, I was hers, and she was mine.

I kissed her and told her, “I’m going outside for a little air.”

“Okay, baby.”

“Jeez, Dave, give an old geezer the illusion of hope, at least.” I didn’t mind when he called me Dave.

“Chuck, you’re a dirty old man, you know that?”

“You’re damn right.” He grinned at Claire, then winked at me.

I laughed as I walked toward the back door. I’ve done this enough to know, that there is more laughter at funerals and wakes, than one would expect. Remembering the good times is one of the few ways a human psyche can weather such a profound loss.

When I hit that back door I saw Sarah, leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette.

“Since when do you smoke?” I demanded, a little more than half drunk.

“Please don’t tell Claire.” She pleaded, “I really can’t deal with her going all mother hen on me, tonight.”

“Okay, on one condition; Got one for me?”

She handed me one, and her lighter. “Since when do you smoke?”

“I don’t.” I said, coughing out the first lung full. “Just felt the need to—“

“Do something a little self-destructive?” She completed my thought.

“Yeah.”

“Me too. It was either this,” She held up the cigarette, “Or fuck the bartender cross-eyed, and he’s not really my type.”

“You have a type?”

Sarah scowled at me, “Well if I do, it is definitely not fifteen years older than me with greasy hair and bad teeth.” She stubbed out her cigarette on the wall, took a bottle of perfume from her purse, and sprayed it in the air before her, then walked through the mist. “I’m going to protect your girlfriend from seduction at the hands of Uncle Chuck.”

I snorted a laugh at her and started pacing. I took another drag off the cigarette, coughed some more, decided it tasted like shit, and threw the thing away.

That’s when the hair stood up on the back of my neck.

I spun around. I had the pistol out of the holster, safety off, and leveled on the bridge of his nose before I even realized what I was doing.

“Damn, you’re fast.” The Man with Ice Blue Eyes said. His hands were raised, palms facing me, about shoulder level.

“You got something to say, you better say it quick.” My finger tightened on the trigger.

“I’m just here to talk, David. I am unarmed.” He said, almost serenely. “And I don’t think you’re capable of killing me in cold blood, yet.”

“Talk.” I ordered.

“I decided to give you today.” He explained. “I could have killed you both a dozen times since you got out of that truck this morning. But I really don’t want that.”

Just pull the trigger

“There doesn’t need to be any more bloodshed.” He continued, “I came here to talk, like reasonable people.”

“You didn’t think to do that, before you murdered my friend?” Just do it. Kill him where he stands

“I am sorry for that.” He sounded sincere, “It was never my intention to hurt Addison. And after our last meeting, I realized I don’t even have to hurt you, or Claire, in order to get what I want.”

“And that is?” I demanded.

“That red-haired harpy to never exist.” He said, finally. “Just leave her. Leave Claire, and I will never come near you or her again. Yes, you’ll be hurt, and so will she, but you’ll both get over it. She’s young, intelligent and extremely beautiful. She will find another man that will make her happy. You, well, you’re young, and extremely wealthy. Shouldn’t be too hard to find a girl willing to do the things she does for you.”

“You should stop talking now.” I was a wrong word from blowing his face out the back of his head.

“Believe it or not, David, I do respect you.” He said, his face placid, “and like you, I really don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“There you’re wrong.”

“So you’re going to do what? Shoot me? How will you explain firing a gun, drunk in an empty parking lot, after I vanish?”

“You’re right.” I said, as I dropped the magazine, and set about breaking his goddamned skull with the pistol.

Three minutes, and thirty-eight seconds later, he flickered, appeared to expand slightly, then vanished. His blood, staining my shirt and hands went with him. “I hope you feel that for hours, you son of a bitch.” I said to the empty night air.

Part One: http://ift.tt/2uAVaOL

Part Two: http://ift.tt/2uWNQQd

Part Three: http://ift.tt/2tIazeU

Part Four: http://ift.tt/2w8aIcc

Part Five: http://ift.tt/2tPzJZ3

Part Six: http://ift.tt/2wgzgjg

Part Seven: http://ift.tt/2hqbgHQ

Part Eight: http://ift.tt/2hsjK1g

Part Nine: http://ift.tt/2utwFRJ

Part Ten: http://ift.tt/2veAuhp

Part Eleven: http://ift.tt/2wKu87f

Part 12: http://ift.tt/2w2g7pg

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