As she watched him carefully sprinkled the white powder
around the foundation of the house she felt a chill run through her like a
November wind in Chicago.
She saw the scull and cross bones on the label, she saw the rubber gloves he
wore to avoid getting the toxic substance on his skin, she saw the particle
mask he wore over his nose and mouth to prevent inhaling it and she saw the
method of his death, all in a fraction of a second before she asked sweetly;
“What are you doing honey?”.
“You remember I told you I saw some mice, so I got some rat
poison to spread around. I’m gonna mix some in some peanut butter and spread
that around too.” He was so proud of his efficient little plan to protect their
sweet little home of the nasty vermin coming in from the woods to the east of
house.
“You’d better be careful with that stuff!” was her saccharin
response. She had decided to kill him weeks ago. The decision being made with a
genuine since of sadness that such a nice guy had to die. But the decision had been made and now
the method of Harold’s demise had
presented itself quite serendipitously. Cyanide. Quick, clean and deadly.
Helen would hold on to this next
progression in her preparation. She would hold it secretly, not making any note
in a journal or sharing her emergent scheme with anyone. She would not
foolishly checking out a book on poisons from the local library or make a dead
husband joke. Helen would not event
touch the box of poison so that her prints or DNA would not event be found on
it. Helen was much too smart for that,
actually Helen was brilliant. This
would be perfect as each of her previous plans had been. Not rushed, because
there was not reason to hurry, no plane to catch or deadline to meet. Not in
anger because Helen did not hate her
husband and anger would only make her sloppy and impulsive. No. his death would
be elegant and poetic, even tragic. Perfect. How all this would take place was
still yet to be determined and that was OK. Helen
was the epitome of patience. She smiled at the thought of just how brilliant
she was.
Her bare feet made no sound on the grass as she moved to
re-enter the house. Harold watcher her
go. He loved to watch her go. “I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you
go!” He called after her with a wolf whistle and a grin. It was something his
Dad always said to his mother when he was a kid. He didn’t know what it meant
then but he definitely did now. The moment he met Helen
his father’s words sprang in to his head. She had a nice ass. Hell, she had a
nice everything. She was not drop dead gorgeous nor was her beauty or stature
intimidating; she was fine and had a pretty face as the many stares and smiles
from passers by would attest. Her eyes were intelligent and always seemed to be
smiling, inviting everyone she met share a moment within her world. Her skin
was like a caramel apple inviting ones to taste and see if she was as sweet as
she looked. Harold loved her but as Helen disappeared through the door of the house they
shared as husband and wife; the smile fell from his lips like the leaves
falling from the sycamore tree he stood under. Sadness washed over him at the
thought of the shock and disappointment he would cause his lovely wife if she
knew the truth.
His admirations halted her steps for a moment. As she turned
to flirt with her husband Lloyds face came into
focus across the street. He had witnessed their exchanged and was grinning at
her ass as well.
“Harold’s putting
poison down for the mice so you’d better keep “Pepper on a leash for a few
days, Lloyd.” Lloyd Harper’s
mutt was a neighborhood nuisance, no one would miss it if it did poison itself
sniffing around the fence but it was opportune to share with someone that Harold was handling poison. Convenient the way these
flashes of brilliance kept popping into Helens head.
…
… …
Harold waved at Lloyd, turned back to his work and walked
toward the fence at the edge of the yard beyond which was the 10 or 12 acre
stand of trees they called the woods. “This is where I need to bait those wood
mice.” He thought to himself as he walked along and sprinkled more poison. He
pulled the vibrating cell phone out of his pocket. There were specks of white
on his gloved hand but he didn’t notice. He had hardly been able to breath in
expectation of this call and hearing the voice on the other end.
“Hey man” was his typical, casual greeting when he saw Ryan’s number flash up on his I-Phone. Harold worked hard to keep the excitement out of his
voice.
“How are you, man?” Ryan
asked, he was genuinely concerned about his friend. Harold
had not been himself for weeks. Sometimes he was distracted and agitated and
other times he was almost euphoric and giddy. It had been at least 3 months
since they had had a real argument over the Lakers vs the Pistons or even
played a round of Golf. They had been best friends since college. Over 16
years. Ryan knew Harold
better than Harold’s own wife knew
him. Harold’s wife didn’t know about
his experimentations designer drugs or with gay lovers in the old days. But Ryan
knew, since he had been his first. His wife didn’t know the truth about how his
father died. But Ryan did since he had
been the one that had held him while he cried after reading the suicide note.
His wife didn’t know about his creepin either, but Ryan
knew it all and more. Harold told Ryan everything as if he were his therapist or priest
and to tell Ryan
Ebu, Accountant, Little League
Coach, Best friend, somehow meant absolution. But now something was happening
in Harold’s life that he had not
shared with him. Not that Ryan felt he
had a right to know or anything like that. It was, however, odd.
“Look” Ryan
continued. “Why don’t we get together for a beer or something? It’s been almost
six months since we did any hangin out and you’ve been brushing me off when I
called. Whaz up? Did I kill your dog or something?” Ryan
tried to keep thing light but he truly did want to know what was up with his
friend.
“Hey, man, you know that we’re cool. I’ve just had some
things on my mind that I just kinda needed to think through. But yeah, what are
you doing around seven or eight?”
“I’m open. How about I meet you at Sonny’s” Ryan chose Sonny’s because he knew it was one of Harold’s favorites places. They had his favorite beer
on tap and always had some sort of game on the flat screens around the bar. It
was a guy place where guys hung out and talked loud about games and women and
work and blood and conquest and cars and money and bull shit. Ryan though he chose well. Harold
however made another suggestion.
“I feel more like going to Black Mojo’s, and getting a table
outside. I’ve got some stuff to finish around here so I’ll see you at about
eight.” And then came the puzzle…”I love you man.” And the call ended.
“Black Mojo’s” “I love you?” Ryan
mused over the statements. Harold only
said stuff like that when he was drunk or if something traumatic has occurred. Ryan knew there was much love between the two of
them. They had been so close for so long and been through so much together. And
although Black Mojo’s was his favorite Cajun restaurant Ryan could not remember
Harold ever wanting to go there. Now
rather than feeling better after speaking to his AWL friend he was more alarmed
than ever.
Harold passed his gloved had across his
face to wipe a bead of sweat from his face leaving a faint trace of white
powder. He didn’t notice. He touched the phone to his lips, pensively, as he
contemplated his plans for tonight. Then
turning his attention back to the duty at had, killing vermin, Harold shifted his jaw and adjusted his posture
transforming Bill
Murray’s character from
Caddyshack. The scenes from the movie rolled through his memory at the though
of the word ‘vermin’. “Die vermin”, He laughed. He felt good.
…
… …
Helen had been watching Harold from the window. “You’re not being very
careful with that stuff Harold.” She
chastised in a whispered song. The left side of her mouth curling upward. Her
predatory gaze taking in his every movement.
The phone call made her curious. She made a mental note to look into
that later as she made her way to the shower. Saturdays were already so busy
and now that she was planning Harold’s
demise she was going to be even more pressed for time. “I’d better schedule
more time around the house; that will help,” she thought to herself. “I’ll invite
the book club to meet here for the next few weeks and I’ll skip the HOA meeting
on the first.” Sacrifices had to be made if she was going to do this right.
…
… …
“Helen”
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