Dishonor Thy Wife (23 page)

BRAD

I must resemble a statue, staring at my hands with morbid
fascination—
these bloody hands
though the phrase is just a metaphor.

To get away with murder, is a rush, and I join the secret
ranks of those who have committed the perfect crime. Her husband killed her.
Jayden murdered Vanessa. He will rot in prison or receive capital punishment
because Vanessa was pregnant. There is no sympathy for a man who kills his wife
and
unborn child.

My brother hated me for getting his wife pregnant, so there
was even more of an incentive to kill Vanessa and get her out of the way of
both of us. Jayden did not want a wife, much less to be saddled with a child joining
him to Vanessa's hip. Even after divorce, a kid throws the parents together for
birthdays, graduations, weddings, blah, blah, blah, all that joint family junk
of a modern family, a mix of mongrels.

There goes my head pounding again! I swear the baby screamed
each time I plunged the knife into Vanessa.

Shut up! Shut up!

My thigh hurts like the devil bit me, Vanessa and her pointy
teeth. She was stronger than she looked and wore a pair of spiky shoes with
metal heels that could slice right through a man’s leg.
Bitch!
She ruined
my perfect murder by leaving an ugly purple bruise on my leg with a gash right
through the middle of the bruise.

The aftermath feels as if we both killed her, drawing me
closer to my brother as I filmed her dying. The memory now brings tears to my
eyes, to have another meaningful experience with my identical twin, the sharing
of murder. How deep can brotherly love go? The sharing of wives. The sharing of
murder. I commit the kill; Jayden pays for the crime.

I have not lost my sense of humor and am laughing so hard my
thigh aches. The vice of murder was not charged to my brother’s credit card so
really, “just shut the fuck up, Jayden, and quit complaining! I know what a
whiny baby you are little brother.”

And I wink, wink at the mirror.

JAYDEN

I paced the jail cell waiting for the detectives.

At last, there were footsteps in the hallway.

Lead-Belly munched on a bologna sandwich, and Frisco rocked
on her feet. “So what’s this about?”

“Why did you ask to see us?” His fat face told me this had better
be good or else.

I shook the cell bars, my fingers turning white. “Check the
fingerprints on the marriage certificate! I never touched the marriage
certificate. Brad’s prints should be on the marriage certificate, not mine.
Same thing goes for the DVD.” At least I hoped Brad’s prints were on the
marriage certificate and DVD, unless Brad planned to murder Vanessa from the
very beginning and frame me for the murder and so always wore gloves.

Lead-Belly rolled his eyes at Frisco.

“You claim you and Brad are identical twins with identical
DNA. Same prints, right?” Frisco said.

“I forgot that fingerprints of identical twins are
differentiable. Fingerprints are the interaction of an individual’s genes
and
the developmental environment of the fetus in the mother’s uterus. This
microenvironment of the fetus actually determines the fine detail of the
fingerprint structure of all humans. While genes do determine general characteristics
of fingerprint patterns, the surface tissue of the fingers of the fetus are in
contact with amniotic fluid in the womb. Fingertips are also in contact with
other parts of the fetus and the uterus, as the fetus moves on its own in the
womb and in response to positional changes of the mother. Because of this
movement of the fetus, the microenvironment of the growing cells on each
fingertip is in constant flux. Therefore, fingerprints of identical twins are not
exactly the same because each twin moves independently in the womb and touches
things at contrasting times, using different pressures while the prints are
formed.”

Whew, what a mouthful, that was a lot of information for
these two numbskulls to digest. Frisco and Lead-Belly were impressed enough to
at least promise to dust the marriage certificate and the wedding video for
prints other than mine and Vanessa’s prints.

Bet we find Tremblay’s prints on that marriage
certificate
, Lead-Belly seemed to be saying to Frisco when he looked at her.

What a nut case
, Frisco seemed to answer back.
Still
thinks he is two different men, bipolar or something.

“Maybe we should have you talk to the psychologist,” he offered.

“Suppose you’re hearing voices and the twins live only in
your head,” she added.

They led me to the criminal psychologist for an evaluation.
It was not in my best interest to object.

The psychologist gave me the obvious examination. He asked
if I hated my birth mother for giving me up for adoption. Did I get along with my
adoption mother or did I hate her, too?

“I don’t hate anybody,” I mumbled,
except for my brother.

Did any female teachers sexually molest me? And so on.

An officer led me back to my cell.

I lay on the cot with an arm thrown over my face. I had seen
too many movies and my previous daydream had a sequel.

Once again, Ronni is at my house sitting on the sofa.

“I’m not being a polite host,” I say.

“I’m not your guest!”

“Can I, uh, get you something? A soft drink? Glass of
wine? Supper? Anything to make you more comfortable,” I insist.

“You’ve done enough!” she snaps.

Her dress rides up on her thigh and I ogle her bare skin.

She slaps her skirt over her leg and hisses at me.

I walk even further away from her, plop down on a chair,
and clench my hands together.

“You took advantage of me, Jayden. It was bad enough you
had sex with me under false pretenses but the real tragedy is that you made me
care about you.”

“You care for me?” I sound like one of Pussy’s squeaky
toys.

“You romanced me with flowers and lies just to get me in
the sack. Then you made me cry when you switched back with Brad and he went
running back to Barbie. You broke my heart, Jayden.”

“Ronni I…”

“Brad found another way to hurt me through you. Damn you
for being just like your brother. No! You are worse than Brad, because you
pretended to care about me. Oh, your little act was really good!”

“But I’m not anything like Brad. I am the man who loves
you, Ronni!”

She cuffs her ears with her hands and screams, “Lies! The
two of you must have had a good laugh at my expense!”

I jumped off the cot at the sound of two pairs of heavy
shoes.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, doctor,” Frisco said.

“Talk about ghosts,” Lead-Belly added, “the flight attendant
you claimed could verify seeing you and your so-called twin brother on the
flight to New York met with an accident. Good thing you are locked up, else we
would suspect you of foul play.”

“Suspecting me wouldn’t make sense. The woman is my witness.
Why would I harm her?”

“Because you’re a woman hater?”

“In any case,” he added, “the woman is in a coma in a Philadelphia
hospital.”

BRAD

My eyes are glazed from drugs and bloodshot from booze, making
it hard to focus on the television screen and watch my favorite teams, Rangers
versus the Astros. With shaky fingers, I reach into the popcorn bag and open my
eighth beer of the afternoon.

“Shit!” Beer foams down the beer can and onto my pants.

I have always been a neat freak but now simply brush the
beer onto the floor. Mustard from a bologna sandwich stains my crumpled shirt
and you know what? I do not give a crap!

“Uh, Brad, can I talk to you in the dining room?” Ronni wrinkles
her nose at my alluring scent from not having had a shower all weekend.

“Not now, I’m busy,”
and I will not smell any better in
the dining room. Really? You want me sitting at the table where food is served.
My stench is why I eat TV dinners. I can smell Vanessa’s perfume on me and
showering does not remove the stink of a rotting corpse.

Ronni sits on the edge of a chair, hugging her knees. “Fine,
we’ll talk in here then. When I told you I wanted a divorce, I was serious.”

I throw popcorn at her. “You never told me you wanted to
divorce me.”

“Yes, I did, remember?”

Ah, Jayden strikes again. He never mentioned a divorce
conversation with my wife while impersonating me! “And did I agree to this
divorce?” I ask in a sullen voice. Damn Jayden probably agreed to give Ronni
everything I own to get back at me for killing Vanessa. Damn I am mixed up
again. Jayden did not find out about the murder until her body tripped him up all
the way to jail. Ha!

“I’ve made an appointment with a lawyer. I think it’s time
we end this travesty of a marriage that’s not doing either of us any good.”

I throw the entire frickin’ bag of popcorn at her and smack
her with kernels, leaving her nostrils shiny with butter. “You naively think
you can divorce me that easily!”

She thrusts her jaw out. “We live separate lives anyway. We
may as well make it legal.”

I stand to my imposing height and jab a finger at her. “No
way am I ever letting you divorce me, Ronni. I am not going to let you have this
house or half of what is mine just because Texas is a community property state!”

“Look, Brad,” and she holds out her palms to me. “My hands
are empty and will remain empty. I do not want anything from you. Just let me
have Traci. You can keep everything else, the house, cars, in fact the whole
caboodle. Just let me have my freedom, peacefully. I don’t want to fight.”

“I suppose you’ll sue for half my income for child support?”

“No, I don’t even want that. No child support. Promise.”

Ronni is willing to walk away with what she brought to our
marriage, namely Traci and the clothes on her back. First Barbie wants to screw
my brother because she thinks he is a sensitive man. Now, my wife wants to
leave me after living with Jayden. She cannot live with me any more after living
with my kinder, gentler brother.

How could I have been so stupid! Of course! She knows about the
bloody knife. A wife cannot testify against her husband
but Ronni will after she divorces me.

“I’ll see you dead before giving you a divorce,” I snarl.

Ronni hugs her upper arms, shivering. Good. She appears scared.
Run for your life, whore! Brad is coming!

“You ruined the game I was watching.” I snap off the
television and limp up the stairs to my bedroom.

I lock the bathroom door, sit on the toilet, and inhale some
powdery cocaine. Normally coke makes me really feel like
Superman
but
since Vanessa, nothing helps my pounding head, aching stomach, and nerves that
are about to jump out of skin. Instead, melancholy engulfs me, as if mourning
my brother, yet I will not feel safe until Canada executes Jayden.

I massage the bridge of my nose that seems to be collapsing.
My nose is bleeding again and there I go crying like a baby.
I am the
rotting corpse! The police are coming after me. Boo-hoo-hoo!
Even my own
mother thinks I am guilty and will not return my phone calls. Of course, I never
said a thing to the old lady.

Jayden must have told Mother. Why else won’t she speak to
me? Poor motherless Brad.

Unfortunately, the effects of snorting cocaine last about 30
minutes. The anxiety in my chest worsens and I can hardly breathe.
I am
dying, decomposing from the inside out!

I grab the bottle of prescription pills I wrote for panic
attacks and the bottle flips in the air, scattering pills all over the
bathroom.

Where is the bottle of tranquilizers? Come to Papa,
little pills, calm my nerves!

Oh crap!
It takes 30 minutes for the tranquilizers to
relax my nerves while waiting for the panic-attack pills to work. With the
trace of cocaine still in my system, the tranquilizer works faster, making me finally
feel as if I am floating.

I stagger from the bathroom in my undershorts.
Oh, damn I
wet my pants!

I walk naked to the bed that fades in and out. I am mostly out
of it but still conscious enough to flick on the television to an international
station for any news of Canadian murders.

It is freezing in here, and I wrap myself with the bedspread
like a cocoon. “Traci, turn on the heat for your father,” I mumble. “Where are
you, frickin’ kid when I need you?”

I begin to drift off to a groggy sleep, soothed by the voice
of a Canadian newscaster. The room is warming up. I need to rest. If only I
could get some shuteye. I have not slept since...

Suddenly, a frigid hand strokes my cheek.

I sit up gasping for air.

The room is ice cold as if a ghost just left.

The bedspread is like a snake squeezing the life from me,
and I roll around the bed kicking at the covers.

Someone is singing in a high woman’s voice.

I jump from the mattress and dive beneath the bed.

I lay there shivering, yet comforted by the dark confined
space.

When I was a child, I would complain at night, “Mother,
Mother, there are monsters hiding beneath my bed! Please help me!”

Now, hiding under my bed, for the first time in two days, I fall
into a light sleep, one of those half-awake, half-asleep experiences where you
can hear yourself snore.

My loud snoring noises sound like growls. But…I have never
snored in my life.

Really, I have turned into the monster hiding under my bed.

JAYDEN

“They’re not your prints,” Frisco said.

“Why aren’t your prints on your marriage certificate?” Lead-Belly
asked.

“Because it was not me who married Vanessa.”

“Maybe you wore gloves when you signed the marriage
certificate,” she said in a hopeful voice.

“Whose prints are on the marriage certificate then?” he asked.

“The fingerprints belong to my brother.”

“There are three other sets of prints,” she said.

“Probably Brad’s, the minister who married them and Vanessa’s
prints are on the certificate.”

Frisco and Lead-Belly looked at each other as if to say,
maybe the doctor has a point.

“Just because you didn’t marry Vanessa, doesn’t mean you
didn’t kill her,” she said.

“Your DNA is still all over the murder scene.”

“I told you before that Brad and I have the same DNA. Brad’s
DNA is all over the murder scene. Did you check the wedding video?”

“Your prints aren’t on the DVD either,” Frisco admitted. “The
marriage certificate prints match the DVD, including the case, and there are
another set of prints.”

“They’re Brad’s prints, and the other set must be the guy
who shot the marriage video in Vegas.”

“That still doesn’t prove that you didn’t kill her,” he insisted.

“I was out of the country when she was murdered.”

“So you say,” Frisco scoffed.

“You have no proof,” Lead-Belly said.

“There is proof that I should have thought of before! Check
with the airlines and get hold of the boarding passes for the destinations and
dates I write down for you. The fingerprints on the tickets of Brad O’Boyle and
Jayden Tremblay will show I was not in Victoria when Vanessa was murdered. The
man whose prints are on the marriage certificate and the DVD, and the airline
tickets to Las Vegas was. His fingerprints will be on the boarding passes and
prove he was in Canada when Vanessa was murdered. That man is my twin, Brad
O’Boyle, who was pretending to be me. Check my laptop for email back and forth
between Brad and me regarding travel. Here is the username and password.”

Frisco and Lead-Belly looked at each other like,
okay, might
take some time
.

They got up from their chairs to leave.

“Wait,” I said.

“Your face is pale, doctor. Looks like you’re not doing too
good in jail but then most men of your class never do,” he said.

“Ronni O’Boyle.” I dragged the name from the depths of my
soul. “You’ve got to warn her.”

“If your story checks out, then we’ll see about getting in
touch with Mrs. O’Boyle. No use scaring her for nothing,” she said. “We can’t
go telling a woman her husband is a murderer unless we have proof.”

“If what you claim is true and there are reasonable grounds
to suspect this Brad O’Boyle, then we’ll contact the American authorities to
handle things at their end and see if they’ll cooperate in extraditing him. To
tell the truth, we can’t go sticking our noses outside of Victoria without
going through the proper channels,” Lead-Belly said sheepishly.

They led me back to my jail cell.

I sat on my lumpy mattress, holding my head in my hands and
never feeling so helpless in my life.

My father could sneak me a gun. Ouch! My father would be an
accessory in a jail escape. Alternatively, my lawyer could…nah
forget about it. My attorney was
angry with me for cooperating with the authorities when he was not around, but
I had to talk in order to help Ronni.

Besides, the detectives would not let me speak to my father
so I could ask him to call Ronni and warn her. My lawyer refused to call her,
claiming he could not interfere in a police case and smear Brad O’Boyle’s
reputation. Brad could sue him. “Be patient,” my attorney had said. “We’ll get
you out of here. You’ve bought the best legal defense money can buy.”

I clung to the jail bars, imagining standing behind Ronni,
breathing into her hair. She was tingly from my hot breath pushing against her
scalp.

My daydream transported me back to my house for the second
sequel.

The palms of her hands lay flat against the door, her
head sandwiched between my hot forearms warming her cheeks. My muscles pulse
against the sides of her face.

“I’m not going to let you walk out on me that easily,
Ronni.”

I rub my face against her hair, sliding my hands down her
arms and to her hips, holding her tightly against me. “I can’t stand the
thought of being without you. My life is an empty shell when you are not in my
world. I am only complete when I am with you. These past weeks without you have
been like a knife in my back.”

I spin her around, placing my hands flat against the door
and trapping her. “I need you, Ronni. I desire you. I want to make you happy,
both you and Traci. Your happiness is all I have cared about since meeting you.
I long to be with you, to make love to you, and be loved by you.”

I bring my lips down to her mouth and kiss her as light
as a feather.

“You’re so gentle,” she moans.

I unzip her dress and shaking with desire, offer her my
hand. “Come to my bed.”

She flings her face back from me and slams her skull
against the back of the door.

There is a loud crack and Ronni slumps to the floor.

I stare down at her lifeless eyes.

Oh, no! No!

Her head is cracked in two!

I shook my head and my jail cell came into view.

I staggered to the jail bed and wept.