Tending To Things

Reads: 193  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Melvin's wife is having an affair. Come see what Melvin did about that.

Submitted: July 22, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 22, 2016

A A A

A A A


I sat in my Lexus and watched the wipers travel back and forth across the

windshield. The rain had stopped and without the moisture the wipers scrapped

across the glass making an annoying screeching sound. The wipers should have been

changed some time ago, but like a lot of things I should have tended to in the past

they were not. I turned the car off without turning the wipers off first. This

halted the wipers in motion mid-stream.

 

Parked in the driveway just a few feet in front of my car was the van he

drove. It was a white van that looked like it had quite a few miles on it. Al's

Plumbing Services was written on the back in big blue block letters. Someone had

written 'Wash me' on the back in the filth that covered the vehicle.

My eyes traveled to the right across the front yard of our two story brick

home. Paint on the shudders was pale and chipped in places. Even the brick looked

worn. The Azalea bushes that lined the front of the house like privates in the

military looked a bit haggard. The Azaleas did not bloom this year probably

thwarted by the Texas heat that pressed down on them. There was no Spring this

year. One day it was Winter and the next Summer. The half dead yard needed watering

and the grass that did grow was wilted. I should of tended to the house and the

yard some time ago.

 

My head was throbbing with pain and sweat already began to form above my

brow. I stared at the back of the van again. My heartbeat was rapid and I could

hear it beating inside the car. “Wash me” stared back at me seeming to scream at me

now. Are you really going through with this?

 

A fucking plumber—literally--my wife is fucking Al the plumber. He is in

there now in my bed sticking it to my wife thinking he is God's gift to her and all

women. Not that I am blaming him. Patricia is no stranger to infidelity. Knowing

her as I do I am sure she told him she has never had an affair before. That she has

always been faithful to her husband and having an affair never crossed her mind

until he came into the picture. She can lay it on really thick when she needs to. I

got news for you Al, you aren't the first affair. Don't be too proud, this isn't

some great conquest. I'm sure she's done worse.

 

I met Patricia at a party seventeen years ago when we were attending Sam

Houston State University. We were seniors at the time. Her looks were flawless.

Tall, blond with a swimmers body. I was tall, thin, rarely worked out, were big,

thick glasses and already had a receding hair line. We were definitely opposites. I

was fortunate to have her look at me at all.

 

She was going to be an elementary school teacher, I wanted to be a CPA. We

both made good on our education and followed through. A couple of years later we

were married and have been together the last fifteen years. It wasn't until after we got

married that I learned she didn't want to have any children. I had brought the

subject up a few times prior to marriage and she never commented much. “Don't you

think you could of told me that before we got married?” I asked her. “I love you,

Melvin. Does it make a difference? I would love you regardless.” She was so sweet,

so sincere and made me feel a little guilty for being upset. I loved her, believed

her and children didn't matter. That is what I told myself. What a sucker I am.

 

All things considered I thought we were a happy couple. We both acquired the

jobs we sought, purchased our home and began the routine of marriage. I thought we

had a descent sex life. I wouldn't say I am a love making connoisseur, but I'd had

enough experience to know what to do, when and where. As I have learned Patricia

apparently wasn't getting what she needed and I don't believe I could of done any

better emotionally or sexually. She certainly didn't miss out on much

materialistically. She began her voyage through men almost immediately after we

were married. I found this out years ago. While I worked long days into the night

and some weekends, teaching left time for her to hook up with the men she desired

to get the attention she needed. She just needed a lot of tending to. She's going

to get some attention today.

 

These last five years have gotten even more out of hand. She'd disappear for

long periods of time and I couldn't find her. She'd spend the night elsewhere and

not let me know. Sometimes she smelled of liquor and smoke when she did get home.

She had become this foul creature and did not care if I knew of her infidelities.

Slut!

 

And if that wasn't enough there was the constant insults and ridicule at me.

You are such a loser?” “Can't you do any better?” And my personal favorite,

Your dick is too small and pathetic.” I've had enough.

 

I'm sure most men would have given her the boot some time ago, dropped her at

the curb, or just packed up and left. But those wedding vows meant something to me.

Melvin, do you take Patricia as your wife in the holy estate of matrimony? Will

you love her, comfort her, honor her and keep her, in sickness and in health, for

richer, for poorer, for better, for worse...for long as you both shall live? I do.

For as long as we both shall live.

 

I opened my briefcase sitting in the passengers seat and there on top of my

folders was the HK45 pistol I purchased several months back just in case. I'd never

owned a firearm before and remember how powerful I felt holding the weapon the

first time. It was heavier than I thought it would be and I learned at the firing

range it had quite a bit of kick. I remember the sales clerk asking what I needed the

weapon for and then he followed that question with, “You're not going to murder

your wife with it are you?” He laughed after he asked; I did not. “For protection,”

I answered. There was a eerie tension in the air after that. Yes, I am going to

blow my wife away with this pistol you are selling. Any other questions?

 

I pulled out my HK pistol from the briefcase and slipped it inside my suit

jacket pocket keeping it out of view. It wasn't a perfect fit and the butt of the

gun stuck out of the top of the pocket. I got out of the car and locked it, pulled

the front of my jacket together with my left hand making sure the weapon wasn't

visible and walked to the front door. With my right hand I pulled my keys out,

unlocked the front door and went in.

 

The alarm did not sound as it normally did; I disconnected it this morning.

The house was eerily still downstairs and quiet all but the refrigerator/freezer I could

hear coming from the kitchen. I walked into the kitchen and stood momentarily.

Tears came to my eyes as I realized that life as I know it was going to change

forever. I would never stand in my downstairs again listening to the soft hum

coming from the refrigerator/freezer and the quiet of my house. I quickly sucked

back in my tears and emotions and retrieved a butcher knife from the block it

rested in. Just in case I needed an additional weapon. The plan is one shot for

each of them and to retreat quickly. The butcher knife was just added protection,

better safe than sorry.

 

I ascended the stairs slowly. My feet were heavy as if they were implanted in

cylinder blocks. It was a struggle to lift them. Each step was a victory. Am I

really going to do this? It is not too late. I can turn around and leave. No one

will ever know.

 

I started to turn around, but I could hear this small annoying voice in the

back of my head. It was Patricia mocking me. “Can't you do anything right? I knew

you'd back out. Wimp!” Who are you calling a wimp, you bitch.

 

At the top of the stairs I could hear music from the stereo we had in the

bedroom. It was Garth Brooks singing 'Shameless'. How fitting. An oldie and a good

one. Now this party had a theme. Shameless.

 

There were slow moans coming from the bedroom with an occasional “Yes, that's

good,” thrown in. There sex was much quieter than I imagined. I had anticipated

some high drama. Screams and moans of ecstasy, some slapping of the ass. “Fuck me,

baby, fuck me.” This was a disappointment.

 

I stood at the bedroom peering at them through the crack of the door that had

been slightly left open. She was on top, barely, gently moving up and down. Seeing

her from the back she obscured any view of Al the plumber's torso and head. Sheets

covered his legs that jutted out from under her. If it weren't for the movement of

his legs and the heavy breathing I wouldn't even know he was there. Their movement

was slow, methodical and almost hypnotic. I couldn't stop staring at them until he

said, “I going to come.”

 

Those words brought me back to my purpose. I felt the heat rise in my body

and could almost feel the steam blow out my ears like that of a train coming to

stop. Patricia had violated our union, our commitment and right here in our own

house. She did this with Al the plumber. She let this thing into our world, brought

this thing into our bed.

 

As I held the knife in my left hand I pulled my HK pistol out with my right.

I gently pushed the door open with my right foot and entered the room. I took the

four steps to reach the foot of the bed and looked over her shoulder at Al the

plumber laying there. There was sweat on his face and his eyes were closed. With

his mouth hanging open I could see that a couple of his front bottom teeth were

missing. Crows feet surrounded his eyes and his hair was cut short in an obvious

attempt to hide his intensely receding hairline. His arms and torso were nothing

more than skin and bones.

 

I was expecting some God-like man with mighty arms, broad chest, tanned

body, thick hair, chiseled features. What lay underneath her was nothing more than

a blue collared version of myself, except I have all my teeth. My wife is not only

a cheater, she is also an idiot. This is what she violated our marriage with?

I raised my arm, looked down the HK that I positioned just to the right of my

wife's ear with perfect aim at Al the plumber's head. It's not too late. Although

you are practically right on top of them they haven't even noticed you. You can

walk out of here. No I can't.

 

With the knife still in my left hand and the HK perfectly aimed at Al the

plumber I watched. Sweat was running down my face, not from some erotic pleasure

of watching the two of them, but from the sheer adrenaline of the moment. My right

hand shivered ever so slightly, my finger on the trigger anticipating what was to

come.

 

Al slightly opened his eyes with that glazed look of ecstasy that an orgasm

brings. His eyes fixated on me standing behind my wife and above him. His eyes

opened wider. Just as his head popped up from the pillow and he tried to utter a

protest the gun went off. I say it went off because I did not pull the trigger with

a deliberate action. The trigger was pulled as a reflex, a reaction to his

movement.

 

It was a perfect shot thanks to Al the plumber lifting his head up. The

bullet slammed through his face and head, and I am sure out the other side. There

was little left of his face and he was dead on impact. Remains of his face and head

covered the headboard and both sides of the pillow. It was a lot cleaner than I

expected. My wife on top of him shielded me from any back splash. She now had the

penis of a dead man inside of her and remnants of his face, head and blood covered

her like the can of soda that was shaken and then opened.

 

The noise of the HK was like a car backfiring. The muzzle was just inches

away from her right ear and I believe she was probably numb alone from the sound.

She sat still on top of him for several seconds trying to make sense of what just

happened before letting out a metal bending, glass breaking scream.

 

She turned around and saw me standing there still with the HK pointed at Al.

She rolled off Al leaving his lifeless body laying in the bed, wearing bits and

pieces of him on her face and naked front. Now standing and moving away from the

bed and myself she yelled, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” As a reply to that

question I shot her in the leg and she went down on the floor. She grabbed her leg

screaming and crying.

 

“What is wrong with me? What is wrong with me?,” I yelled back. I dropped the

knife and picked her up off the floor by her hair as she flung her arms around

trying to hit me. I shoved her face up against what was left of big Al's. “Look at

what you did,” I yelled. Leaving her there with him I retrieved the knife.

What the fuck is wrong with you?” I yelled again.

 

“I'm so sorry Al,” she whispered softly. “I am so sorry.” She clung to her

leg and curled up beside him in a fetal position and was suddenly quiet accepting

what she probably thought was inevitably to come.

 

I grabbed her by the leg I had shot and pulled her off the bed to the floor.

I went down on my knees to be closer to her ready to play out this final chapter in

our lives. She tried to roll away from me, but I was able to keep up with her on my

knees. With small jabs of the knife into various parts of her body I began the

torment I had ran over in my head so many times.

 

“How could you fuck him?” Jab into her leg. “Did you like his cock?” Jab into

her arm. “Did you come?” Jab into her abdomen. At one point during this

interrogation Patricia passed out. We weren't quite done yet so I waited for her to

regain consciousness. It wasn't long after she regained consciousness that I put the fatal bullet

in her head. In all there were fifteen jabs into her flesh, one for each year we

were married. Not once did she tell me she was sorry. Not once did she express any

regret for anything that had brought us to this place.

 

After Patricia passed I called 911. “What is your emergency?” My response

was, “Someone killed my wife and Al the plumber. You know where we are.” I hung up

the phone. I sat down on the bedroom floor and waited.

 

The next thing I remember was when the police showed up. “Police,” a male

voice hollered out. “Is anyone in the house?” Upon hearing that I lifted the HK,

opened my mouth and stuck it inside. As I could hear feet slowly approaching the

bedroom door I pulled the trigger. It jammed. It had happened once before at the

range. I should have tended to that.

 

There wasn't time for me to work on the weapon so I pointed it toward the

bedroom door and waited. There wasn't anything said. The officer saw the weapon.

Shots were fired and I felt pain. This must have been how Al the plumber felt,

except I knew what was coming. Within seconds of feeling the intense burning

sensation I passed out. Unfortunately I didn't die. My plan wasn't executed

properly. That's what happens when you don't tend to things.


© Copyright 2017 Thomas M. Warford. All rights reserved.

Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by Thomas M. Warford

Pet

Short Story / Horror

Satan's Offer

Short Story / Horror

Tending To Things

Short Story / Horror

Popular Tags