all too real

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
Twisted tale of those effected by a grim divorce

Submitted: June 23, 2014

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Submitted: June 23, 2014

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It was about twenty minutes before he actually realized that she was dead. About four grams of cocaine, a couple of shared liters of whisky, a handful of Xanax pills, and she was dead. Roger had been in the bathroom about that long, or so he thought. Then again it could have been a couple of hours; when you're that fucked up and you close your eyes while on the shitter, it could make a couple hours pass in the blink of an eye. He was surprisingly calm considering there was a dead hooker on the floor of his living room. He looked at her now in this light, so pretty and so still; he was thrown into a state of temporary reminiscence of times that seemed a lifetime ago. Twenty two years to be exact; sharing intimate weekends with Denise at a rented cottage along Lake Placid. it was outrageously frigid those weekends, but that didn't matter to a couple of horny twenty-seven year old kids. He had been trying his best to force these memories out of his head, out of his life, now that she was his ex. 

He stood paralyzed in the living room, staring at her lifeless body, now seemingly inanimate, when just moments ago those voluptuous hips were filled with vigor; the best of Al Green providing an appropriate background to drug infused intimacy. He considered the dead woman, Tracy, now no longer belonging to this Earth. No one would miss her, it was unlikely anyone would even realize she was gone. No, not from the part of town he picked her up from earlier. Roger stood incredulous, eyes fixed on the cute shamrock tattoo just below her waistline; he reflected on the thought that he was noticing it for the first time. Moments ago she was lively, flirtatious, ditzy, now just a corpse another victim of overdose. Roger found it ironic that in twenty years of marriage, he had not even once considered being unfaithful to his wife, and now when he was so close to doing so, the moment had fled him as rapidly as the dead girl on the Persian rug. "Oh the capricious workings of fate", he thought out loud to himself as he threw her into the trunk of his Volvo like a rag doll. 
Since Denise packed up and left not even a week ago, Roger's grip on his life, and reality, were starting to slip from his grasp just like the lubed up sex toy he was holding earlier this evening. Maybe he was strangely calm about the hooker in his trunk because he just didn't give a fuck anymore. He lost the only thing he ever cherished in life, the most painful aspect being that he wasn't even sure what led to it. With his wife and their dog Radar staying at Denise's sister Mary's house, Roger had been drunk more often than not. He chuckled at that thought as he recklessly drove his Volvo out of his driveway and into the night. Not one drink in twenty years, and yet he had drank enough booze in the last four days to kill a couple of small horses. He had completely lost all will to carry on; nothing could change the fact that he desperately wanted to take the .44 out of the glove compartment and shove it in his mouth for one final snack. The plan was sort of spur of the moment, he got in the car not even with a particular destination. He only knew that he had an insatiable thirst to end his own life, but not before that of his former lover. In his mind, in it's current state of derangement, the idea seemed terribly romantic.
 
Paul sat in his room, trying to write his term paper on photosynthesis, but couldn't get the divorce out of his head. His uncle Roger had been a huge part of his 21-year-old life ever since he was 1. Now, swift as an arrow, he was up and gone, seemingly out of Paul's life. He thought about Roger's brother James, his wife Jessica, and their three little boys, smiles always on their faces. He wondered if his uncle was with them now, surely he was in need of support just as much as his aunt Denise downstairs. Even though James and Jessica technically weren't family in a traditional sense, Paul was closer with them than he had been with his natural cousins. He wondered if he would ever see them again, those three happy little boys. He couldn't get his mind off this whole situation, it was all too real in Paul's quiet suburban life. Suddenly his train of thought was disrupted by the slam of a car door outside his window.
 
Roger was racing down Berkshire Blvd toward his sister-in-law's house, not with a specific plan in mind, but more just of a drug infused rage that was sure to end abominably. He skidded onto the front lawn, got out and slammed his car door to instantly see Radar waiting eagerly in the window, tail wagging. He busted in the front door, grabbed the Boston Terrier in one hand, and instantly saw Denise frantically approaching. She was on the floor with one swift hit to the gut, and now being dragged by the hair onto the lawn. A neighbor immediately phoned the police after seeing a hysterical woman being dragged while kicking and screaming. Roger threw his now ex wife into the backseat, her head bashing leaving blood on the window he had just cleaned a week prior. He threw the Volvo in reverse then quickly in drive, and they were instantly going 50mph down the perilous curves of Berkshire Blvd, leaving Paul standing incredulous on the now tracked up front lawn next to his mother who was now convulsing in anguished hysteria. Radar was frantically barking as Denise was now clawing at Roger's drunken eyes from the backseat. In a brief moment, airbags went off as the Volvo smacked a tree head on, instantly killing all of its occupants on impact. Five minutes later, the cops arrived at the scene; the make of the car virtually indistinguishable from result of the wreck. Officers pulled out the first body from the trunk, and could barely make out the cute little shamrock tattoo due to how mangled the body was, similar to the others.
 
Paul saw James and Jessica sooner than he anticipated, with their three little boys. Only their smiles were missing and they suddenly seemed so much older. Paul never considered that the next time they would reunite, everyone would be dressed in black.


© Copyright 2020 Roland Corvus. All rights reserved.

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