Lights Out for Bobby

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
A woman takes matters into her own hands after she discovers that her husband has infected her with HIV.

Submitted: May 16, 2013

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Submitted: May 16, 2013




“Why’d you kill your husband, Mrs. Taylor?”

I catch sight of myself in the two-way mirror and can’t help staring. The woman looking back at me is a far cry from the well-groomed librarian I was before my husband ruined me. I like this creature with untamed brown curls and a crimson pout.

“He made me sick.”

I watch the silver-haired detective pace because I can’t stand the pale, nauseating green walls. I read once that some police departments paint their interrogation rooms colors that make people uncomfortable on purpose.

“Whatever he did, it can’t be worth it. You’ll get life in prison if you’re lucky.”

I can’t help laughing. “I don’t think you’re understanding me, detective. He literally made me sick. The sorry son-of-a-bitch cheated on me with a hooker. I’m HIV positive. You want to know how I found out? He told me about her while we were having sex.

I remember him saying ‘I used a rubber, so you don’t have anything to worry about.’ Yeah, right. I tried to keep my cool. We were married for Christ’s sake! I went to the doc and got checked out. I couldn’t believe it.

Of all the things he could have given me, it had to be HIV. I was numb, at first. Then, reality started to sink in. I’m gonna die, so it doesn’t matter. I’ve forgiven him for a lot of things—bumps and bruises, pushing me down the stairs when I was three months pregnant because he didn’t want a kid right then—but not this.”

“Would you mind telling me exactly what happened on the night of your husband’s death?”

“Not at all. You bring me the Djarum Black cigarettes out of my purse and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

It didn’t take the detective long to return. His steel gray eyes never stopped assessing me as I lit up, took a deep drag, and enjoyed the burn of the clove-flavored smoke until I coughed.

“Been smoking long, Mrs. Taylor?”

“No, actually. I’ve done the good, healthy things for my whole life—dieted, exercised. I didn’t start smoking until I found out I’m gonna die anyway. I always had a hard time believing Granddad when he told me how well smoking eases the nerves. Turns out he was right.”

“So…tell me about that night.”

“The day after I found out, a plan came to me. I can’t even believe it came out of my head. It was brilliant.

My husband always wanted to try that kinky bondage shit. I was never really into it, but it gave me a great idea. So, I went to the novelty shop on the south side of town and picked up a kit. I got new lingerie, too—leather corset, garter belt, fishnets…the whole nine yards.

You should’ve seen his face when he came home and saw me all decked out at the dining room table smoking and sipping a whiskey sour. Made his day.

Bobby was all about drinking, a born alcoholic if there ever was one. So, I let him get good and soused before I started working on getting him primed. It took a while; I’m sure you know how frustrating whiskey dick can be, detective.”

The detective winced at the phrase, his face hinting at just how uncomfortable the phrase made him. “Once he was finally ready to go I tied him to the kitchen chair and gagged him. That’s when I told him what he’d done and that I was going to make him pay. I beat the shit out of him first. You’d think I was in some sort of uncontrolled rage, but I was perfectly calm the whole time.

After I was sure I had his attention, I cut his junk off and set fire to it. I made him watch his twig and berries burn before I bashed his head in with the good crystal whiskey decanter.”

“And that’s all?”

“Yep. It was lights out for Bobby.” I took another long drag on my cigarette and smiled. “I don’t regret it, you know. Not one bit. Do me a favor and make a recommendation to the prosecution for the death penalty, will you? I’d prefer lethal injection or the chair to a slow, painful death at the hands of this disease.”

© Copyright 2018 ChelseaLClemmons. All rights reserved.

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