Xowie Brandt
“You’ll never be rid of me.”
Stan Burgan was a successful businessman with two perfect houses and a fantastic life. He loved his wife more than life itself but when she was brutally murdered, Stan wanted to move on and, more importantly, forget.
That was easier said than done, for those words, insignificant though they may have seemed, set upon his mind like tiny hurricanes influencing every moment of his life thereafter.
Carla’s six dying words, uttered as her life slipped away, turned Stan’s life upside down.
Her words would eat away at Stan’s very soul, like a spiritual cancer, endangering his relationships, his job and eventually, his sanity. When rose petals began to show up around Stan and the people that he loved, they held nothing but a confused fascination for him at first. Little did he know that they would be at the hub of strange occurrences which would tear his life apart.
The petals and Carla’s final declaration not only changed Stan’s life but also the life of Rena Hunter, the tough, independent Police Officer determined to go to any length to catch Carla Burgan’s killer even if it means putting her own life, and career, on the line.
Neither Stan nor Carla knew it at the time but that sentiment, expelled with her dying breath would ring far truer than either of them knew or understood.
“You’ll never be rid of me”.
The sun, as red as the blood on his hands, was setting. It shone off of the lake, illuminating him in a devilish halo. As he dipped his hands into the cool clear water he watched, fascinated as the blood created a marble effect within the water. The marble slowly dissipated as the calm he had felt just moments before was doing now.
What had he done? He could barely remember yet the memory was so vivid – her struggling, writhing body, her blonde hair matted with the blood that he had spilled. Her gaping black eyes lifeless like a fish on a counter in a supermarket. Her mouth hung open in an unsightly gash – one that he had elongated with the knife in his pocket.
He had had no choice but to kill her. It wasn’t meant to be this way but she had become angry, so very angry like a wild cat, clawing at him like a piece of meat. Screaming at him like a crazy schizophrenic, her eyes rolling back in her head with rage, she had pressed her bony hands into his face piercing the skin with her feline nails. Then she went for his eyes like crow with its beak. He had to do something. He grabbed her wrists and flung her back where she hit the wall with a thud. Her legs collapsed beneath her but she sprang up again like a jack-in-a-box, only this time she shot a well-aimed knee to his groin, doubling him over in agony. He grabbed a handful of her hair, which smelled of summer and fresh lavender, and smashed the telephone, which his other hand had found, blindly over her head again and again until he felt warm stickiness ooze between his fingers. Repulsed, he dropped her hair and stepped back but she would not be still. Stumbling toward him, a freakish clown-like grin spread over her face she wailed a manic, maddening laugh.
‘You think that this is all it’s gonna take to get rid of me honey?’ she howled as blood trickled into her eye. ‘You’ll never be rid of me. You’ll pay for this, Stan, you mark my words.’
That crazy laughter, which smelled like death filled every pore of his body, ringing deep into his brain was what made him snap. He lunged through to the kitchen ripping each drawer from its runners until he found a knife. She flew towards him her head down like a bull in a ring. He grabbed her hair once again, raising her chin high. Her hideous grin was as twisted as old wood, the whites of her eyes were the only things visible. He now smiled, half crazy himself, took the knife and pushed it into the flesh of her cheek, below the cheekbone and slashed down, following the line of her upper jaw. She writhed in his grip shrieking as he tilted her head and penetrated the other cheek with the blade.
More screaming escaped her now deformed but once perfect mouth.
Never be rid of you? We’ll see, bitch, we’ll see.
He clamped his hands around her throat, squeezing it like a sponge. He felt her neck snap like a twig under the storm his hands had become. Finally, her doll-like body ceased moving. There before him she lay, slashed, beaten and gaping like the prize fish in an angling photo. Dead.
You’ll never be rid of me…
He ran as fast as he could out of the house, covered in blood, down to the side of the lake.
Two.
Stan didn’t get any sleep that night. He lay on his bed, dazed and baffled over the night’s happenings. It’s the main event folks…the one you’ve all been waiting for!
Staring at the ceiling, all he could see was the warped face of the woman he had once loved more than life itself.
He rolled onto his side and checked the incandescent digital alarm clock on the bedside table. 08:24. Stan hauled himself out of bed, he felt as though his whole body was covered in cement. Padding through to the bathroom in the previous day’s socks, Stan turned on the shower, hoping to remove the cement that encased him with suffocating strength. As he stepped under the water he felt some of tension release in his back and arms. The throbbing pain in his balls had all but subsided but Stan still doubted that he’d ever get it up again.
How did I get home last night? Stan thought to himself as he switched on the kitchen radio, the early morning sunlight warming his hand through the window. He supposed he was running on autopilot.
Strong coffee was what Stan needed but not the filter crap most cafés sold. He grabbed his car keys, flicked off the radio and left the house. He needed the proper stuff and there was only one place for him to go.
Ten minutes later (who drives ten minutes just for a coffee?) Stan pulled into the car park of the best coffee shop in the world – in his opinion at least. McSpresso’s was a small, dingy place but the coffee was good and the staff were friendly. What more could a guy need when all he wants is to feel awake?
‘Rough night, hon?’ A middle-aged woman asked as Stan approached the counter. He always thought that you wouldn’t want to cross Val, she had that kind of look about her, but he knew better than to judge a book by its cover. Val, in reality was a kind woman who always had time to catch up on the latest gossip. Her graying hair was always scraped back in a rough ponytail and she never wore make-up. She was short in stature; in fact the saying ‘like a bulldog chewing a wasp’ summed her up pretty well on a first impression basis. Stan was sure that the impression had dissuaded many would-be thieves.
‘Straight to the point as usual, Val,’ Stan said. ‘I didn’t sleep too well as a matter of fact which is why I’m here for a proper cup of coffee – the strongest you have.’
‘Coming right up, doll,’ Val smiled and walked off in to the kitchen, clattering tubs and trays as she went, ‘I’ll bring it over OK, sweets?’
‘Absolutely,’ Stan even managed a smile.
Normality is what I need. As soon as this thought faded, another swept along behind it like leaves chasing each other in the breeze. How long do you really think things will stay ‘normal’ for, Stan? Huh? How long?
The only thing that puzzled Stan was the voice inside his head was no longer his own.
