Duncan's Diary (27 page)

As I was stepping away, it occurred to me that I would be without the heads of my victims, and my ever-growing trophy display would now yet again have two empty spots. I was not warming to the idea and decided to try the shovel out and see if that could be used to behead the two bodies. It would be easy to wrap them in some plastic, since the alley was full of discarded bags strewn everywhere.

I was surprised how easily both heads became detached after a couple of swift downward plunges from the shovel. It took a little footwork and some rocking back and forth to remove the last tangled attachments; but all in all, it was not too difficult. I had my gloves on, so I was not worried about fingerprints. Taking the heads would also remove the bulk of my DNA that was still warming the inside of the girl’s mouth. I quickly grabbed a black plastic bag and tossed my trophies inside. After looking around, I proudly took them to the SUV and quickly packed my belongings.

It was a successful night, and I had enjoyed the much-needed release. This would tide me over for a while, as my memories of the events unfolded. I did have to get home now as quickly as possible. My shoulders were stiffening, and the soreness was quickly turning into a sharp pain. I would have said, “I could kill that guy for what he had done,” but as I sat behind the wheel, I laughed that I had actually done just that. Ah, the simple things in life that can amuse me.

In the midst of a great dream, it is always hard to claw your way through the fogginess to reach the surface of reality. This is especially true when the land of your dreams is so much more enticing and refreshing than what you will face upon your departure from the realm of fantasy. I wonder how many of us would remain forever subdued in the placid tranquility of this made-up world if given the choice. I guess that is why we have drug addiction. What is being addicted to drugs, but simply the choice of not wanting to face reality?

Sudhir was running with his dog through a field on a slightly cloudy day. The warmth of the sun was still shining, keeping it close to perfect. It was one of those days when it is not too hot, yet not too cold; and, at this young age, you have no worries and no cares about anything. Your main goal is to entertain yourself, and your dog, as always, plays a very important role in this endeavor. It seems that you can do anything and be anywhere, and life is just perfectly sublime.

It was odd to Sudhir that on this exquisite day it seemed like it was starting to rain. Yes, it was definitely raining now, and he was getting soaked. His head was beginning to hurt, and he suddenly felt like he was getting sick to his stomach. It was as if the water had been sucked from his body and was, instead, being used to form these relentless drops that were now completely drenching his clothes. The edge of his field became dark, and the fogginess began to engulf his world then started to lift. He opened his eyes slightly and tried to adjust to his surroundings.

He saw his wife standing on the front porch. She appeared to be holding the watering hose, spraying it in his direction. He could hear her yelling obscenities and telling him he was a loser who was never going to amount to anything. His mouth was dry, and he rubbed his eyes and removed the caked layer of mucus that had formed at some point in the evening. He then instinctively reached for his head that was feeling like it had exploded in the last few minutes and all that remained were the leftover pieces glued back in place.

Yesterday’s events were slowly coming back to him. As if a floodgate had opened, thoughts gushed into his consciousness, causing increased pressure on his already aching throbbing brain. He pushed himself up on all fours, and, then, slowly erected his body as his shaky legs carried him past his still-screaming wife through the front door to the bathroom. He spent the next 30 minutes, heaving the poison out of his mouth, expunging the cause of his current state. He then showered for what seemed like decades.

He ignored Janine’s rants while he spent most of the morning in the bathroom, gathering his senses. He heard her state that she was leaving today on a trip after dropping the kids off at school. She still had some time before her imminent departure. She woke him up quite early, once discovering where he was in order to avoid the kids seeing their loser dad in such a state of demise. He did appreciate this small token, as he did not want his kids to see what he had become.

He managed to focus enough to get dressed and inhaled his first cup of coffee like it was the only cup he would ever be allowed to drink in his lifetime. He quickly downed a huge glass of water, as well. This enabled him to slow the process enough to appreciate his second cup of black, soothing liquid more slowly. The kids were in their own world as usual and sensed that their dad was not operating at 100 percent. But in their innocence, they had no idea why.

Have you read the book
Blink
? It is a fascinating book that focuses on the ability to make snap judgments. It points out that quick decisions are actually the calculated conclusions that our experience has allowed us to make based upon our minds ability to formulate a hypothesis very quickly. I think the statement “on a whim” is in reality the same general philosophy. We, as people, can never turn off our minds. They are constantly working, even in our sleep, which is why we have dreams to begin with. Imagine the fact that your mind never stops functioning. In everything you do, your brain is sending waves throughout your body, moving on its own. Guiding you in aspects that you have no ability to understand or control.

It was on this whim that as Janine pulled out of the driveway on her way to take the kids to school and then go off on one of her business trips that Sudhir decided he would follow her. He didn’t know why or couldn’t explain the reasoning, but nevertheless “on a whim,” he got into his car and pulled out at a safe distance and trailed her path without her knowledge. It felt odd following his wife, but he needed some direction in his hung-over state.

Maybe a distraction was a better term versus direction, and he felt that this was an easy route to take.

Janine made her way down the familiar route to both schools. She dropped off the kids with little fanfare. It’s a consistent, daily routine so many parents are a part of. The monotonous ritual of making lunches, getting breakfast, fighting with the brushing of hair, and insistence on actually cleaning themselves, and brushing teeth always makes for interesting parental tales. How can kids possibly fight so hard against brushing their teeth? The entire concept escapes the logical ability to understand.

After Janine dropped the children off, she headed north toward Daly City, which was an interesting way to the airport. Sudhir was sure she had stated she was heading out to a business trip. Maybe she was going on an errand before she navigated to the airport, off to her flight. Women constantly have things they need to do, from getting their hair done to getting their hair cut to getting their hair highlighted to nails then toenails, waxing, eyebrows. It was too much for any man to keep up with.

Her next stop was puzzling as she pulled into a parking lot and exited her car. Suhdir noticed that she removed her suitcase out of the trunk. Why was she taking her suitcase inside an extended stay hotel in Daly City? It was as if she were checking in and staying, but in Daly City. If she had business in Daly City wouldn’t she be doing that business during the day then coming home at night? This was merely 20 minutes from their house. Sudhir’s mind was entangled with webs from the previous night’s activities, and he knew he was not thinking clearly. He was unable to decipher these events into a scenario that made any sense.

He waited in his designated spot along with several other automobiles for 45 minutes, sitting, staring at the front door of the hotel trying to piece together what was happening. He puttered around with anything he could find; and, as luck would have it, there was a pint of vodka in the glove compartment from a few weeks ago. He took a couple of swigs and felt the welcomed warmth as the liquid penetrated his throat and stomach, cascading through his limbs as the pain from his dehydration seemed to subside.

They say (I have no idea who “they” really are, but they seem to say a lot) that a sure sign of being an alcoholic is using the numbing effect of alcohol to thwart the pain of the previous night’s hangover. Suhdir had just been through too much to care. With the events that had recently shaped his life, he knew he was beyond his limit. He was afraid that what he was about to discover might push him irretrievably over the edge. He wondered if he lost his footing and took the plunge if he would manage the ability to find his way back. Maybe some people are better off not knowing the deep dark secrets that they are surrounded by. Is living in happiness, even if it is a lie, bad? Maybe it is, but maybe it isn’t. Happiness is the key, right? No matter how you get there.

Sudhir exited the car and walked through the front door of the hotel into the lobby. It is about what you would expect from an Extended Stay establishment. The flowered print hanging on the wall, and the indoor/outdoor carpet that was time-warped in straight from the ’60’s. The Formica desk that housed the 20-year-old pimple-faced attendant sitting behind the make-shift furniture with his iPod stuck in his ears, paying very little attention to anyone that might have a question. The lobby was void of humankind, save the two of them. The quiet held an eerie foreboding silence as Sudhir watched the boy beat his hands against his legs in rhythm with the song blaring, which only he could hear.

Sudhir racked his knuckles on the plastic covering that for some reason was in place to protect the Formica desktop. The boy annoyingly took off his earpiece and asked, “Can I help you?”

Sudhir opened up his wallet to show his police identification badge, and the boy sat up straight and, this time in a politer tone asked if he could be of any service. Sudhir simply stated that he was looking for Janine Takhar, was wondering about her stay, and how often she frequented the hotel.

The boy opened up the books without hesitation and stated that she had checked in a little less than an hour ago. She was staying for two days, and she did frequent the hotel on a somewhat regular basis. Sudhir asked for a copy of the last few months’ records, and the boy gave him a printout of what was readily available. It was enough for Sudhir, as it dated back close to two years.

Sudhir stumbled back to the car, not really in control of his bodily limbs. He opened up the glove compartment and guzzled down half of the pint of vodka in one swift inhale. He called his parents and asked them if they would mind watching the kids for the next couple of days. The kids stayed over there frequently enough, so they agreed to pick them up and take over the parental duties.

His mother asked him if everything was okay, saying he sounded odd. He reassured her as best he could. His goal was more focused on getting her off the phone and allowing him to think through what the next step in his quickly disintegrating life might be. Janine had never had business trips out of town. He tried to think back on when this had all started. His memory muddled the dates so he could not pinpoint a time where she had begun this charade.

It didn’t seem fair that his life was imploding. He felt like an aging boxer that was getting pummeled, hit after hit, and he was unsure of when the knockout blow was coming—but he did, indeed, know that it was coming soon. He contemplated going to a restaurant and ordering a huge, juicy rare steak.

If he were going to be punished to this severity, he needed to feel like he had wronged God in some way. He never fully understood the reasoning on why God did not allow him to eat beef in the first place. Everyone else in the modern world did. God, his head was aching, what had he done to deserve this life?

In his trance-like state, he realized that he had actually started the car and driven to his local bar. His autopilot apparently functioned quite well, but was programmed with only one destination. As would be expected this time of day, the restaurant portion was open, but the bar was still shut down. The waitress agreed to his request for a drink and poured him a glass of scotch. He handed her his credit card as he asked for the bottle. She hesitantly obliged, giving over a bottle three quarters full, wishing him luck.

The first three glasses slid down like shots. The liquor found a home next to the ingested vodka from less than an hour ago. He could feel himself already losing the ability to speak, and he was quickly hoping that he would lose all functions. He did see the waitress put down a plate of unordered food and thanked her for her proactive reasoning. He was luckily in a back corner booth of sorts, knew everyone who worked in the bar/restaurant and most of its frequented patrons. He felt he would be left alone to wallow in his self-pity for hours if he could keep from making a scene.

Have you ever painted a room in your house completely on your own? You walk through each doorway, observing the furniture, the style, the décor. It all provided the atmosphere that you had created from bare brick, drywall, and wood. Once you have taken in the essence of your home, you then venture out to Home Depot to spend an hour or two perusing through the paint samples, picking out that one color that will fit perfectly on your wall. You might even bring a pillow or two to match colors, as your memory gets muddied when you look at hundreds of colors at one time.

You select the perfect brushes and rollers and buy all your peripheral gear. You, then, head back to your house where you carefully mask the doors and windows, taping the trim, as well. You commence to paint with the hopes of upgrading the room to a new level. When you first start the rolling process, the yellow you picked out seems much brighter on the wall than it did in the store. You comment to your spouse, questioning whether this is really a good idea.

You both agree that the paint is wet, and once it soaks in, it will bring you the much sought-after change in your lives and future. You roll and roll, then, trim with the brush as the sun goes down. After a full day, you are both tired, so you head to bed. The fumes fill the house and spread the aroma of paint throughout. You crack a window, allowing the fresh air a sneak attack on mitigating the smell.

The next morning you both casually stroll into the room. After spending a few minutes looking at the walls and, then, back at each other you express your displeasure with the color you chose. This was not the intent – this bright, obtrusive, overwhelming aberration. What were we thinking, you both express as you lament over the choice trying to figure out if it is worth the effort now to go through the entire process over again.

If it is this difficult to pick out a color for a bare wall in a house, how do we expect to ever pick out a spouse to spend our entire lives with? Sudhir sat in the booth, drinking himself into oblivion, as he felt the stabbing knife of betrayal being pushed deep inside his chest. Was she having an affair? Most likely, he thought. Why would she spend her days and nights in a hotel? Nobody was home most days, so it made no sense for her to seek escape from an empty house.

Was she trying to simply obscure her life? Was it so horrible to even be in the house that she couldn’t stand the thought of staying there with or without him? How long had she been having an affair and with whom? Did Sudhir know this person that his wife apparently preferred to hold and snuggle? Did he wrap his arms around her as she lay there in bed talking about how horrible her life was, and what kind of an idiot she had married?