Blood Red Roses

I spent the last six months of my life troubleshooting a huge engineering project and should have been flying to San Diego to meet with the west coast team. It had been almost three weeks since I had slept in my own bed and living out of a suitcase was taking a strain on my marriage.

Then a miracle happened and I resolved all of our problems two weeks before the deadline. The client was so impressed they handed me a check for $50,000-- my bonus for finishing early-- and told me to take a well deserved vacation. They must have read my mind and handed me a first class ticket home. This was the flight I had been dreaming of.

I decided to surprise my beautiful wife Lynda and not call first. I was counting the minutes until she would be in my arms.

I had arranged for a limousine to take me home from the airport. As eager as I was to get home I had him make a couple of stops. First, a florist where I bought two dozen long stem red roses. Our next stop was a liquor store where I picked up two bottles of their best Champagne, a Styrofoam cooler, and a bag of ice to chill the bubbly for our welcome home celebration.

The driver offered to carry my luggage inside. Not wanting to spoil the surprise I had him park a couple of doors away and stash my bags in the garage. I tipped him very nicely.

As I walked up the front walk I tore open the florist's paper and fanned out the roses out so they would block the peephole. I never use the front door and knew Lynda wouldn't open it without checking to see who was out there. All she would see would be twenty four of her favorite flower.

I rang the bell. Lynda opened the door dressed to the nines. "You're early!" She sounded excited. "How did you know I love red roses?"

It took a moment for that comment to sink in. "Since I brought you one on our first date." I said without thinking as I lowered the bouquet. Her eyes grew huge and she screamed when she saw me. It was not a good scream. All the color left her face. I could smell fear in the air.

This is bad. Very bad. I thought.

I dropped the roses. She did not move.

We both stood frozen in silence, staring at each other. Lynda looked like she had seen a glimpse of hell. I'm quite sure I looked the same. It was obvious what was happening. I don't know what held me back from grabbing her by the throat and strangling her. I felt sick.

Lynda spoke first; her voice quivered with emotion as her mouth fought to form the words. "I thought you were going to San Diego."

It was at least a minute before I could answer.

"Who were you expecting?"

"No one." She stammered.

That lie exploded the reality of the situation to me. My wife was stepping out on our marriage. "You must think I'm a total idiot." My voice filled the living room.

"If you want to have any chance of coming out of this still being married you will confess everything before your date gets here."

Lynda passed out and hit the floor hard.

I stood motionless staring at her prone body. Her skirt was up around her waist exposing her maidenly charms. I turned and threw up all over the living room couch.

It wasn't much more than a minute later when there was a knock on the door. I looked through the peep hole and saw a smarmy looking home wrecker in a cheap sport coat. He knocked again, this time with a bit more effort. I retrieved my gun from its hiding place in the buffet before I opened the door. I checked. It had six hollow point bullets in it.

The stupid son-of-a-bitch actually walked into my house with an I'm here to fuck your wife and there's nothing you can do to stop me grin. He made it all the way into the foyer before he saw me. I slammed the door behind him.

I'll give him credit for being a quick thinker. "Errrrr, good afternoon Mr. Harris," he stammered. "My name is Clemson, William Clemson. I'm with your homeowners insurance company."

He actually had the nerve to extend his hand as if he thought I would greet him as a friend. No, I greeted him like Jack Ruby greeted Lee Harvey Oswald. I shoved my .38 special in his gut and blew a big hole in my wife's lover.

He crumbled to the floor. His blood began to stain my carpet. He looked terrified. For a second, maybe two, I was worried I had shot an innocent man.

Then Lynda screamed, "You shot Bill!

"No shit. And I'm going to shoot you too."

My wife ran to the kitchen and grabbed a towel. She got down on her knees and began to apply pressure. "Please, call 9-1-1."

You really don't get it, do you? "Don't you remember what I did when I caught the punk that stole my lawnmower."

"You beat him half to death."

"And what makes you think I wouldn't kill the man who is stealing my wife."

Lynda actually got indignant. "You don't own me."

I ignored her stupid comment.

"So asshole, are you married?" I slapped his face to get his attention.

"Bill! His name is Bill!" Lynda shouted as though it mattered.

"So asshole Bill, are you married?" When he didn't answer I stepped on his fingers. He screamed like a girl. I pointed the gun in his face.

"I'm going through a divorce." His voice trembled.

"And what are the grounds?"

When he didn't answer I placed my heel on his hand and began to apply pressure. "I cheated on her!" he shouted.

"Do you have any children?"

"Two girls."

"And the woman you cheated with?"

"She's also getting divorced."

"Does she have any children?"

"She also has two girls."

I looked at Lynda. "Three marriages destroyed because asshole Bill couldn't keep his pants zipped."

She mumbled something about I didn't know.

Other than on TV I had never watched a man bleed to death. I don't know why I remembered but they always called it exsanguination. The color was fading from his face to a sickly pale. Yeah, I would say he was dying.

"That means four children will grow up in broken homes because of your boyfriend. So asshole Bill how many affairs did you have before your wife caught you?" I tapped my foot on his hand. "Three...no four." His breathing was becoming labored.

Lynda dropped the towel. "You son-of-a-bitch. You said I was the only one...you said you loved me." She buried her face in her hands and began to sob.

"Look at this piece of shit. He's dressed like a used car salesman. And you destroyed our marriage to become just another notch on his cock. Well, was he worth dying over?"

Asshole Bill began to cough up blood. I was tempted to put him out of his misery. He motioned me forward. He could barely speak. I thought he was going to beg for his life. Instead he managed, "fuck you and your whore wife."

It took all of my willpower not to end his suffering. Instead I drew strength from it knowing what I had to do next. The entirety of my being was consumed by hate.

Lynda heard what he said and was curled up in a ball on the floor sobbing.

It took almost five minutes before Asshole Bill went to wherever dead adulterers go.

I walked over to my wife, "It's your turn now." I pointed the gun at her.

She began talking a mile a minute, begging me to let her live. Funny, she never said she was sorry she had stepped out on our marriage. No, she was too busy trying to get her death sentence commuted.

"If I don't kill you I'll go to prison and you'll be free to fuck every loser in town."

"No. No. I have an idea. You could call the police and we can say he was attacking me. You came home and rescued me. You'd be a hero,"

"And how many people know you were fucking this piece of shit?"

"Only Karen at the office."

"Karen, the one you call the gossip queen. How long would it take her to tell the police you two were lovers."

"Okay, then how about this. You could bury him in the woods. And while you're doing that I would drive to the hardware story to rent a carpet cleaner."

Like I would be stupid enough to let her drive anywhere. I patted the pistol in my pocket. No, she had die too.

"Please, Ronnie. I screwed up big time. But I promise I'll never do it again."

"Do you realize you have never once said you were sorry for betraying me...our marriage. Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you."

Lynda wiped her nose on the sleeve of her silk blouse. Then she hugged me and gave me one of her crooked smiles that she knew I couldn't resist. "Because I'll always love you."

I looked her square in the eye and smiled back. The bullet screamed out of the gun at about 1,000feet/second. Lynda was dead before she felt anything. I caught her body so it wouldn't collapse to the floor. Her death was so sudden she was still smiling.

I like to think the last thing she heard before waking up in eternity was me saying, "And I'll always love you too."

I carefully laid her down on the carpet then picked up the roses. I arranged them around what was left of her face. She looked like an angel. I spent the next couple of hours sitting next to Lynda, telling her all the plans I had made on the flight home; a second honeymoon in Hawaii...anything she wanted. Every dream I had, we had, would never come to be.

I had a couple of things I needed to do, including writing a timeline for the police so they knew why I did what I did. I went upstairs and got a pair of panties out of Lynda's dresser. I didn't want the police to see her undressed.

Then I said a prayer and asked God to cut me a break.

When I could think of no other reason to postpone the inevitable I laid on the floor next to my wife. I held her hand as tight as I could and told her I was sorry. I kissed her goodbye and asked for her forgiveness. I didn't even feel the bullet tear through my brain.

Epitaph

When your husband caused a double murder suicide you don't receive a lot of deepest sympathies cards. No, most of what Marie Clemson received were pretty nasty; more than a few blamed her for what happened. Some sadistic bastard kept mailing her copies of newspaper stories with "It's your fault" scribbled across them with a red marker.

After a couple of days she began throwing all her mail, unopened, into a large cardboard box.

The landlords five day eviction notice was delivered in person by a sheriff's deputy. She had nowhere to go and was terrified he would be back to take her daughter's from her.

Marie was going to dump the box in the dumpster but decided to see if there was anything but bad news inside. One stood out; an envelope with her name and address written in perfect cursive penmanship.

Curious, she slit the envelope open and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She almost collapsed in her chair when she opened it and saw it was a Money Order in the amount of $50,000 made payable to her.