Lindsey Chalmers, Reborn
Getting away with murder has never been so hard.
Written for the 30 Days of Fright writing challenge, Day 21.
Of course, George and Linda had asked questions. Children do. But watching them cry for their missing father almost made Mary regret killing him. Lindsey had expected complete obedience at all times, then pretended to be human for long enough to win their hearts. His absence now had overwhelmed their minds. They were missing a father they had never really had.
Fourteen hours had elapsed since she had put an end to his tyranny. If someone had someone sat her down and warned her that her soul would split, her consciousness would be rent asunder, she would…
But it wasn't planned. It wasn't her fault that Lindsey had been the kind and caring husband she had always wanted him to be for a week, wearing his borrowed humanity like a cloak, then whipped it off the minute he'd walked through the front door last night. The terror she had felt when he had used that tone had galvanised her. Feeling the walls of his totalitarian domestic regime closing in on her again had bypassed her reason, snatched up the saucepan, and flung the boiling pasta in his face.
But she could have stopped there, rushed him to hospital, and…
Really? Even blind, he would have been unbearable. In fact, he would have had her committed to a psychiatric hospital and claimed custody of the kids. Or had her jailed for assault. Either way, she would have lost everything. He would have used the threat of either or both to keep her on a lead like a dog.
Mary sighed. The kids were out of the house now. She could get rid of the body. There had to be a way.
She had left him cut up in a suitcase on the garage. The car was in the driveway. How was she going to lug that heavy suitcase into the car without the neighbours asking questions?
What if she used something else? There was a load of stuff in the attic that she had been thinking of getting rid of for ages. Lindsey would not let her do it since it wasn't his idea. Now she had a plan.
When the last of the items she had wanted to dispose of was ready, she packed the car, then went to the garage, got the suitcase, and shoved it in.
Plastering a smile to her face, Mary nodded to her neighbours and turned out of her driveway.
The humidity was too high for a comfortable drive. Since Mary's guilt was playing pattycake with her perceptions, she was afraid to wind the windows down in case a dog's bark alerted people to the presence of a murderer amongst them. Every police car set her heart racing. She was convinced they'd pull her over and ask to search the bags.
Eventually, Mary found herself on the outskirts of town. A wrong turn took her to an industrial estate with a large patch of briar-riddled, rubble-strewn wasteland.
Perfect! She could dump Lindsey there.
Passing traffic convinced her otherwise. Too many witnesses. If she dragged that suitcase through the hole in that fence, she would look exactly like a murderer getting rid of the evidence.
What could she do?
She could drop him in the river. No, too many witnesses. She kept driving, hoping to find an opportunity to drop the damning suitcase off. Suburbia gave way to motorway. She drove along, hoping to find a final resting place for Lindsey. A truck stop looked promising. As she pulled into it, she found a curtain-side lorry lying idle. The driver must have gone for a meal after the motorway service station across the road. Mary grabbed the suitcase and pushed the curtain to one side. Then she heaved the suitcase onto the truck. As she pushed it in, two pairs of eyes looked out. She jumped, then, seeing fear in the eyes of the man who were hiding there, she smiled and said, “For you. Take it.”
The men pulled the suitcase onto the truck, and Mary went back to the car and drove home.
The face looking back at Mary from every mirror in the house accused her. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Sleep eluded her. Even the children noticed. It got harder and harder to keep up with her domestic routine. She couldn't eat certain foods.
Every day, she fought a running battle with her conscience. It had started to reframe Lindsey as a misunderstood, but ultimately fragile man. That's not what happened. It was getting to be too much. There had to be something she could do to reconcile herself with the truth of what she had done. Her weary gaze fell upon the kitchen notice board, where he had always stuck that infernal checklist. Following the plan was what he had always wanted her to do.
She hated herself for doing it, but Mary reached into the bin, found the list, and put it back up. She took a pen and began to fill it in.
This story is part of a series:
Lindsey Chalmers, Redux | Lindsey Chalmers: Remains | Lindsey Chalmers: Home At Last
If you, or someone you know, is experiencing domestic violence or abuse, and you live in the UK, go to the Refuge website to find out what to do.