Thy Neighbor's Wife

Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.

            “You’re Lindsey’s mother, aren’t you?”

            Surprised, Jill turned quickly to face the unfamiliar voice and was stunned to find him standing there.   A deep chill coursed through her veins.  What was he doing here?  She couldn’t hide her look of shock and perhaps embarrassment as well, although she did her best not to show it.  He must be talking to her…there wasn’t anyone else in the garage.  Should she answer or should she run?

            “Why, y-yes,” she stammered.  After a tense, rather awkward moment, “I’m Jill Stephens, Lindsey’s mom,” confirming what he already knew.  “And you’re Michael Whitaker,” the words blurted out perhaps a little more forcefully than she intended, causing her blush to deepen.

            He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.  “Yes,” he murmured.

            Feeling the need to offer an explanation but choosing her words with care, she said, “This is a close community.  When someone new moves in, particularly someone with your… ummm… celebrity, word does tend to travel.”  S**t!  He’s standing between me and the door!

            “Yes,” he said, showing his defeat in his face. “People do talk.”

            The silence grew uncomfortable against the background of voices floating into the garage from the barbeque in the backyard.  Jill was somewhat comforted knowing twenty people were only a scream away, but it didn’t completely calm her butterflies.  She looked around for an escape route.

            “I thought we would get away from all that when we moved here from L.A.,” he said.  “I was hoping we would finally put it behind us, for Jake’s sake.  It seems we haven’t.”

            Jill struggled to think of a response.  Jake is his son?  After several uneasy seconds, “Yes, I’m sure it’s been hard for him.”  Following another pregnant pause, she blurted, almost as an afterthought, “And for you.”

            Whitaker smiled at her, catching her off guard.  “I won’t keep you.  I just wanted to thank you for not putting a stop to Lindsey’s friendship with Jake.  After the… well, you know… most parents made excuses for their kids not to come around any more.”

            Jill stared blankly at him for a moment, shocked by this revelation.  WHAT?  Lindsey is friends with his son?   Think, Jill, think!

            “Of course,” she replied, for a lack of anything else to say.  She would be explaining to Lindsey in no uncertain terms the instant they got home exactly why she was never to go to Jake’s house.  She forced herself to look at him.  His eyes were fixed on her.  Say something!  “How is your son holding up?” seemingly innocuous enough.

            Whitaker debated the question for a moment before answering, “All things considered, I guess he’s dealing with it as well as any eight year-old could.  There were some rough times, but things are getting better.  I think the worst part was what he dealt with at school.  Kids can be so cruel.”

            “Yes,” agreed Jill.  He has a pleasant enough voice.  Well, why wouldn’t he?  Ted Bundy did, too.

            “My wife was always talking about moving to Ventura and getting out of the city.  Good schools for Jake and all,” Whitaker continued.  “She had a couple of clients here, so she spent quite a bit of time out this way with her work.  She was always saying it would be a good place to set up shop.  She was a graphic designer.

“So when Jake started having… difficulties with some of the kids at school, I thought a fresh start where no one knew us might be better for him.  Ventura seemed as good a place as any.  It appears there will never be a fresh start for us, though.”

            There was such sadness in his voice, Jill almost felt sorry for him.  She’d seen pictures of him on the television, but had yet to take a good look at him, mostly averting her eyes to hide her discomfort with being so near a murderer.  She gave him a quick once over.  He really was quite an attractive man, tall and well built, with a narrow waist and broad shoulders.  In his short-sleeved shirt, she could see the sinews of muscle in his forearms.  His hands were large and rough, the hands of a man who worked for a living.  His dark hair fell down across his forehead, only serving to accentuate his green eyes.  His nose was straight and his jaw, firm, with full lips and very white teeth.  It was a good face, an interesting face, not the face of a murderer.

            Jill broke from her reverie and wondered how long she’d been studying him.  He was watching her, a quizzical look on his face, apparently waiting for a response.  What was he just saying?  Oh, yeah.  “Yes, I’m sure it hasn’t been easy for you,” she said, repeating herself.  She stared at him, at a loss for what to say next.

            She decided on small talk.  “So, how did you know I was Lindsey’s mom?”

            He responded, “When we got here, I asked Steve Overland and he pointed you out for me.”

            “I didn’t realize you knew the Overlands.  Are you friends with Steve and Margie?” she asked, a touch warily.  She was anxious to know how he came to be here but didn’t want to push too hard.

            “Well, it isn’t quite like that.  Jake and I were walking our dog last week and the Overlands were in their front yard, so I stopped to introduce us.  The guy next door, I forget his name… the guy wearing the St. Bonaventure tee shirt.  He came over while we were there to ask what they should bring to the party.  I think they were kind of embarrassed into inviting us.”

            Jill walked to the back of the garage and peered out the window above Steve’s workbench.  The bench was covered with Steve’s fishing gear and she shoved his tackle box and filleting knives out of the way.  She had a good view of the backyard.  She surveyed the crowd and spotted the green St. Bonnie’s tee next to the oak tree.

            “That’s Jerry.  His son, Tanner, is a year younger than Lindsey.”

She suddenly remembered why she’d come into the garage in the first place.  She turned from the window, walked over to the cooler and pulled a Diet Pepsi from the ice.  At five feet, six inches, she was taller than average and it was mostly legs, which were long and lean.  Her brown hair fell from her shoulders and hung down over her thin face as she bent over the cooler.

She looked back at him over her shoulder, pushing her long hair behind her ear, and caught him sizing her up.  Good Lord, he’s staring at my a*s!  As an attractive woman, she was used to the ogling of other men.  Under the heat of his blatant stare, however, she felt overtly self-conscious, but was surprised to find she felt warmed by his appraisal as well.  It occurred to her that her husband might be less than pleased with this reaction and guilt forced her to look away.  She shifted her position so her backside was no longer pointed directly at his face.

In spite of her uneasiness, she turned back to him and met his eyes straight on.  “Can I get you one?” she asked, holding up the can of soda.

            “No, thank you,” he replied.  “I’m good.”  There was a bit more color in his cheeks as well.  He took the can from her, but only to pop the top and hand it back.

            “Thank you,” she said, doing her best to cover her discomfort.  Get a grip, girl!

            “I really should be getting back to my family,” Jill said, hoping she sounded apologetic.  “It was nice to meet you.”  Then, before making her exit, “I hope you like it here.  It’s a really good neighborhood.  You’re new and still a curiosity, but over time, you’ll fit right in.  You know what they say… time heals all wounds.”

            “I wish I could feel confident of that,” he replied.  “I was already tried and convicted…twice.  I’m hoping I won’t be a third time.”

            “Huh?” was all that came out of her mouth.  Tried and convicted?  Okay, I’m confused.

            “I was put on trial and found guilty, by the media and by the general public,” he said, answering her unspoken question.  “We lived through it twice.  Once when I was arrested and again when the True Crime episode aired six months later.”

            Jill cleared her throat and said sheepishly, “I actually saw that episode.  I’m a bit of an addict of that kinda stuff.  I’m a big fan of Ann Rule’s books.”

            His voice was low and she couldn’t help but notice the tremble in his words as he repeated, “Ann Rule.”  Was that disgust in his voice?  “She contacted me after the show aired and wanted to write my story.  I declined.”  Unexpectedly, he gave a short laugh.  “Who knows, maybe I’ll write the book myself one day.”  After a brief pause, he added softly, “At least the real story would be told then.”

            She couldn’t believe she was hearing the words coming from her mouth.  But there they were, quiet and low, but firmly thrown out there just the same.  “What is the real story?”  Any thought of making an escape left her.

            Her momentary bravado shocked even her.  Whitaker studied her for a few moments and to her amazement, a slight smile parted his lips, showing the briefest flash of white teeth.  She couldn’t be sure if it was a smile or a smirk.

            It was too late to take it back, so she continued.  “Well, the show painted a pretty strong picture of your guilt.  It was obvious they felt you got away with murdering your wife.”  The smile dropped from his lips and she wished she’d put it a little more delicately.  Hoping for a bit of misdirection, she added, “I remember they were pretty hard on the District Attorney for not prosecuting, as well.”

            “Yes,” he responded, followed by silence.

            “So, what happened?” She grew braver with each word, her curiosity surpassing any embarrassment.

            As if resigned to it, he answered.  “There wasn’t enough evidence to hold me, so I was released.”

            Jill responded, “They indicated the DA didn’t want to take a chance with his conviction record on a case where the evidence was mostly circumstantial.  I think that’s how the show put it.”

            “Yes, it did.”  He offered nothing more.

            Now that she had him started, she wasn’t going to let up that easily.  “They didn’t really tell much of your side of the story.  Just your claims that you were innocent and witnessed someone else do it.  They didn’t present it very believably, almost like they were saying ‘yeah, right’.”

            “I did see it happen,” he said, quietly.  “I got an excellent look at the guy and gave a complete description to the police.  I even sat down with their sketch artist and came up with a very accurate profile.  They were convinced I did it, so they never even looked for the guy.”

            “Well, it all seemed pretty convincing.  You threatened her in public and a few hours later, she’s dead and you’re standing over the body, scratches on your face, your flesh under her nails and a bloody knife in your hand.”  Shut the hell up, Jill!  Are you intentionally trying to piss off a murderer?

“That isn’t exactly the way it happened, but yes, that’s the True Crime version.  It appears that’s the version people want to believe, including the police.”  His voice was resigned, with perhaps a touch of anger boiling beneath the surface.

Don’t push it, Jill.

 “So what really happened then?” she questioned, softening her voice.

            Whitaker studied her for a moment.  She could see his mind working, as if struggling with a difficult decision.  Appearing to have reached a conclusion, he began.

“I never threatened her.  We had a loud argument.  That’s all.”

“About?” she queried.  “If you don’t mind me asking,” she added hastily.

He cocked his head and looked at her, an eyebrow raised slightly.  He took a deep breath.  “I suspected her of having an affair.  I confronted her about it.  Perhaps it wasn’t the best timing to do it in the middle of the bank lobby.”

            “Yes, I remember,” Jill said.  “Motive.”  No other words were necessary.

            “The argument continued for several hours when we got home.  When it grew more heated, she locked herself in our bedroom.  I could hear beeps through the door as she punched numbers into the phone.  I went downstairs and picked up the extension in the kitchen in time to hear her say, ‘I’ll see you in a little bit,’ and a man’s voice respond, ‘Okay.’  A few minutes later, she came down and walked out without saying a word.

            “I followed her.  She headed north on the 405 and after crossing over the hill into the Valley, she took the 101 west.  The freeways were crowded, as always, so it was easy to follow undetected, although I’m not certain she even cared.  She exited the freeway and after a few blocks, turned into the parking lot at Lake Balboa Park in Encino.  I pulled into the other end of the lot behind an SUV where I wouldn’t be seen and watched and waited.

            “As the sun set and the minutes turned into an hour, I began to think he wasn’t going to show.  Several times, my wife got out of her car and paced back and forth.  In the fading light, it was difficult to tell, but it appeared she was looking often at her watch.  Then a Chrysler pulled into the lot and parked next to her.  A man got out and stood next to her BMW.  She got out and they walked into the park.  As they left the lot, they passed under a streetlamp and I got a good look at him.  I didn’t recognize him.  I got out of the car and followed them from a safe distance.

            “They stopped and sat on a bench beside the water.  The lamps surrounding the lake cast a dim glow on the park, just enough for me to see them as they talked.  I stood in the shadow of the trees, not able to get close enough to hear what they were saying without being seen.  It seemed they were arguing and the man’s voice grew louder and more animated, but I could only catch an occasional word or two.  He wasn’t happy.  He grabbed her hard by the arm and she wrenched away, rising to her feet and moving away from him.  I heard her sob, ‘I can’t do this any more!’  He jumped to his feet, grabbed her and spun her around.  From where I stood, it appeared he punched her in the stomach.  I broke from my cover and ran toward them.  She collapsed to the ground.  He must have heard me coming because he wheeled around to face me and I got another look at his face.  Then he turned and ran toward the parking lot.

            “When I reached her, I saw the knife sticking from her abdomen.  I screamed out for help and knelt beside her.  She was alive, awake and staring up at me.  She muttered, ‘I’m so sorry’, gripping my hand hard, her nails digging into the back of my hand.  She died right there in my arms.”

            “So the flesh under her nails came from your hand, not your face, like the show said,” Jill stated, interrupting his tale for the first time.  She saw the tears welling in his eyes and at that moment, she believed him.

            “Yes.”  He took a deep breath and continued.  “I wasn’t thinking straight.  I just watched my wife die right in front of me.  In spite of the affair, I loved her.  I was crying out for help and holding her.  I don’t remember doing it, but I must have pulled the knife from her stomach because, when the two witnesses came running to see what was going on, I had it in my hand.

            “You know the rest.  I was arrested, questioned and released.  Then came the media circus and after a couple of weeks, it was decided no charges would be filed.  All of the evidence was circumstantial and I guess the DA thought my story was credible enough to convince a jury.  But I was never cleared.  To the public, I was guilty as sin.”

            “Such a terrible tragedy.  It must have been so horrible for you,” Jill said, real sympathy in her voice.  “You must want vengeance in the worst possible way.”

            “After my experience with our justice system, I gave up hope of the police ever finding him or even looking for him.  For months, I dreamt of hunting him down myself.  I fell asleep at night thinking about all of the ways I would make him pay, should I ever find him.  I understand now, that isn’t what I want at all.”

            “You don’t want him dead?” a touch of disbelief in her voice.

            “No,” he responded.  “Simply killing him isn’t enough.  A moment of pain and then it’s over.  I want him to feel what I feel.  I want him to live a long life, suffering the same loss I’ve suffered and knowing he’s to blame.  I want him to reach out in the night for the warmth of the familiar body next to him and have his arm fall on empty space.  I want him to feel the helplessness of trying to comfort his children when they wake, screaming in the night from their nightmares.”

            He paused, a distant look in his eyes, and Jill could see the muscles tighten in his jaw.

“No, I’m not going to kill him.  When I find him, I’m going to kill his wife.”

            Jill stared at him, her eyes wide, her mouth agape.  The words were frightening, but she thought she understood.  As the chill of his words wore off, she watched his head bow and his shoulders slump, as if in utter defeat.  She could feel his grief and felt the need to comfort him.

            “If it makes any difference to you, Michael, I believe you’re innocent.”  She smiled and put her hand on his arm.

            “Thank you.  That means a lot to me.”  He smiled softly back at her.

            Their eyes met and locked.  Jill felt strangely drawn to him.  She knew he felt it, too.  She saw the hunger growing in his eyes.

            Stop it, Jill!  You’re a happily married woman!

            Whitaker took a step forward and stopped directly in front of her.  He leaned in and her heart began to flutter.  No!  Stop him before this goes too far!  His hair brushed against her cheek as his lips moved close to her ear.

“He’s here,” Whitaker said, almost in a whisper.

            “Who’s here?” Jill asked, still distracted, swimming in her own thoughts.  Her eyes widened as understanding began to float to the top.

            Whitaker pulled back and stared blankly ahead, eyes misty and seemingly unable to focus.  “The man who murdered my wife.  He’s here.”

            “He’s here at this party?  Right now?” exclaimed Jill, incredulously.  “Did you know he was going to be here?”  Then, as the realization struck her, her eyes widened.  “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

            “No,” he answered, “when Jake and I came through the garage into the backyard, I couldn’t have been more surprised if I’d walked in on the second coming of Jesus.  I had no idea who killed my wife, except what he looked like, until I saw him here a half hour ago.”

            “Oh, my God!  Oh, my God!” she repeated breathlessly, as if in prayer.  “What are you going to do?  Are you going to call the police?  Does he know you’re here?”  The questions poured uncontrollably from her gaping mouth.  Then, “WAIT!  Who is he?”

            Taking her by the elbow, he guided her to the workbench and pointed out the window into the backyard.  Her eyes followed his finger.

            “That’s him.  The guy in the blue shirt, drinking a beer with Steve.”

            A furrow crossed her brow, realization slow to dawn, awareness just out of reach.  “Ummm… but… but…,” she stammered, “That’s my husband.”

            Whitaker studied her face, waiting for the birth of comprehension.  The moment it arrived, he picked up a fillet knife from the workbench and pushed the blade between her ribs and into her heart.  Circling her waist, he pulled her close, their faces only inches apart, as if lovers moving together for a last kiss.  He stared hard into her eyes and felt the heat of her gasping breath against his cheek.  He twisted the blade hard inside her, breaking two of her ribs and watched the light fade from her eyes.

 

 

© 2011 Lyle James Parson II

Author's Note

I'm looking for serious critiques of every sentence, every word. You, my friends, are my editors and I need your help. Does it flow properly, is everything explained satisfactorily, is anything over-explained? What could be improved? What made no sense? Whatever you give will be greatly appreciated! Pull no punches!

Thank you to those of you that took the enormous amount of time you did to help make my story better! You're the greatest!

Reviews

[Peony]

Mirrored revenge, what a compelling concept to consider in detail. You flourish in the land of twists and turns, Jim, yet in a timely way, so as not to lose that all important grip on your readers. I love the hint of attraction, and the final act that cuts open what could have been. Another amazing, suspenseful write, Jim! I must keep reading...

[Brian H.]

I thoroughly enjoyed the story. The style made for a quick read and the details made for an engrossing one. The attraction Jill has for Michael is essential, especially when we learn of her interest in True Crime. And the allure of the bad boy is undeniable. I feel the addition of the children is also key, as it humanizes them both and makes the characters relatable. How difficult it must be to have a son and be accused of such a heinous crime. How difficult it must be to watch a suspected murderer waltz into your party, then your garage. But I have two issues that I believe, if addressed, would improve the story.

First, why did the lover kill the wife in such a public place? He clearly planned it, as he brought the knife. But what drove him to it? Why did he think he could get away with it in the middle of a public park, regardless of the time of day? There needs to be a hint of desperation. That if she leaves that park alive his life is over. Could Michael possibly overhear her shouting "I'm going to call your wife when I get home," or something that compels her lover to act, then and there. Otherwise, I question why she went to meet him in the first place and how it all went so bad so fast.

Second, I saw the end coming a few paragraphs before it happened. Not that that's bad, but I wonder if you could leave the reader with more dread, less revenge. Here we have an infamous man who came to a party with his little boy. I have to figure every eye would be on him. Should someone ask: "Where'd that Michael Whitaker get off to?" I would assume half the fingers in the place would point towards the garage. He couldn't possibly think he'd get away with it. And he's definitely not acting in the best interests of his son, with whom we've already come to empathize. In this way, he is as impetuous as the man who killed his wife. As Michael himself said, he wants that guy to suffer a slow burn. Therefore, I think Michael should make his intentions crystal clear but not kill her. Let her stew. Then, when she tells her husband, he'll stew. Let Michael drive the guy mad with fear before he condemns him to a lifetime of grief.

[Jody Claggett]

Wow, I want to read more. Astonishing detail in this story had me on the edge of my seat. I love the delay in the writing, you were able to move the story forward but also hide the details which kept me reading and wanting to read more.

[Justin Robben]

Reading your author's note, it seems the changes you have made are all for the better. I think the tale is quite good, as it is.
Perhaps some improved sentence structure here and there, but I'm nitpicking.

This is EXACTLY the type of tale I would have written, while using just a tad more descriptive sections. But your use of dialogue to tell the tale is perfect.

Bravo; I'm jealous :)

[JohnKal]

It's a very very nice story!!! The plot is very interesting, the ending not awaited and the descriptions very good. I really liked it!!!

[Kathryn Saunders]

It was really a great read! An eye for an eye is a motto tha I love used in stories. You wrote this so well and beautifully, though I must confess that I did guess the ending before it happened. Still, a great, powerful read.

[Steve R.]

Good stuff. Didn't see the ending coming until the, "I'm going to kill his wife," line. The small-talk about the kids is a good way to go with the dialogue. It's believable. The hint of attraction Jill feels is also believable, but if you're looking for a different way, maybe have the son Jake come into the garage and ask for something simple, a soda maybe. The dad says yes and the son says something like, "I love you daddy," and gives him a hug Jill sees the son's love and drops her guard.

[Shellie]

Wow Jim this was absolutely excellent. I'm really enjoying your stories; your an unbelievable storyteller!!! Towards the end i copped what was going to happen but i wasnt really sure, and it ended way different than what i imagined! Excellent.

[Hope]

Whoa. The ending was completely unexpected, which is awesome. I loved how I couldn't stop reading it and it was so dramatic.
That was amazing, I don't think you need to do any more editing.
Awesome job! :)

[Adora.xo]

Oh my... God. I haven't read a short-story that has kept me hooked the whole way through on this site in a long long while. I couldn't look away from the screen! It was wonderful, unperdictable, and intricate! Brilliant write!

~Adora