Their still remained before me a daunting task. I knew before I left that I would be in for a nightmare of a journey to get back home. It was cold, and more importantly it was dark, and I needed to cover over forty miles without drawing attention to myself to get home and be ready for work in the morning, and around every corner lurked a demon ready to make me leap from my own skin.
When I reached the end of the driveway I started to peddle along the two lane highway heading west, the direction from which I had come, facing what little oncoming traffic there was. The road was completely unlit and I must admit that my fear caused me to pump the peddles of my bicycle with greater dispensation than I would have otherwise been able. I knew, though, that I could not possibly ride my bicycle all the way home; that my body was not that well conditioned and I also knew that I couldn’t hitch a ride from a local resident so close to Amber’s house. I needed to be miles away before I stuck out my thumb in beggars’ fashion.
I hadn’t ridden a bicycle in years, and I was grateful for the hard work with Tony that put my muscles in good enough shape to force myself forward, but my lungs were not so hearty as my legs and arms and I huffed and puffed as I pushed my bike up an incline, the devil in the dark my driving inspiration. Strange as it seemed, as long as my bike was moving forward at a decent rate of speed my anxiety was reduced to a fairly low level; but on the inclines as I peddled with every ounce of will, my speed would slow to an intolerable level and the adrenaline would begin to flow through my veins and propel me forward.
After approximately seven exhausting miles of peddling and what seemed like hours I turned south onto a road that ran parallel to the main highway, interstate one-thirty-five into Hutchinson. The flow of traffic on the highway was heavy but as I peddled along the marginal only a few cars passed me. After a few miles I ditched my bicycle in the dumpster of a machine shop and I climbed, my legs wobbly and unsteady from labor, a steep embankment up to the freeway just past a toll booth where traffic was forced to stop and pay, and there I sought out a semi with California license plates and I was given a ride by a husky hairy bearded man in a red flannel jacket who was hauling frozen dog food from a plant in Pittsburgh. I did my best to shield my face though the cab was dark and I doubt that the driver could have gotten a good look at me anyway. Besides, he would be long gone before any investigation would begin.
He gave me a ride all the way to Wichita where he dropped me off on the berm of the freeway within a half dozen blocks of my house. I hopped the chain-link fence that divided the highway from the houses and I walked the remaining distance to my house lazily; my body having been exhausted of all my strength from peddling my bike. When I got home Melanie was asleep on the couch with Sarah snuggled next to her. It was a scene that I had rarely witnessed with Catherine and it made me hopeful that we could perhaps become a family.
I sauntered into my bedroom and looked at the bed. I couldn’t sleep on the mattress that held such horrid memories. I couldn’t let Melanie sleep on such a bed either.
I would have to dispose of the mattress very soon. I would have to burn it to destroy the evidence. I would have to clean the rooms of the house with diligence to be sure that no trace of Amber was left. The garbage bag full of
Amber’s belongings along with her bag of toys was stuffed in the closet. They too would have to be disposed of. But my priority was to get everyone out of my house and into Melanie’s house. It was too late for that then so I grabbed a blanket from the linen closet and a pillow from the sofa and I crashed on Sarah’s bed amidst her big fluffy stuffed brown teddy bear and an array of other lifeless creatures.
13
A blunder of such monumental proportion should not have caused me to laugh but the morbid humor of my misstep was more than I could contain. On the drive home from work the next evening, as was my habit, I listened to a classical music station because it helped me to relax. At the six o’clock hour the music was interrupted by the news and after hearing about the Ohio democratic presidential debate between Senators Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton and other national news the commentator read the local stories. An accident on Interstate one-seventy-six was causing a delay for south-bound traffic into Wichita; a fire on thirty-second street a week earlier was determined by the fire marshal to have been deliberately set; and a missing woman, Amber Havisham, was found naked and dead in the bed of her next-door neighbor.
The proprietor apparently slipped into bed with the corpse thinking that it was his wife (whom he’d been at odds with and had recently made a habit of sleeping in the guest bedroom) beneath the covers. The man, Christopher Kohler, thought that his wife had thawed from her disagreeable state and he slept with the corpse at his side until morning at which time he decided to attempt to rekindle their love. It was then that he discovered the body.
I laughed out loud at the poor sod I had mistakenly set up for the crudest of unintended practical jokes. I pictured in my mind his surprised expression. I felt awful and tickled at the same time. Keep in mind I’d been there twice before myself and I must tell you that waking up with a corpse in your bed is about the freakiest thing in the world. I wondered how long it would take for poor mister Kohler to recover from that shock. I supposed that there were two mattresses that would never again be slept upon. If I had gone to the correct house I would probably have been caught.
So tickled was I that when I arrived home to a somber Melanie, who had by then heard the news of Amber’s death and supposed, as did the police, that Amber had been killed by the wife of the cheating Mr. Kohler, that I couldn’t help but to smile and occasionally chuckle to myself despite my most concerted efforts at feigning an acceptable level of grief over Amber’s death. Melanie, regardless of her jealousy and anger, had had a long and close relationship with Amber and I could tell that she was a bit shaken by her death. And I knew that the timing would be awkward but I suggested it anyway,
“Melanie honey, how would you feel about all of us moving back into your house?”
“Why not?” she said, “We’re practically living together anyway.” My suggestion seemed to lift her spirits as she forced a smile.
“How would you feel if we started tonight? I really don’t want to sleep with you on the same mattress where Amber and I slept. There’s something just wrong about that now that all of that is behind us.”
She smiled at my chivalrous notion. “If that’s what you want it’s fine with me but we might as well eat here. Dinners ready and the table is set.”
After dinner Sarah and I packed enough things to last us a few days and over the course of the next few days I went about slowly moving what few possessions we had accumulated to Melanie’s house. I borrowed Tony’s van on the pretense of moving my furnishings and I instead disposed of the bloodied mattress and box-spring in a vacant lot several miles closer to town by saturating them with gasoline and setting them afire. I tossed the bag with Amber’s clothes and her bag of sex-toys onto the pyre and I left before any notice was taken of the blaze.