Continuing the story I began on Monday. I meant to get this out yesterday, but things got so hectic I wasn’t able to do anything on the computer at all. Sorry for the wait, here’s part two:
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“How about we start from the beginning?” I asked her. “For starters, what’s your name?”
“Rachel. Rachel Cartwright,” She answered. “My husband’s name is Jonathan Cartwright.”
Rachel. That was a good name for the lady sitting across the table from me. She was beautiful and she deserved a beautiful name. I wondered if her character was equally beautiful. I had my doubts. After all, she had asked me to kill her husband. What happened to ‘for better or worse’, ‘sickness and health’, and all that jazz? Bad guy or not, a woman ought to stand by her man.
“Okay. Now why do you think your husband’s a murderer? You said there was no evidence, and you don’t even have any idea of who he’s supposed to have knocked off.”
She looked down and just sat there quietly for a few moments. I watched her and was beginning to get impatient when she looked back up at me and began speaking.
“I’m sure you will think that my story is a strange one. You might even think I’m crazy, but please, hear me out before you dismiss me.”
“Okay,” I told her. “Go ahead.”
She took a breath and laid her hands on the table and began her tale. As she spoke, I realized if she was a liar, she was the most convincing damned one I’d ever met. She spoke clearly, without any hesitation, and looked me in the eyes the whole time. I found myself being drawn to her, and for a moment or two, idly imagined having a dame like that in my life. That fantasy only lasted for a couple seconds. A woman like that wouldn’t have anything to do with a guy like me. If Rachel Cartwright knew what I was capable of, or had any idea of the things I’ve done or the life I’d led, no way in hell would she be sitting at a table with me.
“It was about six months ago,” Rachel began. “It may have been going on longer that that, but that’s when I became aware that something was wrong. At first, all I knew was that on some nights, I would wake up and Jonathan would be gone. Sometime around dawn, he would come back home. I wasn’t always awake when he arrived. Sometimes I would wake up and go downstairs and find him in the kitchen or the den. Most times, though, I woke up when he came in the house. I would ask him about where he had been, and he always gave me some answer like a client called him, or he had work he needed to take care of, or some such. At first I didn’t think much of it, but when it continued, I suspected that maybe he was having an affair. I was afraid to confront him about that, though. My husband has an awful temper, and he’s unleased some of it at me on occasion. He’s never beat me, or hurt me in any way like that, but over the years I’ve become more and more sure that it wouldn’t take much for him to cross that line. So I just let things be.
Until about two months ago. I woke up, and heard some noise coming from the front walk. I heard a voice and some pounding and stomping, and then someone was fiddling with the door. I got out of bed and quietly walked downstairs. I was halfway down the stairs when the door flew open and my husband came crashing in. It startled me badly, and thank God I didn’t scream. Jonathan apparently didn’t notice me on the stairs, for he just went running through the front room towards the back of the house. He seemed to be in an absolute rage, but that’s not what scared me the most. He was covered in blood. His face, his clothing, his arms, everything. After he was out of the room, I went back upstairs and got back in bed. I didn’t know what to do. I thought of calling the police, but I was too afraid of what he might do in retaliation. Later in the morning, after the sun was up, I went downstairs and found him reading in the den. He was pleasant enough, and asked me if I would make him pancakes for breakfast. I said yes and went to the kitchen and made our breakfast. We ate together and had a pleasant enough time, but I remained dreadfully afraid. He never mentioned anything about the night before and I was not brave enough to broach the subject. After breakfast, he went to work as if there was nothing at all the matter.
Then there was last month. One night I woke up as he was leaving. I heard the door open and shut, and then the sound of the key in the lock. At that, I quietly walked downstairs and looked out of the front window. My husband was leaving on foot. He was running from our driveway and soon was out of sight. I spent the rest of the night scared to death, wondering what he was doing. Around four in the morning, he returned. This time, he came in quieter, but as I was awake, I heard him coming in. He went through the house and then out of the back door into the garden. I got up and went over to the window in our bedroom that looks out over the garden, and I watched him dig a hole, take off his clothing, and bury it. He then started back to the house, and I quickly got back into bed. Jonathan, like before, stayed downstairs, and when I got up for the day around sunrise, again he was in the den. Like the previous month, we had breakfast together and then he went to work, just as if it were a normal day and nothing at all had happened. After he was gone, I thought about going out back and digging up his clothing to see if there was blood again, but I was too afraid. I was sure he would know that I had done that, and what he might do in retaliation I was too scared to even contemplate. So I let it be.”
The lady paused and sat silently, looking down. After maybe half a minute, I cleared my throat and began to speak, but she looked back up at me and held up her hand.
“Please, just give me a minute. I want to finish the story, but this is not easy for me. Please bear with me.”
I nodded and waited. After a bit, she started again.
“You must understand, I did not know what to do, at all. I realized that my husband was a complete stranger to me. I knew I couldn’t just ignore what was happening, I would die inside if I did that. But what could I do? I was terrified of what my husband would do if I called the police. And without any idea of what my husband had actually done, I’m not sure the police would be able to hold him. Of course, then he would come home and I would have to face the consequences of betraying him. Even if I left, I’m sure he would come after me. No, the police offered little hope. But that’s not the worst part of my situation. After the last time, I started examining everything I knew about the matter, and I realized something disturbing that I hadn’t considered, or been aware of before.”
Here she leaned forward slightly and spoke in a quieter voice.
“Sir, when you hear what I’m about to tell you, you might think I’m crazy or delusional, or perhaps so scared that I can’t think rationally. But please hear me out. Last month, I realized that night was the night of the full moon. I looked at the calendar and realized that the month before, the incident had also happened on a full moon. The pattern seemed to fit for the previous months when I noticed him leaving at night. All nights of the full moon.”
She took a breath and then continued.
“I told you earlier that my husband is a monster. And so he is. I believe my husband is a werewolf.”
TO BE CONTINUED
