It is a curious--and one might say, tragically comical--set of circumstances that has brought me to my impending doom, sitting here on death row counting the hours to my execution. I am having a hard time eating my last meal: New York Steak, three eggs, hash browns, orange juice and coffee.
My story should be told. It happened three years ago on a sunny spring Monday morning. I shall never forget it; how could I? I am, or rather I was, a knife salesman by trade. This allowed me plenty of time to travel, but the lonely existence of the road was far more enjoyable than the unmitigated level of wretchedness I suffered when I was at home with Mildred.
Mildred, please understand, was my wife of twenty six years and I suppose I had loved her once. Yet as I strive to recollect the emotion, my search is in vain. All that I can bring to mind is her incessant and constant nagging that gradually etched away my confidence. Each derogative utterance chipped recklessly away at my increasingly fragile sense of self, but as I awoke upon that spring morning, I knew that things were about to change. For on this beautiful spring morning the events that were about to unfurl had been meticulously considered for months...
We awoke that morning as we always did, and her mouth began moving the moment her eyes opened. The insults quickly began streaming out as I made her breakfast; I always made her breakfast, and served it to her in bed. As she examined the tray in front of her the usual bombardment of condemnation flooded.
"Eggs too runny ... Coffee too strong ... Idiot ... and Useless."
This was the typical routine, yet this morning my mood was so highly elevated that I cheerfully withstood the verbal pummeling. At precisely 8:30 a.m. I was meticulously packing my fine German knives in a large stainless steel case for a presentation later that day. I had in my possession a second case, and this one I placed on the bed, empty. Moments later I heard my wife contently singing some wretched show tune in the shower, something from the Sound of Music, I think, but with her it was difficult to tell. I calmly picked up the shiny butcher boning knife from my collection, which is a strong, long narrow knife, and as its name implies, is used to sever through bones.
Perfect.
As I approached the bathroom door, I heard her shrieking out her pathetic rendition of Julie Andrews and the sound of the gushing water. Holding my breath, I opened the door and entered. As I watched her flabby silhouette wobbling behind the floral shower curtain, I could not help but shudder. A moment later, and with a speed that surprised even me, I had thrown back the curtain and plunged the knife with exacting precision into the base of her neck. The shower water continued to gush relentlessly, turning the water into the most beautiful hue of red. Her death was almost instantaneous and relatively painless, I believe, and within a few moments she collapsed onto the floor of the bathtub. I watched fascinated as the blood continued to flow. This is why I had decided upon the shower, so that the blood would be drained away, and after about twenty minutes not a trace of red was left to be seen.
It was then time for the next phase of my plan, and once more I turned to my trusted knife collection and returned the boning knife lovingly back into its place, spotlessly clean and shining. I removed a stainless steel meat cleaver and a butcher's saw. My spirits were rather high at this time; I was enjoying this far more than I imagined I would. I turned my stereo on and the joyous sounds of Beethoven filled the diminutive bathroom.
Perfect.
As I set about my gruesome task I imagined the conductor gallantly guiding the orchestra as they pounded out the Fifth Symphony. I took up the rhythm of the music and orchestrated my movements to it; I was starting to have fun, as her arms and legs came off with relative ease. However the head, which I had saved for last, was a little more trouble; in fact, it took me nearly ten minutes to finally disconnect each stubborn sinew. Finally with one almighty whack from the cleaver the last ligament surrendered to my blade. I laughed to myself as I considered that Mildred was always making trouble; naturally her murder was not going to be an exception.
The body had been cut and sliced tidily into small pieces. I took the suitcase, lined it with plastic bin liners and methodically positioned all of her body pieces in it. I placed Mildred's head on top, and with much satisfaction at a job well done, jubilantly closed it.
Perfect.
I meticulously cleaned my knives and scrubbed the shower using copious amounts of heavy duty bleach. After all of my efforts I surveyed the bathroom; it was spotless.
Perfect.
At this point it was almost 10:30 a.m., which left plenty of time for my drive to West Virginia for my presentation at the hotel association. By 11:00 a.m. I pulled out from the garage of my tidy little house in Ohio in my station wagon. I had the two suitcases crammed into the back, along with my overnight bag. I placed my favorite Mozart CD into the player, and as Piano Sonata Number Eleven filled my ears I started to relax. "Almost done," I thought to myself, "almost done."
I had driven this exact same route many times over the years, and as I sped along the highway I knew precisely what needed to be accomplished. I came to the appropriate exit, which is located right in the heart of West Virginia, and took the adjoining mountain trail into the green hills. I just needed to travel two miles. You see, I had already dug the hole where I was going to dispose of Mildred. I remember looking at my watch then; it was 1:45 p.m.
Perfect.
I had four hours before I had to do my presentation at the conference, which was plenty of time. I hummed along merrily to Mozart once more as I bounced along the logging road. Very few vehicles ever traveled out here so I considered it the ideal spot for the disposal. It was then that the unexpected happened. I felt the car veer sharply to the left and I realized at once what my problem was--a flat tire. As I hastily removed the contents from the back of my car to reach the spare and tools, I cursed nervously to myself.
Still, it was only a minor hitch and I had plenty of time. Thirty minutes later I was racing along the mountain road yet again. It had begun to drizzle at this point, and the road in front of me was quickly turning to mud. These sudden April showers were common enough, but I could not help but wonder deep down that some strange kind of bad karma was beginning to overtake me. I quickly suppressed the growing gnaw of guilt in my gut. This was not going to be as easy as I had imagined after all, and even though I was no longer enjoying the process, there was no turning back now...
I finally made it to my chosen spot with the rain still falling. I hastily got myself out from the car, grabbed a case and dropped it deep into the awaiting cavity. I hurriedly scrambled to fill in the hole and slipped, falling directly on top of the case. As I clambered to my feet I realized that Mildred would have gotten a good laugh out of this. I could just imagine her cackling disparagements at me "Useless, pathetic, feeble, stupid..."
It took almost an hour to cover her up. I hadn't counted on it taking so long and I was really behind schedule now; I was going to have to hurry. I placed the inspiring music of Elgar into my player and turned the volume up to maximum as I once again bounced along the mountain road, back to the freeway and on to my convention. I managed to distract my unfocused, doubting mind by considering what lay ahead of me. The next couple of days were going to be fun, after all; hotel conventions always were.
Two hours later, I hastily pulled into the Charleston Weekender Inn, where the convention was being held. It was now 6:00 p.m. and another two hours before sunset. I hurriedly checked in at the front desk, and as the reservation's clerk handed me my room key, it seemed as though she was eyeing my dirty clothes suspiciously. Did she somehow know what I had been doing? Or was I simply getting paranoid?
In a few moments I was in the hotel room, safely locking the door behind me. I unlocked the mini bar and poured myself a generous quantity of bourbon. As I took a hot shower I kept seeing Mildred's face from the corner of my eye, silently mocking me and causing me to question my own sanity. I remember thinking that I had to pull myself together, that the worse was surely over.
Just at the stroke of 7:00 P.M. I marched punctually into the auditorium, my confidence restored. Several hundred anonymous faces greeted me with polite applause. I studied the carcass of the pig on top of the stage, the expression on the dead animal's face held a spooky resemblance and I shivered. I took a deep breath and lifted my trusty knife set next to the pig, my presentation on butchery was about to commence.
Perfect.
You can imagine my shock when I opened the case. The auditorium instantly became hushed and at first I was unsure as to what had provoked such a surprising reaction. Then I saw Mildred's face, smiling up at me. See, I told you it was kind of funny! You've guessed what mistake I made, haven't you? Of course--I had gone and buried the wrong case.
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