Who Is My Fiancée?

I have wanted to break off my engagement to my fiancée for one year now.  She is thirty-eight years old and beautiful—in a wholesome kind of way.  She is lean and athletic and very confident in her abilities.  And she scares me beyond anything I have ever experienced.  I am afraid that if I try to leave her I will end up in jail or dead.  She is not the person who I originally fell in love with.  I discovered that a little over a year ago.  That is when our relationship permanently changed.
 

My fiancée had called me at nine-thirty on a Monday night and told me to come over.  She lived about ten minutes away.  But this was unusual because we did not see each other until the weekends.  To some people that may seem odd.  But that is what our agreement was.  It had not always been that way.  We did it out of necessity.  Because when we stayed at each other’s place during the week we were normally very tired the rest of the week.  We had an extremely active sex life that often lasted until the early morning hours.  And since we each have stressful jobs we could not afford to be tired during the week.  Our mistakes can be costly ones.  I am an architectural engineer inspector for skyscrapers.  She has a job with the federal government in the Consumer Affairs Department.  It requires her to have top secret clearance.  She reads documents and analyzes data on the United States.  That is all I know about her job.  She had told me that was all she could tell me.  And I loved her so much I accepted what she said. 

 

We had both been very busy that week.  So I was pleasantly surprised when she asked me over.  Initially, I pretended to resist her offer.  I reminded her why it was a bad idea.  Then she countered with an offer that convinced me the idea was not so bad. 

 

She was standing in her doorway waiting for me when I drove up.  She was wearing a short black night shirt and holding a bottle of champagne. I asked her what the occasion was.  She said we were celebrating because I had listened to her and come over.  As soon as we closed the door she kissed me.  It was one of her long, passionate, aggressive kisses.  Between breaths she said she had to open the champagne. 

 

We downed two glasses each during foreplay.  Foreplay only lasted a few minutes.  Then we did what was natural to us.  We had sex.  Two years of dating and now engaged and our sex life had not slowed down.  Neither of us had ever been with anyone that we had that much intensity with.  This would be her second marriage and my first.  I was thirty-six and had been in many relationships.  None of them compared to what we had. 

 

After several hours of love making we fell asleep.  She woke me up around an hour later.  I heard her and felt her breath as she whispered in my ear.  “I want to show you something in the guest bedroom.”  I was a little groggy from having the champagne on an almost empty stomach.  I had only eaten some nuts for dinner before she had called.         

 

She took me by the hand and led me into the guest bedroom.  I had a smile on my face and ready for phase two.  The room was dark.  That part of the house was dark.  I assumed she was about to introduce some kind of toy or exotic apparatus into our sex life.  She could be spontaneous when the urge hit her.  She paused before turning on the bedroom light.  “Don’t be mad,” she said.  “I have an explanation.”  I asked her what I should not be mad at.  It must be kinky, I thought.  “Just keep an open mind.”  She flipped on the light switch.  I stared briefly and jumped back.  “Take it easy.  It’s not that bad.”  I had to catch my breath.  “Breathe.  Just breathe.” 

 

A nude male was lying motionless on his back on top of the bed.  There was a lot of blood from his chest down.  He appeared to be Hispanic.

“What the hell?” I said.  She kept telling me she could explain.  She was calm.  Her attitude made me that much more nervous.  “Is he dead?”  She assured me that he was.  “We have to call the police.”  She said we did not and that it would be a dumb move.  “We do.”  She said no.  “What the hell is wrong with you?  What happened here?  Who is he?  Did you do this?”

 

“I need you to calm down and help me,” she said.  “I’m counting on you.”  I asked how I was going to help her.  “First, you need to lower your voice.”  I apologized for not being calm like her.  “I forgive you.”  I sarcastically told her thanks and that her forgiving me made me feel better.  “You know you can tell the level of love a person has for you during a crisis.  And right now I’m questioning your level.”  

 

“I’m sorry if you’re questioning my love because I can’t be as calm as you!” I must have yelled it.  She told me stop yelling.  “There’s a dead body here.”  She watched me pace the floor.  “Does this have something to do with your job?”  She said I knew she could not answer that.  “It does.  Doesn’t it?”  She did not answer.  She only stared at me.      

 

“We’re going to put him in my trunk,” she said.  I told her I was not going to do it.  I was not going help her get rid of a body.  “Do you want to see me go to jail?  Do you know what they do to people like me in jail?”  I told her I did not want her to go to jail.  Then I asked her what she meant by people like her.  “I’m not going to get into that right now,” she answered.  I told her there had to be a good explanation for it if she did it.  “Then help me.”  I told her to tell me something.  I asked her what was going on.  “I did it.  And the explanation will not be of interest to a jury.”  She stared at me.  “Now are you going to help me or not?”  I told her I could not.  “You can.  You can do it.  I need your help.  I’ll explain it later.  I’ll tell you everything, every detail, but later.” 

 

I argued with her for what seemed like a long time about what to do.  “You’re acting like pussy,” she said.  “Be the man I love.  Protect the woman you love.”  I told her she had to do the right thing and call the authorities.  “I’ll do it on my own.  I now see I can’t depend on you.”  I asked her did he rape her.  She did not answer.  She just stared.  I pleaded with her to tell me something.  “Help me roll him up in the sheets and comforter.”  Her tone was cold and harsh.  I stood there.  “Now, please.”  I was feeling nauseas.  She must have noticed my face.  “You’ll be okay.  Turn your head away from him and help me roll him up.” 

 

I was so confused by now I began to help her roll him up in the sheets.  “Wait here,” she said and walked away.  I stood there looking at the body and then looked away.  Within seconds she was back with a roll of duct tape in her hand.  She unrolled and ripped off a piece and taped the sides of the comforter together.  She did this about ten times.  Then she ran a piece of tape the length of the comforter and taped it over the short pieces of tape.  She pressed the tape down on the comforter to make sure it stuck.  Then she laid the roll of tape on a towel on the nightstand. 

 

“Get his feet,” she said.  I looked down at the bulky roll of linen.  The man had to be around one-hundred and seventy pounds.  I was about five pounds heavier than he was.  My fiancé was maybe one-thirty or one-thirty-five.  “We’re going to take him to my car.”  Her car was parked behind her house.  It would be a long walk to carry dead weight from one end of the house to the other. 

 

“Why don’t I take his shoulders?” I said.  “His feet will be much lighter.” 

 

“Thank you,” she said and smiled a little.  “But I can handle it.”  She gripped the comforter tight and pulled his upper body off the bed.  She stayed in a squat position and took small steps backward toward the back door.  She was wearing a tank top and shorts.  Her arm muscles were very visible.  They looked strong.  Veins showed beneath the skin of her arms.  Her legs were the same.  That was the first time I saw how strong she really was.  I knew she worked out.  I knew she was fit.  But I did not know she was that strong.        

 

We struggled to get the body to the back door.  I struggled more than she did.  She maintained a steady pace until we reached the back door.  It was slightly open.  So she pushed it the rest of the way open with her foot.  “Go slow,” she said.  “You don’t want to slip on these stairs.”  We walked cautiously down the stairs.                

 

We laid his body on the ground behind her car.  She opened the trunk and looked at me.  “I can get his upper body in there,” she said.  “Can you swing his legs inside?”  I told her I would try.  “I need you to do it.  Not try.”  She grunted and used her knee to lift the body’s upper torso up and inside the trunk.  “Swing his legs inside.”  The body was in the trunk.  She stared inside the trunk.  I was sweating and feeling sick to my stomach.  “There’s a knife on the counter,” she said.  “Will you get it for me?”  I was trying to breathe to calm down.  “Now would be great.”  She smiled at me.  I stumbled back inside the house to get the knife.  When I walked back outside she reached for it.  I handed it to her.  “Thank you.”  She watched the body for a moment—tilting her head left then right.  Then she turned toward me.  “Turn around.”  I told her I was not turning around.  I was scared she would stab me in the back.  Who was this woman I thought I had known?  “I hope you’re up for this.”  She turned her attention back to the trunk and began stabbing the body over and over.  I ran beside the house and leaned against it.  “Not against the house.” 

 

I could hear her grunting with every stab and the sound that the knife made entering the body.  I vomited next to the house.  “Stop,” I said.  “You’re crazy.  Who are you?  Where’s the person I was going to marry?” 

 

She told me to keep my voice down.  “You sound frantic,” she said.  “You want to attract the neighbors?”  She had left the knife sticking up in the body.  “I needed to make sure.”  I could only shake my head.  “Are you okay?”  She began to walk toward me.  “We’re going to work this out.  This has to be traumatic to you.  It would be for me.  Here.”  She extended her arms to me.  “Come on.  A hug always makes me feel better when you give me one after a long day.”  I was speechless.  What was she talking about?  This was not a long day.  This was murder.  “Let’s go back inside and make love.  Things will look better in the morning.”  She smiled.  I told her I was feeling sick, that I needed to go home. 

 

“That’s a bad idea,” she said.  “You need to stay here tonight.  This would be upsetting to anyone.  I’m even a little shaken by it.”  I told her she did it. Now I was an accomplice.  “No one saw us.”  She reached out and placed her hands on my head and rubbed my head.  I moved my head from her hands.  Those were murderer’s hands, I thought.  “Stay here for the night.  We’ll talk in the morning.  I promise.  Once I explain everything to you, you’ll understand.”

 

“I’m not feeling well,” I said. 

 

“Let’s get you inside,” she said.

 

“I’m feeling dizzy and sick,” I said.     

 

That is all I remembered about that night.  I woke up the next morning naked and in bed with her.  She was laying half way on top of me.  She woke up and told me I was wonderful last night.  I jerked up and asked her about the body.  “Tell me about the dead man,” I said.  She told me it was taken care of and for me not to ever mention it again.  “Is the body still in your trunk?”  She said there was not a body in her trunk.  I got out of bed.  “Where are my clothes?” 

 

“They were too damaged to be saved,” she said.  “So they were thrown away.”  I did not know what to say to her.  “There are a pair pants and a shirt on the chair.”  They were clothes I had left at her place. 

 

I put on my pants and ran toward the back door.  She called for me to come back inside.  I grabbed her keys from the counter on the way out the back door.  When I got out the door I pushed the trunk button.  It clicked and popped opened.  I pushed it the rest of the way up.  It was empty.  I touched the inside of the trunk to see if she had cleaned it out.  It was dry.  I looked for stains.  There were not any.  I thought I was going crazy.  I ran back inside to her.  “What did you do with it?”  She was saying something when I remembered the guest bedroom.  I ran to it.  The bed was made.  There was no blood in sight.  I yanked the sheets and blankets back to reveal the mattress.  There had to be stains.  There were no stains.  I felt the mattress.  It was not wet.  I looked under the bed.  I went back to where she was still laying in bed.  “What did you do?  What did you do to us?”            

 

“It’s not our worry,” she said.  “Just let it go.  Don’t ruin our lives over this.”  I demanded answers from her.  She would not answer anything.  She propped herself up on her elbow.  “Listen to me.  We’re engaged.  You love me.  I love you.  That’s all there is.  Nothing else matters.”  I asked her more questions.  “Nothing else matters.”  That was her answer to all my questions.  I told her I could not live with it.  “Yes, you can.  And, you will.  I won’t allow you to get weak on me.  We have a great life together and we’re not going to ruin it.  That means neither of us.” 

 

The last words she said have had me worrying ever since.  The way she said it was as if she had said all she was going to say on the topic.  Now I feel stuck and afraid when I am around her, and even when I am not around her.  Sometimes I feel like I am waiting to be killed.

Imaginary Friend

The next time your children tell you they have an imaginary friend—you may want to listen to them.

 

Mary and Jerry Gaddis were our babysitters whenever Gene and I had a date night.  Gene is my husband.  Mary and Jerry were our next door neighbors.  They were married with three adult children of their own.  They said that babysitting our children kept them young.  Mary said it allowed them to re-experience the sounds of young children throughout their house on occasion.  Gene was content to let Mary and Jerry get reacquainted with the sounds of three young children racing through their house.  Our children were three, four, and six.  Gene often teased that Mary and Jerry could be on a permanent rotation schedule with us.  Mary and Jerry, both seventy-five, declined Gene’s offer.  But they told him to put their number on speed dial.  They would always help when they could.  They said they remembered being young with a tight budget and little time to enjoy one another after their children were born.  They were like parents to Gene and me.  Our children considered them as extra grandparents.
 

One night, two years ago, Gene and I were on our way to a restaurant.  This was our first date night in six months.  We were looking forward to having our favorite wine with our favorite seafood and some uninterrupted conversation.  We stopped in front of the restaurant and the valet opened my car door and helped me from the car.  Gene and I relaxed the moment we walked into the restaurant.  We had finally got our date night back.  And we intended to enjoy every minute of it.

 

We had scallops in a special seafood sauce for appetizers with a red wine.  We talked and laughed as if we had not seen each other in months.  We barely heard my telephone buzzing.  I checked the number.  It was Jerry. 

 

He and Mary were babysitting the children at our house that night.  Their house was undergoing some kitchen construction.  They were not comfortable having our children there while it was going on.  All the nails and construction materials were too much temptation for small children they said.  But they had said they would still baby-sit for us at our house.  We had showed them where everything was and told them to call us if they were unsure about something. 

 

“It’s Jerry,” I said.  “I’m going to the ladies’ room.”  I held my phone at my side and walked quickly and calmly to the ladies’ room.  There was hallway in front of it.  My phone had stopped vibrating.  Jerry had left a message for me to call him back.  I pressed the call button.  He answered on the first ring.
 

Chapter 2   

 

“Is everything okay?” I asked.  He wanted to know if Mia was to spend the night with my children.  I felt embarrassed.  My children had tricked him.  “Jerry, I’m sorry.  I should’ve told you and Mary.  Mia is their make-believe friend.  Just tell them she can stay the night.”  He said the kids may have a make-believe friend.  But the little girl sitting on the couch with them was real.  He was sure they called her Mia.  “Mia’s their imaginary friend.  I don’t know who this other child is.  There shouldn’t be anyone there right now.  No one is spending the night.”  Jerry said the little girl came downstairs a few minutes ago and sat on the couch with my children.  He said my children said she did not talk much.  And she would not answer him.  “Ask the children what her name is again.  Tell them I said not to play around.”  I heard him ask the children her name.  They yelled Mia.  He said Mary is watching all four of them.  “Jerry, what does she look like?”  He described her as five or six years old and thin with light brown hair.  “Who is this girl?”  Jerry said he did not know.  He thought I would.  He had not seen her before.  “Will you put her on the phone please?”  I heard some rustling and then quiet.

 

“Hello,” I said.  No one answered.  “Hello.  Is this Mia?”  A little girl’s voice said yes.  “Where are your parents Mia?”  She said home.  “Where do you live?”  She said here.  “Where is here?”  She said at our house.  “Will you give the phone back to Mr. Gaddis please?”              

 

Jerry answered yes.  “Jerry, stay on the phone,” I said.  “I don’t know who she is.  She shouldn’t be there.”  He said she was sitting quietly and watching television.  “Jerry, make sure the doors and windows are locked.”  He told me everything was fine and not to panic.  “I know it is.  But we’re on our way.”  He said it was not necessary for us to ruin our evening.  That the girl was probably from one of the families down the street.  “You’re probably right.  But I’m going to hang up and call you back in a few minutes.”  He said for me to please do not panic and that everything was fine.  That he would call me if something changed.

 

I rushed back to Gene and whispered to him.  “We have to go.”  He looked stunned and asked what was going on.  “I’ll tell you in the car.”  The waiter came to our table.  “We need the check please.”  He asked if everything was all right.  “Yes.  It’s a family emergency.  We have children.  Can you hurry please?”  He rushed away.  Gene touched my arm.  “I’ll tell you in the car.”  The waiter came back fast.  Gene paid with cash.  Then we walked outside and waited for our car.  He asked what was going on.  “I’ll tell you in the car.”  There were several valets standing nearby.  The valet drove up with our car.  Gene and I got in and we sped off for home.

 

Chapter 3  

 

“What is going on?” he asked.  I told him Jerry had said the children’s imaginary friend was at our house.  And that she was watching television with the children.  “Didn’t you tell Jerry she was imaginary?’  I yelled at Gene that she was there in the flesh.  And that Jerry saw her.  “That’s crazy.”  He glanced at me.  “Is Jerry okay?”    

 

“He sounded lucid to me,” I said.  I called Jerry back.  His phone rang and went to voice mail.  I called him again and again.  And it kept going to voice mail.  Gene told me to not panic.  Not to think the worse.  Nothing he said registered with me.  “I’m calling the police.”  Gene told me not to overact.  I had already dialed 911.  I told the officer what Jerry had told me.  He said he would send a car over to our address.  I told him we were on our way home. 

 

Gene drove faster.  He slowed down at red lights and then drove through them.  We must have driven up seconds after the police arrived.  They were in our driveway and getting out of their car.  Gene parked on the street and we hurried and got out.  “We live here,” Gene said.  “We’re Gene and Sara Duncan.”  We were walking across the lawn.  The two officers were looking at us.  “Our babysitters aren’t answering their phone.”

 

“Everything is probably fine,” one of the officers said.  “But let us take a quick look.”  I looked at Gene.  He was beginning to look nervous like me.  I assumed the officers knew the situation.  And that is why they wanted to take a look first.     

 

One of the officers knocked on the door and waited.  The other officer was standing behind and to the side of the officer at the door.  He glanced back at us and looked back to the front.  The officer knocked on the door again and yelled, “Police.”  No one came to the door.  The lights were on in the house.  We could see if someone was coming to the door. 

 

“Something’s wrong,” I said.  Gene said it would all be okay.  He began to walk toward the house.  The officer standing behind the other officer met him.

 

“Mr. Duncan, let us have your key to your house sir and please wait here for a moment,” the officer said.  Gene handed him his keys and told him which key opened the front door.

 

“I know something is wrong,” I said.  Gene put his arm around me and tried to reassure me that nothing was wrong. 

 

The officer rushed to the door and put the key in the lock and turned it.  He knocked loudly and yelled, “Police.”  No one answered.  My heart was pounding.  One officer looked to the other.  Both unsnapped the piece of leather that was over their guns.  I know I gasped.  Gene held me tight.  One of the officers put his hand up for us to stay back.  They removed their guns from their holsters.  One of the officers turned the doorknob.  He shook his head.  The door would not open.  He knocked hard on the door again.  “Police!  We’re coming in.  Please stay where you are.”  One the officers pointed to us.  “Stay there.”  He whispered.  The other officer kicked the door open.  I was watching him and the sound of the door cracking still made me jump.  One officer went inside followed by the other.        

 

Chapter 4

 

Lights were on in every room of our house.  We never kept all the lights on.  We watched them go into one room and come out and go into another.  Then they went upstairs.  My fists were clinched.  My hands began to shake.  I kept thinking these are the times you hear about.  Someone accidentally gets shot doing nothing.  What if Jerry had a heart attack and could not answer.  But why would Mary not answer.  What if she was carrying for Jerry and the children were asleep.  What if it was the other way around?  What if something had happened to Mary?  What if they were all at the hospital?  What if something had happened to one of the children?  Gene was rocking back and froth. 

 

“Maybe I should go in,” he said.  I told him no.  The police wanted us to stay there.  I told him they could accidentally shoot him.  “They could accidentally shoot one of the children.  We have to do something.”  I grabbed his arm.  “I’m just going up to the steps.” 

 

“What if they accidentally shoot you?” I asked.  He was pulling away from me.  Another police car drove up with its rooftop lights on.  Two officers got out and introduced themselves.  They told us to go stand on the sidewalk until the other officers came back out.  They too unsnapped the leather covering their guns.  “What’s happening?”  I was losing it, fast.  They told Gene to watch me. 

 

We waited for the first officers to walk out of the house.  We ran to them when they did.  “There’s no one in there,” one of the officers said.  I told them we needed to check the hospitals.  “They’re already doing it ma’am.”            

 

More police would come to our home that night.  But they would not find anything.  No one would be found in the hospitals.  No one would have gone to the hospitals.  They would not find Jerry or Mary or our children.  All of them would seem to have just disappeared.  The police would question me and Gene and decide we were victims of this crime.  But they would have no answers to many questions. 

 

Why was the deadbolt locked from inside?  How did everyone leave?  Why were there no scrape marks on the windows or footprints on the ground below?  How would three young children and two elderly people get out of the house without walking out the doors?  Why would they leave?  Who was Mia?  Where were her parents?  Why hadn’t anyone asked about Mia?  Was she missing?  Did she hold a clue to what actually happened to everyone?  How did she get into the home when she was not in there earlier?  Who let her in?  Why would an elderly couple leave their neighbors and friends?  Why would they leave millions of dollars of retirement money?  Why would they leave their community in which they were so active?

 

Gene and I would talk to Jerry and Mary’s children.  They would tell us that their parents would not up and leave like that.  They would tell us that their parents adored our family.  They would tell us, as well as the police, that nothing was missing from their parents’ house.  Their parents’ cars were still parked in the driveway.  Their wallets and retirement funds were just as they left them.  Their parents’ friends had no answers to what could have happened to them. 

Two months after the disappearances and Gene and I are still waiting and praying for a good outcome.  No leads in the case have ever turned up.  No one has ever come forward with information on any of them.  No one has ever reported Mia missing.  None of our friends or neighbors has ever remembered seeing Mia.  The police are baffled by the case.  Gene and I will never move from this house.  We believe that we will see our children again.  We believe that Mia is the key.  And we are going to find her.