Lessons Learned

LESSONS LEARNED

By

Adam Balfour

My name is Jacob Wilcox, Jake to my friends. I am writing this as a statement of fact, that there will be no questions about why or how I have done these things. I write this of my own free will and be assured, it is the truth. But, enough of this boring shit, let's get to what you're really here for.

            It all started when I found out that she had betrayed me, my beloved Stacy. She was cheating on me and I had caught her with her pants down, pardon the pun.

            I had suspected it for a few months, until I decided to follow her one night and see for myself. I parked down the street from our little bungalow and called her from my cell.

            “Honey? I'm going to be late getting home tonight.”

            “Oh? Why's that dear?” I couldn't help but notice the smile she was trying to hide from her voice. When you're married, you sense these things without even realizing.

            “Just some last minute drafts I have to draw up for Monday.” This should cover for the lack of machinery running in the background.

            “That's okay, Babe. I'll just be watching a movie tonight, then.” That faint little smile wasn't so faint anymore.

            I ended the call and settled in for a bit of a wait. I didn't know if she would go to him or him to her, but I was ready for either. It turned out I didn't have to wait long, she came out of the house ten minutes later. She was wearing one of her skimpiest evening dresses, which I knew from experience didn't take longer than thirty seconds to get her out of. Even though she was dressed for someone else, I couldn't keep myself from taking a second to admire her beauty.

            She got into her little red Mazda Miata, started it and drove away. I waited another thirty seconds or so and started after her. We drove a straight-shot through town for almost twenty minutes. Just as I was getting worried that she was onto me, she pulled into a seedy-looking motel called The Oceanside. I smirked to myself, What a stupid name for a place in the middle of the fucking country, no oceans here for thousands of miles.

            I pulled up and parked half a block from the motel, walking back toward the parking lot, I noticed a diner across the street. I went inside and sat in a booth near the window, watching the motel intently. I must have had quite the look on my face, the waitress gave me a second glance as she poured my cup of coffee. I had no idea what I was doing – not then. I sat there, continuing to watch the motel.

            After roughly three hours and about a gallon of coffee had been poured, she finally came out. This was where she made the first of two grievous errors. She left the room at the same time as her new toy, kissing him before stepping to her car; which was parked in front of the room. My how comfortable we are when we think we're alone, I thought, smiling. The guy she was fucking locked the door to their room and as he turned toward the office, I caught a glimpse of his face.

            Anger instantly began boiling deep in my gut, she had been having an affair with Tim Reid. Tim had been our neighbour for two years, I had gone fishing with him numerous times over the years. I thought he was an okay guy, had no idea he was secretly trying to snake his way into my bed the whole time. So much for what I'd thought.

            I knew Stacy would be headed home, she would want a shower and to change before she expected me home. Which would be about an hour or so, following my usual schedule for a late night. I chose to use the hour to sit and plot a course of action. I knew two things about how I was going to handle it: first, I wasn't confronting her about it. She would only deny it and get defensive. Secondly, I wasn't going to do anything to her, at least not directly.

            It took surprisingly little time to formulate my plan, I had over half an hour to sit and sip coffee without a further care in the world. Feeling confident with my plan and having no worries of getting caught, I got up and left, the total for my coffee and a rather large tip laying on the table.

            I drove home fairly quickly, still floating on the high of having devised my plan. I pulled the Challenger in behind her Miata and went inside. The house was dark, with a soft glow coming around the gaps between door frame and door to our bedroom. There was the scent of rose oil as I approached the door. As the scent teased my nostrils, the slight grin on my face grew to a broad smile. I opened the door; she was lying there, smiling wickedly, curled up and facing the door – naked. Oh, she's good,  I thought as I closed the door behind me. I went to her, she is my wife, after all. I went to her and, heaven help me, it was good.

            There was hardly any foreplay, she was still excited from earlier; it didn't take much to get me going either. We fucked for a good three hours, fucking is all it really could be called. There could be no love left in her.

            Over the next few weeks, I put my little plan into action. The first step took the most time and preparation. I spent three Friday nights in that little diner, watching, waiting, taking notes. Their pattern didn't vary much at all, however, the first night I followed Tim home almost proved disastrous.

            He would take a path to his house, almost exactly opposite the one Stacy took. Halfway to his house that first night, he made a sudden turn into the 7-11 parking lot. I thought for sure he had seen me, making the first right and going around the block – moving slowly up to the lot – I hoped he was just buying smokes or something, that my cover wasn't blown. I had lucked out, as I crept into a vantage point, I saw that he was at the cash register. I circled the block again and waited for his car to pull back out. The rest of our journey went off without a hitch and did so every other time.

            The first Saturday of that three weeks, I took one of two weekend classes which would get me a firearms permit. Following my class the next Saturday, I immediately went to Alexson's Firearms and Ammunition, to pick out the tools I would need. As I looked over the selection of firearms, the one that caught my eye was a 1911 Colt .45.

            “Great choice, sir. I own two of those myself. They're nail drivers, perfect for home defence.” The clerk said with a wistful, dopey grin. I spent a moment, wondering what memory I had accidentally dredged up and if I was going to have to sit through it.

            “Perfect, I'll take a box of rounds as well.” I thought for a second. “Hell, make it two boxes.” Figuring I would want to practice with it a fair bit before the big day. I went over to the display case along the far wall, there was a rather extensive selection of knives. Surveying my options, I saw a few that were almost what I needed, but not quite. Just as I was about to settle on the closest not-quite match, I found the one I originally wanted. A bear of a knife with a seven inch blade and a three inch serration along the backside. Smiling, I motioned the clerk over.

            “I'll take this, too. And do you have any rope and climbing gear?” Realizing a guy buying a gun, knife and rope would look very suspicious. I hoped requesting the climbing gear would make me look more like a man interested in being a weekend warrior.

            “Yeah, right over here.” He gestured to the racks over his left shoulder. “How much rope you need? I have to cut it for ya.”

            “Fifty feet is all I need.” As he went to his backroom to make the cut, I went to the racking and grabbed a couple packs of pitons and a hammer, some boot-spikes and a backpack. I carried everything to the cash register, just as the clerk came back with my rope. “How much do I owe you?”

            A few quick punches on his till, “The Colt, the rope and gear, your knife...let's see...$1549.89 and a look at your PAL all told.” He pronounced the acronym as a word, instead of the individual letters.

            “No hold on the pistol?” I asked, with an eyebrow raised and my PAL and Visa cards extended.

            “Nah, the internet has pretty much killed that silliness,” he said, punching numbers into his Interac machine after an unseeing glance at my firearms licence.

            “What an age we live in, eh?” I replied, sliding my Visa into the machine.

            “No kidding, pal. Take it easy.”

            I spent most of my lunch breaks down at the shooting range for the next few weeks. Wanting to make sure I could hit the mark, first time, every time. It only took a few days for me to get that point. By the week of my big day, every shot looked as if the gun was more an extension of my own arm, than something held in my hand.

            As the weeks progressed, I would watch Tim and Stacy’s behaviours more closely. However, there was really no change in any of their other mannerisms. Quite sly, those two were. By the fourth Friday since that nigh I first followed Stacy, I decided it was time to execute the last stage of my plan.

            That Friday, I made my usual call to Stacy from my cell and waited for her to leave. Knowing where she would go, I waited at the diner. As she pulled up to the motel, I lifted the cup to my lips, a small smile touching my lips. I drank a couple more cups of coffee and waited, the time must be just right.

            About an hour later, I walked over to the motel; right up to their door. I brought my hand up to knock, then thought about it again; I tried the knob instead. It turned freely, I pushed the door open and stepped in quietly.

            As the orange glow from the arc-sodium lights in the parking lot momentarily filled the room, I saw them; her on top, body gleaming as she moved her hips. She brought her head back, letting her mouth drop open in a moan she kept to herself. I smiled again, noticing that she had her eyes closed, I knew she was only fucking him because it felt good; there was no emotion in it. Closing the door quietly and drawing the Colt, I moved toward the bed.

            I pulled the hammer back on the gun as I pressed the muzzle against Tim’s head, his eyes flew open instantly. Leaning close to Stacy’s ear I whispered, “Hi, Honey.” I heard her gasp in total shock.

            “Jake?” she asked, alarmed as her eyes flew open. Turning her head to verify what she already knew, her hips stopped that steady circular motion I know so well. Panting softly, “Jake, sweetie, I’m sorry—“

            “Save it. Tim? What’s wrong, Tim? Nothing to say? Or is it the gun to your head?”

            Swallowing hard, he said, “Jake, it’s not what you think—“

            “Not what I think? Well, that’s funny ‘cause I think it sure looks like you’re fucking my wife. And from the look of it, you were both enjoying yourselves quite a bit. Unless, of course, I dropped some really killer acid I don’t remember taking.”

            “You…you don’t understand, baby…”

            “What don’t I understand? That I’ve been working hard to run a successful business to provide for us? That you’re lonely and our bed’s been cold?” I dropped my eyes to Tim, glaring at him, my heart burning with fury. “No, I understand that perfectly. What I don’t fucking get, what I don’t fucking understand, is how this pile of shit can look at me like he’s fucking innocent!” I pushed the barrel of the Colt more forcefully against his temple. Stacy slowly lifted herself from Tim’s lap, I looked away, unable to see my wife like this any longer.

            “Stace, sit in the chair. I want you to see this, you both need to learn a lesson tonight.” Hearing the springs in the chair squeak I refocused again on Tim.

            “So, you think you’re innocent? That it’s OK to fuck another man’s wife?” My finger tightening on the trigger, the hammer quivering in its little notch.

            “N-no, Jake. I-I’m sorry—“

            “I almost believe that you are sorry, Tim. Almost.” I squeezed the trigger, until the Colt made a muffled report and kicked in my hand. Blood splattered my face as the bullet destroyed whatever brain he’d had. Tim Reid learned his lesson.

            As my head cleared slightly, I heard the springs of the chair squeaking rhythmically, Stacy’s breathing deepening. I turned and saw she was masturbating, I smiled as I felt a twinge in my pants. Her eyes were closed tightly, her legs quivering and she let out a long, low moan as she climaxed. She opened her eyes and closed her legs tightly, her hand still between them.

            “Go get cleaned up, honey. Your lesson isn’t over yet.” I couldn’t afford to delay her half of my little learning session any longer. I had to be sure that it all sank in. She got up and started to gather her clothes up, heading to the bathroom. I heard the shower start a few moments later, that’s when I started to clean the room.

            I picked up the shell-casing from the dingy, decades-old, motel carpet and began to wipe down absolutely everything I even suspected I’d touched. I heard Stacy turn off the shower after I’d gone over about half the room. By the time she came out of the bathroom, with her clothes exactly right, hair done and make-up perfect; I had finished wiping for prints.

            “Okay, baby, wait here. I’m going to get some things from the car, then we finish your lesson.” I jogged quickly to the car’s trunk, looking every which way I could, trying to see every direction at once. It didn’t look like any of the other guests at this sleazy dive had heard the gunshot, or cared if they had. I pulled out a rather large suitcase, I had loaded it with a bottle of bleach and the rest of my gunshop purchases. As I moved back to the motel, I walked casually, doing my best to keep a natural pace. I tell you, I deserved an Academy Award for that walk.

            When I got to the room, I closed the door quickly and dropped the bag on the floor. I knelt and began emptying it as Stacy watched me. I handed her the bottle of bleach and told her to wrap the body in the bedsheet, then pour the bleach over the whole bed. She got the idea and took extra care to soak the bloodiest areas, even remembering that she’d showered and pouring some over the floor of the tub. That done, I tossed her the rope and the knife.

            “Okay, now tie the sheet around him with that. Make sure the knots hold.” After she had finished, I moved over and yanked the knots a few times, checking that they would hold. That done, I told Stacy to stand back and rolled Tim’s body into the empty suitcase. My guess on volume versus body size was adequate, just barely.

            Zipping the bag shut, I picked up the package of sheets and pillowcases that were the last item in my bag of tricks. I tore the package and cast one end of the fitted sheet to Stacy, we unfolded it and slipped it on over the bare, bloody, bleach-soaked mattress. We did the same with the pillows and the top-sheet.

            I looked around the room, hoping that our precautions would be enough. I had heard somewhere bleach makes blood and hair evidence virtually useless.”Stace, tell me you and Tim were thinking straight enough to use fake names…”

            “Of course! I insisted on it. I know you’re not dumb, you’re busy, not stupid.” She smiled, like the cat who caught the canary.

            “Thank Christ for small favours.” I bent to pick up the suitcase and quickly found that would be impossible, much less would I be able to move it to the car discreetly. “Tim was fatter than he looked,” I panted.

            I thought for a moment, then realized Stacy had backed her car into the spot in front of the room. I also remembered that when we bought the Miata, I had joked with her about the trunk being just big enough for a body. Entirely innocently at the time, little did I know what I’d be considering later. “Ok, Stace, pop your trunk. Look around for any rubber-neckers, but, don’t be obvious about it.”

            “You’re not suggesting…but…my car,” she frowned.

            “I’m not suggesting, I’m telling you. You’re in this, too. Takes two to tango and all that. Now, go.” She went.

            She stood just outside the door and used the little key-fob, that had come with the car, to release the trunk lid.   Her eyes were darting back and forth, looking for anyone watching, she kept her body leaning back against the doorjamb and tried to look as relaxed as possible. She did a fair job. “Honey, trunk’s open, ready for the suitcase.” Sounding just as sweet and tender as you please.

            I hefted the bag onto my shoulder and went out to the car, staggering a bit under the weight. I lifted his body into the trunk, with a grunt. Tim, you heavy motherfucker, I thought to myself, as my shoulder thanked me for making it quick.  I dropped the lid on the trunk and turned to see Stacy heading toward the motel office. My eyes wandered admiringly to her hips, the sway of her hips as she walked was something that has captivated my attention since I met her in high school.

            I got in behind the wheel of her Miata, fired it up and drove to the front door of the office. I killed the engine and walked to my Challenger. As I opened the door, Stacy was coming out, I looked over my shoulder at her and smiled. “Meet me at the shop. We’re almost done.” I dropped in behind the wheel and drove away.

            I pulled up at my shop well before Stacy, I waited in the car for her. I turned on the radio and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel in rhythm to the Rolling Stones’ Satisfaction. I can get some satisfaction, Mick, I thought. Stacy pulled in as the song ended, she opened the trunk before opening her door. When she did open the door, the dome-light showed me her eyes, which were full of excitement and passion. I smiled, again.

            I walked around the car, pressing the trunk shut as I passed. “That stays put for just a few minutes. We’ll back the car up to the loading door around the side.” I held the door as she got out of the car, swinging around it and sliding into the driver’s seat, when it was vacant. I pulled the car around in a whirl of dust in my soon-to-be poured parking lot. I drove toward the large overhead-door, yanking up on the handbrake and spinning the back end around just in front of it.

            Stacy had gone inside the shop using her key, she had the door rolling up just as the rear of the car came to a stop. As the door rolled up, I opened the trunk again. I walked over to Stacy and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek before moving toward the back wall where I kept the material trucks. I grabbed the handle of one and wheeled it over, weaving it between the machines throughout my shop.  

            Stacy grabbed one end of the suitcase’s strap and I grabbed the other, together we hefted Tim’s body to the cart. I looked around the room at all the various machines, my eye passed over the vat of acid we use to clean car parts and I thought to myself, that might just do the trick. Without saying a word I pushed the cart toward the vat.

            As I moved the cart up alongside the vat, Stacy gasped, “You can’t be thinking what I think you’re thinking!”

            “And just what do you think I’m thinking?” I replied with a smirk.

            “You’re gonna drop him into that tub and whatever’s in there is going to eat away at his body. We can’t do that, Jake….We can’t. It’s…not human.”

            “What’s your alternative? We call the cops and turn ourselves in? We spend the next twenty-five years of our lives behind bars? Make no mistake, Stacy, darling; you’re in on this one, too. As soon as you started pouring bleach on the mattress, you became my accomplice.” My smirk now becoming a flat-out grin. I had her.

            “I don’t want to go to jail…” This was her only response.

            “Then unzip that thing and help me here.” I squatted beside the cart. Stacy slowly lowered herself to a knee and drew the zipper around the suitcase toward me. I finished unzipping the bag and looked at her. “I know this isn’t nice, Stace. I know this isn’t what decent people normally do…but, it will all be over soon.”

            I flipped the top of the bag open and there was Tim, staring at me blankly. Hey, Fuckface, where’s Gracie? I thought and stifled a laugh, I knew Stacy wouldn’t find anything funny right now. I grabbed Tim under the armpits and hauled him up to my chest. Stacy grabbed his legs, albeit somewhat reluctantly, and we slowly stood. Tim hung there between us as a moment of doubt tried to set in. I shrugged it away quickly, before it could get a foothold and positioned Tim’s torso over the vat. I let him go slowly, not wanting the acid to land on my clothing or skin, or Stacy for that matter. Once his body was in, the rest of him followed as if by magic, she almost got dragged in with Tim’s feet; I had to push her away just before her hand went in the soup.

            “That will have to stay put for awhile. The acid will take time to work.” I said over my shoulder as I walked toward my office. “I’ll put on coffee.”

            I opened the door and felt Stacy’s hand on my lower back. “Forget the coffee, got anything stronger?”

            I opened the cabinet beneath the coffee pot and pulled out a bottle of Gibson’s, “Will this do?” I grabbed two coffee mugs and poured two fingers into each one. I took them over to the couch I sometimes napped on. Stacy took hers as I extended it to her and drank greedily. She set the cup down empty a moment later.

            “Thank you, honey. I needed that more than ever before.” She had turned to face me, her hand now touching my arm. “I need you to know, I never loved Tim. I just—“

            “It’s Ok…now.” I looked at her then, really looked at her for the first time in years. “I’m sorry, Stace…I’m sorry.”

            “Just shut up, Jake.” She kissed me then, hard. I kissed her back and she pulled me on top of her. “Take me.” And I did…oh how I took her. And it was as great as it had ever been when we were kids.

            Later, I sat up on the couch and grabbed my jeans. She laid there looking as stunning as any model. “Where are you going?”

            “To check on our friend.” I pulled on my shirt and tucked it in.

            As I turned the knob, I felt her lips on my neck, “Hurry back, dear.” I smiled and left the office.

            I approached the vat, grabbing the big metal hook we used to pull parts with. Fishing in the sludge-like acid, finally the hook slipped under something that didn’t slide away. I pulled up hard, the hook was held fast. I pulled the hook slowly upward, not wanting to lose my catch. Up through the liquid, Tim’s skeleton rose, the acid had eaten him right down to the bone. I smiled, everything according to plan.

            Using the hook, I pulled Tim’s skeleton to the shop’s cement floor. I quickly went to the supply cabinet and found what I needed hanging there, at the back. I slipped the long-sleeved rubber gloves over my hands, picked up the five-pound sledgehammer and swung it into my palm. It made a flat smacking sound as it struck the stiff rubber. The fingers of the gloves were clumsy, but, this work wouldn’t require any finesse. I turned and approached the bones lying on the floor, smiling. I’m sure if Stacy had seen that smile, it would have turned her hair white.

            I knelt beside the skull, turning my head this way and that, amazed by the lack of resemblance to the man those bones had been. I guess it’s more true than we realize, underneath we all look the same.  Before Stacy got curious about what was taking me so long I got to work.

            I drove that sledgehammer downward into the skull of the man who, earlier tonight, had been happily fucking the love of my life unaware that I knew anything of it at all. The bone broke with a sound of ceramic cracking, the mallet making a hollow ting as it struck through to the floor beneath. I lifted the mallet from the concrete, taking a moment to marvel at the off-white powder under it. This would be better than I’d thought.

I lost track of time, everything became the cracking and splintering sounds followed by the hollow ting. I don’t know how much Stacy had seen, but she’d seen alright. I looked over my shoulder as I drove the last of Tim, his left toes, into powder beneath the mallet and there she was. “Uh…hi.” I studied her face for a reaction to what I was doing, there was none.

            “Now you’re pounding him into powder? Jesus, Jake….I never guessed you had this in you.” She had her hands on her hips, but, I didn’t get the impression she was angry.

            “Gotta get rid of the bones, they can identify him by those.”

            “Well, I’d say you’ve made their job pretty tough, baby.”

I stood, smiling and swatted her on the ass. “Go grab the broom and dustpan.” When she came back with those, she began sweeping and wouldn’t hear otherwise. I told her to sweep the bone dust into the draining troughs dug into the floor.  I knew that over the next workday my guys would have that bone dust so diluted that no one would even imagine it was there.

With that done, I picked up the suitcase, thought for a second and tossed it into the vat. I figured the acid had eaten Tim’s body, it could eat the suitcase too. Turned out I was right, within a few seconds the luggage had been reduced to a slime on the surface of the acid. A few seconds more and that would be gone also.

One last look around the shop just for good measure, then I turned to Stacy and slipped my arm around her lower back. I walked her that way to the door and with a fleeting gentle touch in the small of her back, I guided her through. “See you at home, dear.” I said with a smile just before I kissed her.

“See you there, my handsome husband. Don’t be too late, now.” She smirked as she said this, before getting into her little Miata and starting the engine.

“Be right behind you.” I closed the door to the shop, locked it and got in my Challenger. I don’t even remember the drive home, after the events of that night. All I know is I got home and when I got upstairs, I got Stacy.

That was thirty years ago, now. It’s been a long night and I have a headache from telling you all this, but it’s almost over. You see, the reason I’ve been writing this, the reason you’ve been reading it…I have cancer. It was diagnosed late last year, I was given six months. As you can tell, I beat that, but, not the cancer. As I sit here, I feel the cancer, I feel it eating at my bones, whittling away my marrow. It’s because of this that I have written and because of this you will find my writing in the little white box in the attic. Or maybe no one will find this…either way, I don’t care. I feel better with the telling.

I can tell you one last thing, Stacy and I have had a happy marriage ever since. Perhaps you’ve heard about it, the single man down the street from you, who mysteriously disappeared? The neighbour who’s husband suddenly left her without coming home after an evening out? I’m sure you’ve read about us in your local newspaper, somewhere towards the back where they hide the missing persons.

Now, thank you for doing the courtesy of reading my drivel. I don’t care what you think of me, or my wife. The world is not long for me and she’s been gone these last five years. An old man needs to finally have his rest and relaxation.