A short story of psychosis.
It was three pm on a clear Friday afternoon I had knocked off work early to get a jump on a summer weekend. I was at the Speedway on Rand topping off my tank. I had paid for my gas and was reaching for my seatbelt when, by the side mirror I saw an odd figure moving quickly toward my car. A regular looking person I guess by most standards, except he was dressed in dark green army fatigues as if he'd come from a war zone. I expected he would run past, but before I could react the passenger door swung open and I encountered an unusually large hand gun trained between my eyes. He then settled into the seat and said: "drive". So, I did. As I left the station I heard the oncoming shrill of ambulance and police sirens.
I had been driving north on Rand for about 10 minutes, the sound of the sirens had waned when I asked: "Where do you want to go?". "Away" he said. I kept driving north. He seemed agitated and preoccupied into a different world. He studied me as I drove. He eventually lowered his aim and relaxed the pistol into his lap." I just shot my wife" he said. I may have nodded, but I said nothing. In silence, an hour later we crossed the Wisconsin border. On the frontage road to the right was an old motel. "Here" he said. I pulled in.
"Use your credit card and get a room" he instructed. "I hate credit" he added. The gun concealed beneath his jacket, within earshot of the transaction he waited aside the door to the tiny office while I signed in. As we walked toward the room, he looked about as if at any moment he would be confronted."Seems cool" I muttered. "Yeah" he replied.
Once in the room, he pulled the blinds and suggested I stay near the bed on the far side. He turned on the television to see if there was news of his escapade. He wasn't disappointed. On every station newsman reported: "Killer on loose, commando assassin executes woman at workplace". Later on in the reports, he is identified by name as a accused felon recently released on bond for battery, his estranged wife named as the victim. His name was Wayne, his wife, Connie. He glanced over toward me to say: "It's her own fault." In time, he tired of watching the endless redundancy of the news reports and began flipping channels.
"You hungry?" he asked and picked up a restaurant listing aside the phone. "I feel like Pizza." he added. He reached into his pocket for two Twenty Dollar bills. " Pay the guy when he comes."
No one told me that morning I would be spending the evening eating pizza and watching "Gunsmoke" with a psychotic wife killer,
The pizza arrived along with a six pack of Schlitz. "That's all they had" he apologized.
One beer and a couple slices into the pizza, Wayne became more talkative. "The bitch made me do it, she fucked me out of my life. I owed it to her." I listened attentively. He went on to describe his life as recently as couple years before. " I had a sweet Harley, dealt some primo weed, worked construction sometimes, rented a decent house and had a smoking hot wife .... Until the cunt turned. She changed when we had a kid, I knew since her highschool. She got religion or something. She got me busted, called the cops and showed them the weed. ... I get out, she's got a restraining order, says I'm violent and dangerous which is bullshit, I never laid a hand on her or the kid. I had guns and shit and I kicked a few fucker's asses, but that wasn't her business. The only reason she got it was because the cops had a hard-on for me anyway. Fuck her if I can't see my kid. So I did, I went over there and fucked her. She was all nice til I left, then tells the cops I raped her. That's when it got bad. When they busted me again I got thrown in with all the Jigaboos. I held my own for a while til they beat me down, took 6 of then to do it, then raped me. You ever have a nigger dick tearing your ass open?" I had to admit I hadn't. He went on: "My brother had to sell everything he and I had to pay the lawyer and make my bond this time ... I'm not going back. The fuckers can shoot me dead, I ain't going back. I just have to take care of some business first." He said no more.
We watched TV into the early morning hours when, surprisingly, I must have dozed off. When I woke up, Wayne along with my car were gone. I related my story to the police, minus Wayne's soliliquy, went home and called the insurance company. A couple days later I read he was killed in a shootout with a Swat unit.
Today, I look at my own life and my own wife and family and wonder if things could ever get so bad.
Note: This is based on actual events, although I personally had no part in them. Some if it is related by Wayne's brother, whom I do know. Some is from news sources.
Wayne did have some unfinished business: www.highbeam.com/doc/1P2-4103270.html