December 1999
Matt turned over slowly and cracked open one eye. Although it was still dark outside, he could still see the clock next to his bed, thanks to the street light right outside his window.
5:45 the clock read. Matt
closed is eye and buried himself under the blankets.
"Too early." He thought to himself.
"Too cold."
But try as he may, he just couldn't get back to sleep. The pressure on his bladder was just too insistent.
Reluctantly, Matt threw the blankets off and headed to the bathroom, the
cold making him wish he had central heat in his apartment.
After relieving himself, Matt splashed cold water on his face, washing
the sleep from his eyes.
He looked at himself in the mirror absently, thinking about the day -
December first, his 50th birthday. Slightly
off-key he softly sung a couple of lines of "Happy Birthday to Me."
Focusing his eyes he took a closer look at his face,
wondering where the crow's feet, the "laugh lines," and graying
hair had come from, and how they had arrived so quickly.
As Matt left the bathroom, he once again realized how cold the apartment
was. He put on sweatpants, T shirt, sweatshirt, socks, and slippers. Going into
the large single room that tripled as living room, dining room and kitchen, he
lit the portable kerosene heater sitting in the middle of the room, well away
from what little furniture he had.
As the heater slowly warmed the room, Matt turned on the coffee maker,
and got the morning paper right outside his fourth floor apartment door.
He was glad it was Saturday, two days to do nothing.
For the next hour or so, Matt read the paper, drank the pot of coffee,
and thought about the day's schedule: laundry,
groceries, clean the apartment, maybe catch a movie or two on TV.
While waiting for the weather to warm up, Matt cleaned a little - dishes,
toilet, sweeping.
Finally, about 10, Matt gathered his clothes and grocery list and left
the apartment. First stop was the
apartment complex laundry room. He would put his clothes in to wash, then to
the grocery store. By the time he bought the few groceries he needed, his
clothes would be ready for the dryer.
He wished he had gotten to the laundry room sooner, because already there
were a few people there, most with several loads of clothes, and each using two
or three washers. Fortunately for Matt he found one large, unused one.
So he put his 5 pairs of jeans, work shirts and underclothes in, started
the machine, and left for the grocery store.
He knew that it would take him about an hour to get his shopping done,
and that the washer only took 45 minutes, but if anyone needed the washer, they
would just put his stuff in one of the laundry-room baskets; it had happened
several times before.
But when he got back to the laundry room, he found his clothes had been
taken out of the washer, and thrown on
the floor, and it looked like they had been walked on.
"Goddamn." Matt said quietly, looking around to see who might
have done it. He then walked to the washer he had used, lifting the lid to make
it plain to everyone there that this was the one his clothes had been in.
"What the fuck you think you're doin'?"
Matt heard someone say. As
he turned around he saw a large, red-neck looking individual walking
toward him.
"Are these your clothes?" Matt asked.
"Fuckin' A, you got a problem?"
the guy answered.
"Did you take my clothes out of here?" Matt asked, indicating
the washer.
"Yeah, so fuckin'
what?" he answered again.
"Did you have to throw them on the floor?"
"Fuck your clothes, and
FUCK YOU!"
Matt shook his head slowly, not wanting any more of a confrontation, but
he was slowly getting somewhat pissed off, not so much about his clothes, which
was bad enough, but at the guy's
attitude. While he was mulling over
what to do, Matt peripheral vision was subconsciously seeing the other 6 or 8
people in the laundry room. Some,
the women mainly, were hoping that it would end there, not wanting to see the
big redneck beat up on an obviously smaller, and older man.
"Fuck you too," Matt quietly said, as he bent down to pick up
his clothes.
"Fuck You!" the redneck yelled as he kicked Matt with the
bottom of his boot.
Matt, trapped in the corner, had nowhere to go, and took the brunt of the
kick on his shoulder.
As he bounced against the wall, the
redneck stepped up to kick Matt again, but this time Matt was ready.
As he kicked, Matt moved just enough for the boot to miss, and as the
redneck fell forward slightly off balance, Matt hooked his other leg behind the
knee with his own foot, and at the same time pushed the guy's kicking foot. The
redneck fell against the bank of washers, and to the floor.
Moving fast for a big man, 6 feet tall, and over 200 pounds, he was on
his feet just after Matt was, and he charged Matt, both arms out, intending to
catch Matt in a bear hug, and then crushing him against the wall.
But as he got close enough, Matt spun to his left, bringing his right
elbow up in an uppercut, and caught the big man under the chin. The momentum still forced Matt against the wall, but he had
continued spinning, and he used both hands to cushion the impact. At the same
time he threw his head back, smacking the redneck in the mouth. Matt then pushed
away from the wall, and his momentum made the big man fall backward to the
floor.
Matt moved out of the corner to the center of the room, tense, yet
relaxed, hands and feet ready to strike, waiting
for the man to shake the cobwebs out of his head and get to his feet.
The redneck got up a little slower, tasting his own blood.
He put his hand to his mouth, and when he saw blood on his fingers, he
charged again, but this time Matt was way ahead of him: as the guy got within
arm's length, the heel of Matt's hand shot out, and again, caught the redneck
under the chin. The force of Matt's
blow snapped his head back and his feet went up in the air. The redneck's head
hit the floor, knocking him completely out.
For a few seconds Matt looked at the other people watching the fight. He
was watching to see if anyone was coming to the aid of the redneck; a habit left
over from his younger days in Viet Nam.
Matt then picked up his wet, dirty clothes and left the laundry room. He
would come back later that evening to re-wash them. As for the redneck lying
unconscious on the floor - he could rot for all Matt cared.
When Matt got back to his apartment, he relit the heater and sat down to
wait for the inevitable knock on the door. He didn't have long to wait. In less
than 20 minutes the police were there.
They had already gotten statements from most of the witnesses, but still
had to question Matt. Thirty
minutes later, they were satisfied and left.
Matt spent the rest of the day napping and watching TV, waiting until
late, when he figured the laundry room would be empty.
After the 11 pm news Matt went back down to the washing machines and once
again put his clothes into wash, this time using two smaller machines.
Because there was no heat in the basement, Matt
folded up a piece of soap powder box, pushed it into the closing slot of
a dryer, and put money into it - allowing the warm air from the dryer out into
the room.
Matt sat down to wait for his clothes to wash.
About twenty minutes passed, and through the noise of the washers, Matt
heard someone walking from the elevator to the laundry room.
It was a rather cute, smallish woman with short dark hair; he had seen
her that morning.
She looked at Matt for a few seconds, then walked over to him, extending
her right hand.
"Hi, I'm Carrie," she said as Matt slowly shook her hand.
"Doing some laundry, I see," she said cheerfully.
Matt barely nodded his head in agreement.
"That's a good idea," she said, indicating the dryer.
Again, Matt only imperceptibly nodded.
Carrie looked around, then dragged a chair over closer to Matt, and the
warm air.
"The cops were here." She said.
"I know." Matt answered. "They came to see me."
A few seconds went by, the Carrie asked,
"What's your name?"
"Matt."
"You really kicked some ass this morning." She commented.
"I thought he would
stomp you into a bloody pulp."
"I just got lucky." Matt said.
"I don't think so. Nope.
Don't think so at all."
Just then Matt's clothes had finished washing and he got up to move them
to a dryer. As he walked a handful of clothes to the dryer, Carrie rolled a basket
provided by the apartment complex to the washers and started putting Matt's
clothes into it, looking at them as she did.
"Jeans... work shirts...socks...underpants...T shirts...." Carrie was naming them as she took each from the washers.
"Pretty fancy duds, there," she said jokingly.
They put the clothes in to dry, and then sat back to wait.
As they did, Carrie talked almost nonstop, mostly about nothing,
sometimes touching on serious topics.
As she talked on and on, Matt found himself wondering why he didn't mind
listening to her, and how long it would be before he did.
"Are you listening to me?" Carrie finally asked.
"Sure," Matt answered.
"Then what did I just say?" she demanded.
"You said you work at
some VD clinic; you left you
husband about a year ago because he beat up on you; twice he found you; this
time it's been four months; and you
are afraid to go out too much because you are afraid he may find you
again."
Matt really wasn't paying that much attention, but years ago he had
developed the ability to take in information while thinking about other things.
He was thinking about moving again. It seemed like every time he got
settled somewhere, something just like what had occurred earlier that day
happened, and to avoid further confrontation, it was just easier to move.
Suddenly Matt asked Carrie, "How did you know I was down here?"
"I live right above here, and when it's late, and quiet, I can hear
the washing machines running. And I just figured it might be you."
As Matt put his dry clothes into a pillowcase and started toward the
elevator, Carrie followed.
"It's not very late" she said. "Would you like a cup of
coffee or something?"
"I guess so." Matt answered.
"Well, I'm out of
coffee," Carrie smiled, "how about we go up to your place?"
Matt smiled back, and said, "Sure, fine by me."
As the rode the elevator to the fourth floor, Carrie asked Matt about the
heat in his apartment. Apparently,
the apartment owners had provided each tenant with the same portable kerosene
heaters, and Carrie was complaining that hers smoked,
so she was forced to use an electric heater, which really ran up her
electric bill. Matt said he would
look at it, and see what he could do to get it working right.
When they walked into Matt's apartment, Carrie was surprised at the
sparseness of it. The living room/dining room had only
a recliner, a small table beside it,
small TV on a stand, and a
small wooden dining room table with three chairs, and no table cloth. There was
a large carpet remnant in the center of the room, with the heater on top of it
on of a piece of sheet metal.
She also noticed that the bedroom door had been taken down, and through
the doorway she could see a double bed, with one pillow, a small night stand
next to the bed with a clock on it, and a small chest of drawers.
"No phone?" she asked. "No couch?"
"Don't need either one."
Matt lit the heater, tossed his clothes on the bed and then started
making the coffee.
"Why did you take the door down?"
Carrie asked.
"To get the bedroom warm as I can before I go to bed. I don't like
keeping the heater on while I sleep -- carbon monoxide, you know."
Carrie nodded in agreement.
When the coffee was ready, and as
Matt was pouring the two cups, Carrie asked if he might have a little something
to put in the coffee, "just to ward off the cold."
Matt got a bottle half full of
Canadian Lord Calvert out of the refrigerator and poured some into each cup.
Carrie sipped it, and smiled, "Hits the spot." she said.
As they continued to drink the coffee and CLC, each cup with less coffee
and more liquor, Carrie once again carried the bulk of the conversation; Matt
only nodding or answering in monosyllables. Listening to her only half way, he
still wondered why he found her constant chatter so charming, and welcome.
She was telling her life's story - married at 19; unable to have kids;
divorced at 22; getting a nursing degree at 28; remarrying - a big mistake;
running away from her abusive husband, finally at 34, even though she had tried
to leave him many times before.
Carrie stopped talking as though she had suddenly run out of things to
say. She looked at Matt curiously, the asked, "What do you do?"
"About what?"
"You know, what kind of work do you do?"
"I work for Allendale Trucking.
I load trucks, deliver the freight, and unload it."
"Do you like it?" Carrie asked.
"It's okay. It's not that hard, and it pays the bills."
"You must not have much left over." Carrie said as she swept
her hand around, indicating his sparse apartment.
"I'm not much for luxury, I'd just as soon save it. Someday I'll
need something to retire on."
"Can I spend the night here?" Carrie asked without warning.
"Yeah...sure." Matt answered, not quite sure what else to say.
But at the same time he felt his pants begin to get tighter in front,
an erection was starting.
Carrie lifted herself up on her elbows on the small table and leaned
across to kiss Matt. And he kissed her back.
After several kisses, she got up, took his hand, and led Matt to the
bedroom. Matt stopped only long enough to turn off the heater.
Carrie threw back the blankets and lay down on her back, arms over
her head, inviting Matt to lay down on top of her.
Panting and writhing, both managed to strip the clothes off each other;
hands groping and feeling, mouths and tongues working.
Eventually, Matt found himself on top again, Carrie's legs encircling his
ass. Matt slowly began kissing and licking
his way down Carrie's body.
Her perfectly sized breasts - not too big and not too small, had small,
pinkish brown, erect nipples begging for his lips and tongue.
He worked his way down to her navel, across her lower belly, to the
inside of her thighs, and finally into the dark, curly pubic hair where her wet,
waiting vagina was.
He licked her clit, pulling on it with his lips; his tongue licking her
vagina, dipping into it and out again teasingly.
Matt could hear Carrie moaning, her hands were holding his hair, guiding
him where she wanted him to go.
When she could no longer stand it she pulled him up, his penis gliding
into her as though it was designed to do so.
Together, they rocked, each thrust bringing the other closer to climax.
Somehow, Matt was aware that Carrie reached her orgasm before he did, but
still he pumped until he felt himself rocket into ecstasy, and felt her vagina
become slick from his semen.
Slower and slower they moved together, until at last they were still,
energy and passion spent.
Matt didn't know how long he slept, but when he woke up Carrie was
nestled in his arms, and he had to piss so bad he was afraid he would piss in
the bed. Slowly he eased himself out of bed, went to turn out the living room
light, then to the bathroom. There he sat on the toilet, pissed, got a drink of
water, then use a wash rag to clean himself.
A quick glance at the clock had told him it was about 3 am.
Just before he left the bathroom Carrie asked him to bring her a drink of
water.
Matt got a glassful and walked back to the bed to let her drink. He stood
by the bed waiting for her to finish so he could take the glass back to the
bathroom. In the dim light from the outside street lights, Carrie just was able
to see Matt, and a few details - his nipples, navel, dark pubic hair, and limp
penis.
As she handed the glass to Matt with one hand, she took his penis in her
other and guided into her mouth, holding it there, feeling it growing hard and
full.
Matt let the plastic glass hit the floor as he rolled down onto the bed
onto his back, Carrie never letting his hard penis out of her mouth.
As she sucked and stroked Matt's dick, her other hand gently caressed and
squeezed his balls. All Matt could
do was to lie back and feel the intense pleasure of the woman's ultimate kiss.
And just when he thought she would finish, she took it out of her mouth,
mounted him, and impaled herself onto him, giving a loud gasping moan as
she did.
Rocking from side to side, Carrie also moved up and down, giving little
vocal gasps each time his penis hit bottom.
Then, almost without warning, Matt found himself ejaculating again, the
pleasure almost more than he could take. Carrie continued to heave, to rock for
several more minutes, until it became obvious that Matt was losing the erection.
Carrie stopped, and squeezed her vaginal muscles, causing Matt's dick to pop out
of her like a watermelon seed.
For a half second neither did or said anything, then both began to laugh,
both filled with emotion and pleasure. Slowly
Carrie lowered herself to Matt's chest, savoring the feeling
of Matt's hands as they slowly moved up and down her body, caressing her
shoulders, her back, her full hips, and slightly into the crack of her ass. Over
and over.
She didn't know when, but she fell back asleep.
When Matt woke up again they were lying on their sides, Matt curled
around her, her ass tight against his piss-hard dick. He slowly moved his hand
up to cup her breast. As he did, she put her hand over his encouraging him to
gently massage it.
"If I don't get up and piss," Matt whispered, "We both
are going to get a very wet surprise."
"While you are up," she whispered back," Why don't you get
some very hot water running in the shower?"
"That . . . is a very good idea." Matt answered.
As he got up, Matt grabbed an old, white terry cloth robe to put around
him. He turned on the water, pissed, and then went into the living room to
relight the heater. As he did, Carrie hurried out of the warm bed, across the
cold room into the hot shower. Seconds
later Matt joined her.
At first they embraced, savoring the touch of each others body; hands
running over each other.
Carrie moved back a step to get a good look at Matt, as he did the same.
While he was admiring her perfect, to him, breasts and lower body, Carrie
was starting to notice, then really looking at the scars on Matt's chest and
belly.
"Turn around a second." Carrie said.
When he did she saw scars on his back as well. Some round-ish, about the
size of a dime; others like short slits.
"My God," Carrie said with concern in her voice. "Where in
hell did all these scars come from?"
Matt didn't answer right away. When she started to ask again, he said,
"In Nam."
"Viet Nam?" she asked.
"Do you know any other Nam?"
As she looked him up and down, gently touching the scars, Matt felt his
erection slowly die.
Quickly getting out of the shower, Matt said, "I'll start the
coffee."
Embarrassed, at embarrassing Matt, Carrie stayed in the shower until the
water began to cool. She got out, dried off, and got dressed. When she walked
into the dining room Matt was still in the robe, the coffee poured into cups.
"Matt, I'm sorry if I -- embarrassed you. Or made you feel -- I don't know. But whatever I did, I'm really sorry. I just
never saw so many scars like that. Are
they from bullets?"
"Some," Matt answered quietly. "Some from knives, or
machetes."
"How long were you there? Were you in prison, or something?"
Carrie asked.
"A little over three years, I guess,
all total. I went 5 or 6 different times. Captured once, but I
escaped."
"It must have been horrible." Carrie said, not knowing what
else to say; not sure what was taboo to Matt.
"It wasn't pleasant." he replied
They sat in silence for a while, Carrie not wanting to upset Matt any
more. Matt not wanting to talk at all.
"Do you really want to know who I am?" Matt said suddenly.
"Of course I do." Carrie replied.
"You won't like it. I haven't been a particularly nice
guy."
Before Carrie could answer, Matt got up and went into the bed room. He
came out with a blue metal box about the size of a cigar box.
Matt sat back at the table and slowly opened the box. First he took out
some old envelopes. They were marked "Birth Certif," "HS
Diploma," "Army
Disch," Driving School
Diploma."
Underneath the envelopes were some newspaper clippings folded inside
Saran Wrap.
Matt unwrapped them, flattened them out and slid them over for Carrie to
read.
The first was dated May,
1976, almost 20 years old. Even
though it was yellowed, it was still easily read.
The headline shouted:
"4 Dead in Parking Lot Melee!"
As Carrie read the article, she occasionally muttered "Jesus!"
or "My God." Unaware what she was saying as she read about four
muggers attacking Matt and his date, Gina.
She read about the broken noses, dislocated shoulders, and the slit
throats with one mugger's own knife. And
she read about Matt's five-year probation.
When she had finished the article, she looked up at Matt, who was staring
straight ahead.
The next article was dated July, 1990, almost 14 years later.
With the text was a photo showing a man, obviously Matt, kneeling against
a wall, on a sidewalk. He had both arms extended, holding a very large pistol,
looking for something, it seemed. On the street around him several bodies could
be seen, with blood all around them.
The headline called the man "Rambo's Big Brother."
Carrie read about the man being set upon while trying to fix a flat tire,
and him disarming one of the men, whose pistol he was holding in the photo;
about Matt shooting his attackers, and then shooting back at, and killing,
several in the crowd who were shooting at him, including a woman 35 to 40 yards
away.
Because of a video taken by a news photographer a roof not so far away,
Matt was proven to be acting totally in self defense.
Again, Carrie looked at Matt when she finished the newspaper article.
This time Matt looked back at her, waiting for her to say something. Instead,
Carrie picked up the third and started reading.
There was no photo. It was
dated December, 1991, a year and a half later. The headline read, "6 Dead
in Xmas Robbery Try."
The story told about six men storming into the Christmas party of a small
trucking firm, the company president being killed when he wouldn't open the
safe. And one employee, Matt, who shot four of the six in the forehead with one
of the robber's guns. One was
strangled with a telephone cord, and the sixth was stabbed through the back,
into his right lung with a pencil. He later died at the hospital.
And once again, Matt was exonerated for the killings.
When she had finished reading, Carrie gently placed the newspaper article
on top of the others, and looked at Matt, waiting for him to say something.
Neither spoke for almost a minute; Carrie looking at Matt, Matt staring
straight ahead.
Finally, Matt said, "Yesterday was my birthday."
He put his hand over the pile of clippings, and slowly closed his fist
around them.
"Fifty years old, and this is all I have to show for
it!"
Carrie put her hands over Matt's and slowly opened his fingers, took the
articles out of his hand, flattened them out, and refolded them into the plastic
wrap. She then put them, and the other items, back into the box and closed the
top.
Then she took Matt's hand in one of hers, and used the other to turn his
head to look at her.
"You are wrong, Matt. You are wrong! These aren't you.
They're just instances in your life. Things you had no control over.
Things that could have turned out even worse if you hadn't done what you
had to.
"That's not all of it." Matt answered. "There are other
things, just like what happened yesterday morning. Where ever I go, I'm always
busting heads, and killing people."
"Did you ever start any of it?" Carrie asked. "Well, did
you?"
"No. But that doesn't change the fact that I seem to attract
violence, and violent people."
"There is violence everywhere, Matt. It's not just you. It's the
society we live in. You can't get away from it.
I couldn't get away from it. I was beat on for I don't know how
long. So don't think you have a monopoly on violence, Bud, it is
everywhere."
Nothing else was said for a minute or so. Then Carrie, in a cheerful
voice, said,
"So, how about breakfast? I'm starving.
I'll tell you what -- you can fix my heater while I whip you up a cheese
omelet, some ham, and toast. How's that sound?"
Trying to sound a little more upbeat, Matt agreed.
"Let me get some clothes on, and I'll be down."
"Okay," Carrie said as she headed toward the door. "If you
want more coffee, you had better bring that pot. I really am out." She smiled as she left.
"Goddam it's cold!" Matt heard her yell through the door.
Ten minutes later Matt was down in her apartment. It was certainly
different from his: it was fully carpeted. She had a sofa, coffee table, a
bookcase, a TV stand with a larger TV on it, a larger dining room table, but
only two chairs, and pictures on the wall.
Her bedroom door was closed. To
Matt, the apartment really looked cluttered, but kind of cozy.
Carrie had a small electric heater set on high, but it didn't seem to be
putting out much heat.
As Carrie worked on the omelet, Matt turned his attention to the kerosene
heater. Right away he knew what the
problem was.
"Your wick is burned up, no wonder it smoked. I'm surprised it would
light at all. Do you have an extra
wick?"
"I didn't even know there was one," she replied. "So now what do we do?"
"I'll bring mine down, and then later we go get you another
one."
"That sounds simple enough." she smiled.
When Matt got back downstairs with his heater, Carrie was looking out of
the window.
"Come here, look at this." She called to him.
Outside the window Matt
could see a U-Haul truck backed up to the apartment building across the
courtyard. And he could see the Redneck he's had the fight with loading it up
with furniture; he was moving out.
"Well, that's a relief." Carrie said. "I never did like
that guy."
"I never saw him before yesterday." Matt said.
"He'd only been here a month or so. And you weren't the only one to
have trouble with him. But you were the only one who could stand up to him.
You're a hero around here, now. Just wait and see --
they'll put a statue up of you."
Matt just smiled and went back to the heater. He got it lit and sat down
to eat breakfast.
After they had eaten, and had just poured the last of the coffee, Matt
sat back and looked at Carrie; a long, visual inspection.
Carrie smiled, and looked back at him, sipping her coffee.
She put the cup down, lost the smile, then asked Matt,
"Why did you want me to read those articles?"
"So you'd know now. To give you the chance to bail out now before we
got too serious about each other. If that were to happen, that is."
"Why would reading about all that make me want to "Bail
Out?"
"I just don't want you to find out about it later and when it
wouldn't be as hard to leave now, before things got too involved."
"You didn't answer my question: Why would that make me not want to
be with you?"
"It happened before. I just don't want things to fall apart like
they did before."
"So when did all this falling apart happen?" Carrie asked.
"It was right after the fight in the parking lot, when I killed the
four guys. Gina and I had been
living together a whole year, our first "anniversary." You know how
women are about things like that."
Carrie nodded as Matt continued, "I would have figured that she
would be glad that I was able to protect her; they would have raped her, you
know. But after that, she was afraid of me.
I guess the guys before me had beat her up pretty bad, and
when she saw how violent I could be, she was just afraid I'd do the same.
"And you said that your ex- had beat you, so I just figured that it
would be the same all over again; that you'd be afraid I would too."
For a few seconds Carrie didn't say anything. then, "You know, until
you brought it up, that thought never entered my mind. If nothing else, the past
day, half day, has shown me that you are absolutely nothing like my ex-husband.
The only thing I was afraid of was that you would just think of me as a
one-night-stand. But if you are
worried about me wanting to leave you,
then I have nothing to worry about at all."
Then Carrie leaned over the table, as she had the night before, and they
kissed a long, slow, erotic kiss. Seconds
later they were pulling each other's clothes off, and found their way to her
sofa.
As the weeks turned to months Matt and Carrie were never apart, except to
go to work. Some nights would be
spent in his apartment, some in hers, to begin with. But since Carrie's was more
homey, and comfortable, more and
more it became home. Although they
both thought about it, neither one suggested that Matt give up his apartment and
move everything to hers.
He was reluctant because he knew that just as soon as he did, something
would happen, as it always did, and they would no longer be happy together; some
tragedy was just waiting for them.
Carrie didn't mention it because in the back of her mind she knew that
sometime, somehow, her ex- would show up and she would
have to leave, probably without even having time to tell Matt, leaving
him with no apartment to return to.
At their half-year anniversary , Matt decided that come hell or high
water, there was no sense in them paying for two apartments. So as they were lying in bed
Matt brought up the subject, citing how much money could be saved, and
how little sense it made to be paying for an apartment he was only using for
storage.
Carrie only mumbled something about sleeping on it, and pretended to
drift off. But it was a long time before she did fall asleep. Over and over she
thought about it. Yes, she wanted him with her; yes, it was stupid to pay for an
unused apartment. And yes, she was,
worried, even scared, something bad would happen if they made that first real
commitment.
The next morning Matt brought it up again.
And even though she thought she knew better, Carrie agreed that Matt
should move in, lock, stock and barrel.
And for the next couple of months things were really great: they never,
almost never, argued, and there was more money for movies, for eating out, and
for little the gifts they would buy for each other.
Matt, as usual, looked for a parking spot that was close to the entry
door to the apartments, but since he rarely got home before 6, he usually had to
park 40 or 50 feet away.
Carrie, on the other hand, was home by 4, and always had a spot near the
door. And today was no different. But as Matt walked closer to Carrie's car,
something didn't look, feel, quite right. There was something different,
something not the way it should be. As
he got closer to her car, he saw what it was - the driver's side door wasn't
completely closed, and the door wasn't locked. That was not like Carrie. She always
made sure the doors were locked. And she would never leave the door
open, unless there was some reason, some emergency, that would make her forget
to secure the car.
But as he walked to the apartment building entry, there was no sign of
anything out of the ordinary. He climbed the stairs to the door itself, and then
looked over the parking lot and other buildings; again, something wasn't quite
right. Then he saw it - an unfamiliar car, with an out of state tag.
Maybe it was nothing, but Matt didn't think so. It had to be Frank,
Carrie's ex-husband: he had finally found her.
Matt quietly slipped inside the building, and softly removed his work
shoes. Slowly, and absolutely
silently, Matt went to the apartment door, and stopped outside, listening.
Again, there was something out of the ordinary -
the TV wasn't on. Carrie always had the evening news on; more for the
weather report than the actual news, but
there was only silence.
Matt gently wrapped his hand around the door knob and put only the barest
pressure on it. It wouldn't turn. The dead bolt Matt had installed was the only
lock they ever used - the lock in
the door was next to useless.
Matt padded away from the door fifteen feet or so, and took two keys off
his key ring: the deadbolt key and the doorknob key.
He went back to the door and ever so gently, and slowly, he inserted the
deadbolt key. Going slowly, it
took almost five minutes to get the key completely in, ready to turn. He then
did the same for the door knob key.
Going back to the deadbolt, he slowly, slowly turned the key. This time,
almost ten minutes passed before the deadbolt was unlocked. He had to make sure
that the knob on the other side moved slow enough that it wouldn't be noticed.
And he took another ten minutes unlocking the door knob.
Looking around for some kind of weapon, he realized that all he had was
his belt knife; a cheap four inch bladed knife he bought at a flea market.
He took it out of its case, opened it, and hefted it slightly, trying to
determine its balance point in case he would have to throw it, which he figured
would likely be the case. How he
wished he had the throwing knives he used in Nam. Or better yet, the .44 magnum
Israeli Military pistol he used so effectively.
With the knife blade in his right hand, Matt started slowly turning the
door knob, taking another 8 or 9 minutes to fully turn the knob. He then started pushing the door open, moving it in 1/8 inch
increments, then stopping for 25 or 30 seconds, then moving it again.
Then he saw light appear in a small crack between the door and the jam.
After the crack had widened to about 1/2 inch, Matt waited, listening.
He began to sort out the barely audible sounds -- the not quite silent sobs
from Carrie; and Frank's raspy breathing. Picturing
the apartment in his mind, her tried to determine where they might be. Carrie
was probably farther away, and Frank where he could watch Carrie and the door.
Matt had to assume that Frank was armed.
Matt smelled cigarette smoke; it had to be Frank, neither Matt nor Carrie
smoked. And Matt smelled alcohol - good! If Frank had been drinking then his
reflexes would be impaired; he would move slower.
Taking two long, slow, relaxing breaths, Matt pushed open the door hard
and fast.
He saw Carrie sitting at the table, looking at the door, her face covered
with blood where she had been beaten. Frank was sitting on the back of the sofa,
looking at Carrie. As he realized the door had swung open, Frank, in slow motion
it seemed to Matt, started bringing a pistol up toward Matt. But the knife was
already spinning its way to its target.
It hit, and the blade buried itself exactly where it was supposed to:
in Frank's neck. As it plunged in, the right jugular vein was cut. Going
deeper, the carotid artery was completely severed. As the knife tip barely
touched a vertebra, it twisted slightly, causing the opening to widen, letting
the arterial blood gush out in spurts, timed with each heartbeat.
Frank dropped the gun and grabbed his neck, shock and surprise on his
face.
Carrie ran into Matt's arms, causing her pain where her damaged face pressed against his chest.
Matt held her tightly, at the same time locking eyes with Frank, who
realized he was dying. And Frank was seeing the merciless
satisfaction in Matt's eyes.
Frank fell onto the table, knocking it over. Carrie tried to turn to see
what caused the noise, but Matt held onto her, not letting her see.
Matt picked Carrie up, and carried her into the bedroom, putting her on
the bed. Then he called 911 for an ambulance and the police.
Despite the blood, Carrie's facial wounds weren't that serious - bloody
nose, swollen lips, black eye. The paramedics wanted her to spend the night in
the hospital, but she refused to go.
They settled on dressing her wounds, a sedative, immediate bed rest, and
a check up the next day.
After they had taken away the body, Matt started cleaning the blood that
covered the floor. After a couple
of hours and several separate cleanings, 99% of the blood was gone. Although the
table was broken, there was not much other damage.
The next morning Carrie was full of questions, as was Matt.
Carrie told him that Frank was waiting for her when she got home, and the
shock of seeing him caused her to forget about her car.
Frank was angry, but it was only after he had practically dragged her
into the apartment that he had started beating her.
Apparently he had been watching them for a few days, so he knew she would
be home hours before Matt.
And Matt described for Carrie how slowly and carefully he had unlocked
and opened the door. She was still
amazed at how accurate, and how deadly he was, throwing the knife.
After they got back from her doctor's checkup, Carrie told Matt she had a
confession to make.
"When I saw how you handled that redneck slob, I was thinking what a
great bodyguard you would be. And I was thinking of some way I could get to know
you. It was just luck that I thought to check if it was you redoing your
laundry. I admit I was coming on to
you, mainly for that reason. And even when I suggested we go up to your
apartment for coffee, I was only feeling you out, so to speak.
I had no intention of actually having sex. I don't know what, or how, but
when I kissed you, the last thing on my mind was using you for
protection. I saw what I liked, and I liked what I saw, and I wanted to wake up
in your arms.
"Now I admit, when you showed me those newspaper clippings I was
thinking how safe I would be with you around, but
for some reason, that wasn't so important any more.
I just knew that I was in love with you, and wanted to spend the rest of
my life with you.
"If you hate me now, I wouldn't blame you. But, believe me, every
day we've been together only makes me want you, love you more."
As Carrie was making her confession, Matt was trying to sort out his
feelings. But decided it really didn't matter. He loved Carrie, and wanted her
with him until he died.
"Well," Matt said smiling, " Frank's dead, and assuming
you don't have any more ex-husbands or boyfriends looking for you, then it looks
like you're stuck with me, because I don't plan on going anywhere, unless you're
right beside me."
And once again they made serious, passionate love.