Untold

It was chilly outside, the wind furiously driven as if it carried the untold mystery. Another sleazy hooker laid silently on the autopsy table. Detective Kevin Taylor glanced up to that wall clock, then checked his watch for the twenty-seventh time. Every dead body brought back that same thought, “Could my marriage of lasted if I accepted that security position?” Lawyers, divorce, and the expense stressed him to the point of seeing a shrink for a while. But, oh, his love for his wife never parted. With a leave of absence for three months and Detective Taylor was one to fear upon his return. No one in law enforcement dared joke with him. His weight loss exceeded eighty-five pounds; even though his height was close to six feet, he still carried his weight well. Debbie, his ex-wife, didn't wear make-up or dressed -up much. Nature and keeping things healthy and natural were her style, which he loved about her. A natural redhead, born and raised in the heart of Chicago. She never wanted to move away, no matter how he tried when the marriage began falling apart; yeah, those late nights investigating, murders, shootings, and searching for the bad guys had a lot to do with it.

It's 3:00 am; detective Taylor couldn't grasp the reason anyone could have so much hate! Knifing that pretty young prostitute at least a hundred times from the looks of that chopped-up bloody crotch. The corner, though, dissected and passed the deceased on through the process as usual. Too many years of the same thing day after day. He always complained that huff and puff before making a statement of facts became quite irritating.

"Okay, Jake, what do you think of this one?"

“Detective Taylor, she is the same as the last five. The weapon is the same as all the others. It's a Damascus 8'inch chief knife crafted from Japanese VG10 Steel. I guarantee it!

“How in the fuck can you describe the type of weapon used? Seriously Jake!”

“Get up out of my chair and come take a look Detective Dickhead!”

Jake lifted the precut abdominal flap. “There you go!”

"Jesus Christ, what kind of sick fuck did this?" That horrible reek nearly knocked him over! Quickly Detective Taylor grabbed a tissue from a nearby table and spit it up. He has seen a lot of horrors, but that was pure evil.

“Well, the psychopath has real issues, stuffed her full of rotten meat, shoved the knife up her, and left it. Yeah, whoever it is, is a sick fuck!” Go on home Detective Taylor. I’ll have a report in the next few days.”

It was not but a few steps through the exit when his cell phone rang. It was Debbie. "Hello."

Kevin, I am sorry my car will not start. Can you help me? I forgot my purse.”

"Sure, I'll be right there in ten minutes."

Detective Taylor’s heart rapidly beat, he felt it-he always felt those uncontrollable emotions, and he knew the divorce was wrong- it was so bad! He tried to point this out to his wife; however, she seemed evasive in her responses, which soon developed a lack of effort on his part to pursue the issues. As the months passed, both grew that incoherent, stubborn attitude. It was mid-September at 3:00 am Friday morning, twisting that key into the front doorknob. The air-conditioning was off and the lights out. Through that darkness, step by step as the moonlight shone through those beige sheers, he knew the time had come. There was no reason for precaution. The furniture was gone as his only son. But, horrible as it may seem, there was a relief, kind of like a soothing spa after a hard workout. It will take a few days before the fear sits in. It is every man’s nightmare, the separation and that feeling of betrayal within one’s soul. Eventually, his mixed emotions carried self-doubt; staring into the darkness took his mind for a ride. Oh yes, the image of killing his wife for the hurt and turmoil he endured could have been a pleasure.

Although he continued to love her, it was his fault, coming to terms with the fact. Murders, suicide, preventing bystanders from tampering with the crime scene before medical examiners arrival. Testimony in court, hours upon hours interviewing witnesses, yes it all plays upon the worn-torn Teeter-Totter of one’s mental stability. Detective Taylor was no different than any newly divorced man who still loved his wife and son. Even though Taylor, their son, will be graduating high school. It was the loneliness that danced with thoughts of suicide, anger, and betrayal. There were no other outlets he could grasp to ease the turmoil brewing. That night he certainly had the wrong partner. All it took was a few words to literally beat his partner into near death. Yet, it was all a very calm night, having coffee in one of those cheap, dirty cafe shops. Tony, fourteen years worked undercover; he always wore tacky torn jeans. Long straggly gray streak hair, zodiac tattoos covered both arms.

Two young tweaked-out girls sat sharing a hamburger and coke a few tables down. Streetwalkers taking a break is all they are. It was those words Tony spoke as he glanced back and forth. “I’d fuck a redhead any day!” Kevin’s anger exploded into a rage, as the likeness of Hell, the day it rejoiced in the sacrifice of Christ! This sudden eruption of destruction was part two, the physical abolishment of all that looks, smells, and speaks evil. A troubled mind, no doubt, and soon with treatment and therapy, life was bearable, but that undying love searched for a miracle, and he tried over and over to spark Debbie’s interest once more.

******

Debbie stood inside the Hospital emergency entrance. She observed Kevin roll on up in that white 1959 Cadillac Coupe through the glass. “Damn, when is he ever going to sell that thing!” It was cold that time of the morning. The shivering discomfort raced through her tenfold, hearing the snap and crack of a rusted car door hinge. "Shit, he has that self-pity look again!"

"Dam it, Kevin, when are you going to stop with that sad expression? Thanks for rescuing me, though.”

"You don't need to be working these hours, Debbie. I give you enough money every month! You don’t need to work at all!”

“Then what, Kevin? Taylor is working, going to start college soon. I’m not going to sit home every day.”

"Alright, Debbie. I will always love and protect you.”

“When is he ever going to stop saying that shit!”

The tension soon eased between them on the way to her apartment; Kevin keyed her emotions precisely right as he played soothing, low-key Jazz. He, of course, escorted her to the door. “I should return the favor. He has been a gentleman lately. After all, that emergency room was horrific those last few hours. “Kevin, how about some cheese and crackers with a glass of wine?”

"Sure, I can't sleep anyway. By the way, why is your hand bandaged?

“There was a man that came in, he started a fight with another person. The police were there, but outside the entrance. He managed to whip a knife from his pocket, got me right in hand."

‘Jesus Debbie!”

"Just stop, Kevin. The cheese is in the fridge. Slice some up while I go change clothes."

As he slid the drawer open, there it was! His eyes squinted as the light above reflected on those black-handled silver bladed knives. “What! Is this new in-thing for people these days?" “Damascus Knife, Japanese VG10 Steel? “What's wrong, Kevin?" Debbie stood by the entryway observing his stare." He then focused his stare upon her. Her beauty is undeniable.

“Some things have happened. Are these those new Japanese VG10 chef Knives?”

“No, these knives have been around. In fact, we had two sets in our marriage, and what things happened, Kevin? Does it have to do with those prostitutes?"

“How do you know about that?”

"Really, we were married for twenty-five years, Kevin, twenty of those are your law enforcement career. I made friends too! You never cease to amaze me. Those knives were a wedding gift, and half of them, apparently, are gone! Go home and look in your kitchen drawers. I am sure you will find them there. If you can get your mind off those prostitutes!”

“Debbie, please, I'm so sorry!"

‘You know I don’t give a shit if every prostitute is literally chopped to pieces! I know you blame me so much more for this divorce. You were the one who came home all hours of the night. Our marriage might have worked out if you kept your dick in your pants!”

Those once dazzling emerald green eyes of hers changed as if one painted a canvas of a merciless graveyard! Those few steps forward, she nearly pulled the drawer off its track. As she grabbed a knife! “I have no remorse for those bitches!” Throwing the knife into the wall, she stormed onward toward her room, slammed the door shut! Screaming! “Get the fuck out!”

“Fucken Bitch! Yeah, I fucked-up!”

******

Kevin left that early morning; however, he did not find one knife, not one of them! The next few weeks, he sent flowers to her work and apartment, but there was still no response. A week later, a Friday night, when another call came in. Another young prostitute butchered Norfolk Southern Railroad Yard. While at the crime scene, he noticed the handle on that knife wedged through the woman's torso. It carried a nick, the same nick he saw on the handle in that drawer! "I have to be dreaming; it can't be! Not Debbie!” Carefully he lifted upwards, dazed a bit.

“I have to find out-don’t let this be my fault! Please God, let it not be true!”

Kevin researched the next few days, praying to God no red hair was found. He requested Debbie’s work schedule for the past two years. He could not let go of the love, and yet memories of her cruelty and persecution plagued him as if dancing within the fire while the rain poured upon each uprising flame! Her scheduled days off corresponded with each murder. But he needed one last confirmation, which shall be a half-ass chance to pursue. “Maybe it’s best to surprise her!” And so, he did. Saturday early morning hours, he waited outside of the hospital as a snake hidden within high grass, watching her exit through those doors. Following at a reasonable distance until she slipped that key into the doorknob. Then, as soft as the breeze, she heard, "Debbie.” Turning around, she could not believe the roses spread within his arms. “Why is he making this so difficult for me!”

"I know, sweetheart, we will never come together. However, I pled for your forgiveness. The lies, late nights, taking advantage. Will you try to forgive me?”

“Humm. He is smiling like a lion ready to make a kill.”

‘Debbie, I promise you I'll never sneak up like this again. I have learned how someone's actions can ruin another life. I ask for your forgiveness and understanding. I admit I was wrong."

“What do you have in that basket hanging on your arm, Kevin?”

“Wine, two glasses, cheese, and crackers. I am hoping for an end to this turmoil. This hate and anger. What do you think? Just for an hour."

“Okay, no more turmoil, hate, and anger. Come on in, Kevin"

There they were together in the kitchen, wrapped in a world of their past, present, and unknown fate. Kevin opened the drawer. “Where is that knife to slice the cheese?” He turned to the dishwasher, praying the knife would be in there! “It’s not there either!”

“Debbie, where is that special knife?”

“Should be there.” She raised upward from the kitchen table, searching around the dishes and drawers.

“I don’t know Kevin, use this other knife, and here is the corkscrew to open the wine. Why do you have two bottles in the basket?”

“I have one open already. I wasn't sure if I would let you try that one. The taste is slightly different, not as smooth as the other one. Then we can try the other one together. Where is Taylor tonight?"

“He left today to spend time up north with friends.”

"Next time you speak with him, tell him not to forget he still has a Father."

“You know he is angry with you.”

“Yeah, I know Debbie, but I’m sure we will bond in time.”

Debbie settled within the kitchen chair. Kevin glanced out the window; as he greeted the moon in silence, he knew what was best for her. The love of his life could never endure the hardship of prison life, and he swore to protect her.

"Try this one first, Debbie.”

He poured two glasses and fiddled with the wrapper on the cheese. Kevin leaned back in his chair as Debbie tasted the wine, taking a deep breath. Intensely observing her reaction. “This one has a backlash! It hits the inside of your mouth and then turns it inside out. The acidity is high, and little fruit flavors. I don’t care for this one Kevin."

She took another drink. It was Kevin's eyes peering through that tipped-up wine glass. The world slowed, and he remained focused upon her. Her gut felt the long, slowing pull; his silence and stare spoke for itself. She sat the glass down. They both sat there as he placed his hand upon hers-still latched onto the wine glass. Her eyesight vanished within the oncoming wave of darkness until she could feel no more! Kevin grabbed her swaying, numb body; he slid onto the floor, caressing that beautiful red hair. One last kiss upon those beautiful pink lips.

******

He found a nice place to bury Debbie, and after months of coming to terms with his decision to protect her left no doubt the right choice had been made. Then, of course, the murders stopped. He finally made peace with his son and was invited to his son's wedding. Kevin had to take a breather, though, stepping outside for a breath of fresh air when two of the wedding gifts were the Japanese VG10 Steel Knife sets.

A few weeks later, another summer night was upon him when a call came in, another prostitute chopped, but this time wholly dismembered. And there between her breast, as the sword within the stone proudly displayed a shinning Japanese VG10 Steel Knife! Kevin’s heart surged with grief. In fact, there were a few tears. He accepted his fucked up error; after all, redheads can feed enough grief, anger, and unnecessary blame to mentally confuse the sane mind of a priest. After a week of rest and deep thought, he decided to take that fishing trip with his son. But it would be best to surprise him.

"Hey, Dad, what's in that basket?"