Fun with Dick & Jane

 

 

Dick Carlson fumbled for the house key in the fading light. Sweat beaded on his forehead; the sudden heat was suffocating to him after the cold blast of air in the car, and he was impatient to be inside the house. The air was heavy with the smell of fresh-cut grass and alive with the electric buzzing and syncopated clicking of cicadas and sprinklers. Spit filled his mouth and he felt he might be sick. He grabbed the mail, opened the door and stepped inside.

"I need a drink."

Empty house – no surprise there – the only air-conditioning coming from the remaining window unit in the bedroom that he left off during the day. Still, anything was better than outside. He paused for a moment before he walked on to the kitchen. The relief he felt when he heard the snap of the deadbolt had been attenuated by something he couldn't quite identify. Something that nagged at him for just a second, but he couldn't bring it into his consciousness. Nothing seemed out of place at first glance, however. He decided that he was addled and just needed something strong over some ice. A few drinks would revive his mood. The heat in the house was only slightly less oppressive than that without, but there was a fan in the kitchen. Thank God the bitch hadn't taken it upon herself to fix the window unit in the fucking bedroom. If there was one thing he couldn't tolerate it was a hot bedroom. He could take sweating anywhere but in bed, and he wasn't rational about it. At some level she must've known that and restrained herself. Committing her was charitable compared to what he'd have done to her in that event. Psycho speed-whore.

Everyone marveled at his composure over the last few months. They had no idea what it took to bring him release from the intolerable buzzing in his head. And they didn't notice the economy-sized bottle of antacid in his desk drawer at the shop. Nobody counted the drinks he had in the afternoon, either – drinks that had been sorely lacking today with the visit to his in-laws to see Nell. He didn't dislike the Murrays. He just wished he'd never met their daughter. And he didn't need the added difficulties of them thinking he was as hard a drinker as he in fact was. He functioned well enough, and the business was his own, so there were few who would object to him "runnin up on some stupid", as he put it. He saw no reason to push the issue, however.

Dick switched on the oscillating fan in the corner and poured himself a drink. He took a tentative sip and let it make the course around his mouth before he swallowed and felt a slight shudder. He lit a cigarette and took another, deeper drink and another tremor, slighter than the first, ran down his back. The whiskey was cool and he rubbed the tumbler against his forehead.

"And yet some bitter liquid in a glass could rouse a dream I thought forever stilled," he thought. Dick never knew the poet's name. But Dick hated poetry anyway. It was just a line his father had used often enough before the dreams he roused turned and devoured him. Oh well. The old man was good with a phrase, and he never knocked his kids around too much.

"Goddamn but it's hot," he thought.

He switched on the television on the kitchen counter and sat down to watch the news. There was a red banner across the bottom of the screen, and the anchorwoman was talking about an explosion and fire.

"…at Lawther Memorial Hospital early this afternoon. Damage was largely contained to the psychiatric wing. No word yet on the number dead or missing, and the hospital administration has pushed back the scheduled press briefing one more hour…"

"No."

Something suddenly slid into place in Dick's mind and he froze for a moment staring at the dishes he had left in the sink that morning. There was a ticklish feeling in his side. It had been that smell.

"Honey, where's Nell?"

A shiver ran up Dick's back. Jane used to say that was "rabbits on yer grave, hon".

"She's over at your mother's, Jane," he answered. He turned slowly to face her and caught his breath.

"Do I look a mess? Were you expecting someone else tonight? Is that why Nell's not here?"
She was smiling as she spoke, but her hands were trembling and flittering about as if she were swatting a cloud of gnats from her nose.

Dick tried to keep his voice calm. He didn't want to excite his wife any more than necessary in the condition she was in. He took another drink, but it almost made him choke. Why couldn't he just tell her the truth? When had he begun to tailor his talk so as not to provoke her? She was easily provoked.

"No, Jane. I thought she could use some time with Mimi and Papa, and they asked in any case." He paused and then continued, "I needed some time to myself, no matter what you think I feel about being alone, Jane. The last thing I want is…"

"Lyin sack a shit!" she interrupted screaming.

"…more crazy shit like this! Can't you see what yer stupid bullshit is doin?!" he finished.

Her lower jaw thrust out, she held her fist down in front of her and clenched it white. Dick knew she was crushing his nuts with that hand. He winced visibly, and then felt angry with himself for it. Her voice lowered an octave and the trembling subsided as if a chill had passed and the blood flushed again to her skin letting her relax her shoulders.

"You think I don't know yer pickin up whores? You think I don't know yer still doin dope and hidin it from me? You think I'm crazy?"

The trembling began again, rising up from somewhere in the ground beneath the house and coming up and up through her body, until something seemed to give when it reached her shoulders and she looked frail for a moment. As if the only thing that carried her weight was that rush, that adrenaline-fed mania of delusional anger and paranoia. The rest of her vital substance had been sucked out of her tissues leaving something less than firm flesh. She looked as if a fist would not bruise or break, but rather penetrate her body and come out the other side.

"You were the one! You had the hookup! You said it'd be better if we banged it! You cut me off, goddamnit! You fuckin cut me off!"

"Damn right I did, bitch. You cain't handle yer shit, and yer losin yer mind behind it. Didn't take you long to hook up on yer own once I stopped gittin it for ya. Goddamn speedwhore! How many dicks you suck the last three months?! You think I wanna put my dick in you after half the county's been in there?!!"

"You ain't got no idea what I been doin, you dickless bastard, but whatever it is, it's better'n what I ever had here with yer twisted ass! At least they were real men!!"

"They were speedwhores just like you, bitch. I got no use for any of ya."

"It ain't enough for you to put me away after all of it. You had to turn my own family against me! My own daughter! You fuckin bastard!!" She was straining to scream at him, but what emerged was choked off somewhere below and came squeaking and hoarse.

Dick had lost interest in fighting with her weeks before. It wasn't just the dope. There was something more than that working on her mind – the crystal just triggered it somehow, aggravated and fueled it. The whole mess had ended with an involuntary commitment and much yelling and tears on all sides. But she had been so out in the periphery when it all happened that she had not had the wits about her to fight back. A week later and she seemed to be struggling in that direction. Dick figured she was just too late. He was done with that and ready to be shed of her finally.

"Bitch, have you had a look at yourself? You look like death eatin a cracker. They're gonna figger out yer missin. And I'll ‘magine they're gonna figger out somethin else fore too long as well, if they haven't already. So they'll be comin this way one way or another directly. I don't know what you thought you were gonna accomplish comin over here. Yer outta yer goddamn mind! I didn't turn yer family or anyone else against you, you crazy, dopefucked bitch! It ain't like you haven't been showin yer ass in public for the last six months! I couldn't a kept it a secret if I'd a wanted to!"

She exploded on him, "I'm not the one that started this shit!! It was you! You, you son of a bitch! You were the one takin me down that goddamn road! What about yer little fuckin secret, you perverted piece a shit?! Will they think I'm so crazy when I tell em bout you and yer ways?! I'll tell em, goddamnit! I'll fuckin tell em bout the others! I'll t…"

Dick laid her out with his fist right there on the kitchen floor. He turned and walked back to the bedroom and returned a moment later with his revolver. Jane was struggling to her feet as he approached. She stood upright and took the first shot in the chest as she made a move that looked like an embrace. The second shot sent an instant red mist out the back of her head and made a pattern of spray on the wall behind her. He paused for a moment. He took the butcher knife from the block and placed it in her hand before he walked to the phone and dialed 911.

Dick Carlson poured another drink and sat on a stool staring down at his late wife.

"Fuck you, you crazy bitch. You really messed up talkin that shit, didn't you?"