The Normal People
Monique Munro
The hallway of the hotel narrows at the west corner of the lobby, guiding guests into a spacious sitting room. Carefully arranged wax flowers surrounded by various women’s magazines lay upon wood tables centered between two large sofa couches that line the peach pink walls. The design mirrors itself on both sides and rounds into a dimly lit washroom just outside the tiled room of mahogany stalls.
The pasty tile filing darkens into a thick red that traces back into the pool of blood that surrounds the saturated dirty blond hair. Her body, draped in black and expensive pearls, lies sprawled beneath the crystal counter and glass sink bowls. Her face stares into the stark white ceiling as the blood continues to run down her face.
* * *
The Family Man
My son plays basketball; the CYO sponsors no cut A and B teams through his middle school. He isn’t very good and rarely sees playing time. I sit and read the Sunday news paper during most of his games, let my mind wander.
Fourth quarter is when his ass-hole coach trades him in. My nine-year-old daughter cheers from the bleachers next to me. “Yay Carter. Go Carter!” They won’t pass him the ball though.
Cyclones win 37 to 13, a complete shut out at the sixth grade level. My son babbles on about the highlights as I hand him a jacket he refuses to put on. “Can we go get pizza?” Carter pleads, even though he knows every Sunday his mother makes fish for dinner.
I don’t respond.
The car ride home was eventfully mind numbing. Carter played his Game Boy on full volume while Kaylee enjoyed the 17th replay of her favorite Recess episode, both ignoring each other. However, I could not ignore the hammer bludgeoning the back of my skull brought on by the excessive noise.
My very first objective once I reached home was to pop as many painkillers as the warning label would allow. I chased the little blue pills with a glass of milk from the table as we sat down to dinner.
The kitchen was warm from the oven. The counter tops were spotless, the sink was cleared and the dishwasher had been emptied despite the mess dinner preparations caused.
The table easily sat six though there were only four present. With heads bowed surrounding their beautifully arranged food it was a picture perfect moment straight from a “Christian Home” magazine.
“Dear God, thank you for our food …”
“The win against St. Pius”, Carter chimed in.
“And please bless this day and all to come.”
Directly across from me sat my wife, her sapphire eyes sparkled in the dull light. “Church this afternoon was eventful”, Annabel suggested, between mouthfuls of rice.
“The breaded halibut is excellent”, I complimented.
“You three left in such a hurry to make the game”, she continued. “You missed her miraculous recovery. Turns out it was just an anxiety attack; now the real question is, from what? She did put on quite the performance for those of us who stayed”
“Mrs. Banster will do anything for attention.”
“That may be so, but Mrs. Keptspher swears she saw Mr. Banster’s ghostly figure pass through into the light as the anxiety attack began”, Annabel insisted.
“I’m sure she did.”
“What time is your flight tomorrow, by the way?”
“Plane takes off at nine-forty.”
“Have you considered what we talked about? Acquiring a permanent job here in Tucson. I know the money is good but I think it’s better for the family if you didn’t have to commute every couple weeks back to Oregon.”
I wish she would stop pestering me about this. There was no way I would be able to transfer permanently without her discovering the truth. It would break her heart. A heart I accidently grew too fond of, so I lied.
“You know I can’t just ask them to place me in the state of my preference. I could lose my position for good. There are plenty of people who would love to have my job.”
“Yes I know, but if the subject ever come up…”
“I’ll be sure to mention it.”
“Good. Have you finished packing?”
“Of course dear. And the cab will be here in ‘bout an hour.”
“Cab? I can drive you. We will drive you.”
“Don’t worry yourself honey, the cab is already booked. And you have all these dishes to do. No use in sending the children to bed on account of me.” I hated to argue. Anne nodded her head in agreement.
The cab arrived on time, and we said our family good-byes.
Sometimes I wished I had been friendly to the neighbors. At times like these, commuting back and forth like this, I could use an extra pair of eyes. Someone who keeps an eye on the Weston’s while I was away. But I gave up that chance when I snubbed all the neighborly folks along the first three streets surrounding our patch of suburbia. It’s probably better this way.
“To the airport then?” asked the cab driver in a fading British accent as I climbed into the molded back seat.
“Yes, thank you”.
Fourth quarter is when his ass-hole coach trades him in. My nine-year-old daughter cheers from the bleachers next to me. “Yay Carter. Go Carter!” They won’t pass him the ball though.
Cyclones win 37 to 13, a complete shut out at the sixth grade level. My son babbles on about the highlights as I hand him a jacket he refuses to put on. “Can we go get pizza?” Carter pleads, even though he knows every Sunday his mother makes fish for dinner.
I don’t respond.
The car ride home was eventfully mind numbing. Carter played his Game Boy on full volume while Kaylee enjoyed the 17th replay of her favorite Recess episode, both ignoring each other. However, I could not ignore the hammer bludgeoning the back of my skull brought on by the excessive noise.
My very first objective once I reached home was to pop as many painkillers as the warning label would allow. I chased the little blue pills with a glass of milk from the table as we sat down to dinner.
The kitchen was warm from the oven. The counter tops were spotless, the sink was cleared and the dishwasher had been emptied despite the mess dinner preparations caused.
The table easily sat six though there were only four present. With heads bowed surrounding their beautifully arranged food it was a picture perfect moment straight from a “Christian Home” magazine.
“Dear God, thank you for our food …”
“The win against St. Pius”, Carter chimed in.
“And please bless this day and all to come.”
Directly across from me sat my wife, her sapphire eyes sparkled in the dull light. “Church this afternoon was eventful”, Annabel suggested, between mouthfuls of rice.
“The breaded halibut is excellent”, I complimented.
“You three left in such a hurry to make the game”, she continued. “You missed her miraculous recovery. Turns out it was just an anxiety attack; now the real question is, from what? She did put on quite the performance for those of us who stayed”
“Mrs. Banster will do anything for attention.”
“That may be so, but Mrs. Keptspher swears she saw Mr. Banster’s ghostly figure pass through into the light as the anxiety attack began”, Annabel insisted.
“I’m sure she did.”
“What time is your flight tomorrow, by the way?”
“Plane takes off at nine-forty.”
“Have you considered what we talked about? Acquiring a permanent job here in Tucson. I know the money is good but I think it’s better for the family if you didn’t have to commute every couple weeks back to Oregon.”
I wish she would stop pestering me about this. There was no way I would be able to transfer permanently without her discovering the truth. It would break her heart. A heart I accidently grew too fond of, so I lied.
“You know I can’t just ask them to place me in the state of my preference. I could lose my position for good. There are plenty of people who would love to have my job.”
“Yes I know, but if the subject ever come up…”
“I’ll be sure to mention it.”
“Good. Have you finished packing?”
“Of course dear. And the cab will be here in ‘bout an hour.”
“Cab? I can drive you. We will drive you.”
“Don’t worry yourself honey, the cab is already booked. And you have all these dishes to do. No use in sending the children to bed on account of me.” I hated to argue. Anne nodded her head in agreement.
The cab arrived on time, and we said our family good-byes.
Sometimes I wished I had been friendly to the neighbors. At times like these, commuting back and forth like this, I could use an extra pair of eyes. Someone who keeps an eye on the Weston’s while I was away. But I gave up that chance when I snubbed all the neighborly folks along the first three streets surrounding our patch of suburbia. It’s probably better this way.
“To the airport then?” asked the cab driver in a fading British accent as I climbed into the molded back seat.
“Yes, thank you”.
Airports, Gossip, and Too Much Makeup
Check in was not as eventful as the last trip. There was screaming last time, words were exchanged, and both the honeymooner husband and the baggage scale girl, I have no idea what the correct terminology would be, looked as if they were about to get it on, old school, WWF style. However, late evening flights usually fail to produce any entertaining wrangles.
Three and half-hours later, I spotted the bright runway lights of PDX glow through my passenger window. The plane will land with plenty of turbulence, and those who were not paying attention will begin to faintly panic, and in even more of a hurry to get off the plane once it lands, people have no mercy.
Carla and Liza are waiting for me at the gate when I finally emerge. If it wasn’t for the moving walkways it might have taken longer to fight my way through the masses.
“Honey, oh my, don’t you look like a mess. We should get you cleaned up, and just as a side note, we have brunch tomorrow at ten. You probably want your rest, so you should shower tonight. I have laid out some clothes for you…”
Carla always wore too much makeup. She wasn’t clownish, it was just too much. her sixteen year old daughter, from her first marriage, lagged behind, texting. She only spent breaks and a few weeks during the summer with us now.
In comparison to her mother there wasn’t much of a difference, though, Liza preferred the natural look Which meant the same amount of makeup, but it took more work to make it look like she wasn’t wearing any, this is why she always spent so much time in the bathroom. So the late night infomercials have displayed in detail.
“Do you remember the Jacksons dear? Well you should, they ask about you at the club. Carla rambled on. “I do hate that you have to split your time between the companies. It always makes for awkward conversations. ‘Where’s your Mr. Webb Carla? Where has Sam run off too?’ Always the same questions and I always have to give the same answers. I do wish…..”
I do wish she would stop wishing. I wish she would just stop talking. What I wouldn’t give to shut her up.
Grab hold of her hair, yank her head back and watch the blood gurgle down her dress as I slit her throat.
“Sam? Sam why are you looking at me like that?”
We were in the elevator heading towards baggage claim. My head was tilted to the side and I must have had the most peculiar look on my face as I was staring at her mother’s pearls. She was staring back at me in disgust.
“Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve been saying?”
“Of course dear. What did you have layed out for me? I thought I might play some gulf with the guys after brunch.”
“That would be wonderful, as I was saying the Jacksons, Tim, has been asking after you. I suppose the clothes I’ve laid out wouldn’t be appropriate. I’ll find something else.”
I hate golf, I don’t really understand it. But my co-workers enjoy games every other Sunday. And normal is whatever the majority decides.
Monday Mornings
Life was simple during the week. I spent all day at a desk pushing papers around, only doing the minimum, but trying to look busy. They have been downsizing the company. I wouldn’t want to seem as if I had too much time on my hands.
It was while I was actually getting some work done when I was summoned to the chambers of the company’s higher power. I proceeded to the elevator and up to the 22nd floor.
Office hierarchy is a beautiful thing. A system fueled by fear; fear of losing everything because of one little professional or personal mistake. The system lords, (The Board), and their minion, (CEO), playing god; deciding the fate of their kingdom and its people.
The ride up seemed longer in my haste. As the doors clunked open, I noticed the hallway was an exceptional length. I wasn’t expecting such a large drawn out entryway for just one person. The nameplate next to the door read, Carlyle O’Flanagin.
“Do you have an appointment?” Asked the small hazel-eyed women sitting at the previously invisible desk.
“Yes, I was, uh, sent for.”
“Ah yes, Samuel J. Webber. Please go in, he’s expecting you.”
I pushed through the heavy gates that separated us from our ruler. He was sitting at his desk, several of his guards, (lawyers), at either side of him. Their stuffy suits slowly strangling away the sanity, as their beady eyes stared me down.
“Please have seat. I want to talk to you about your position with us. As you know we are downsizing a bit here at the branch in Oregon.” There was a slight pause.
I was reasonably calm for someone who was about to be fired.
“You have been a valuable asset to us, Though we know you enjoy traveling…”
That was a lie.
“We thought, maybe we could save you the commute. Maybe, Arizona could be a permanent place for you.”
“You’re not going to fire me?” That I could handel, Carla would leave me on her own, no hassle. Liza had no permanent attachment to me. And I could go back to Anne; no harm done.
“Of course not, we can’t afford to lose someone like you, at a time like this. It is much warmer there. I’m sure your lovely wife and daughter wouldn’t mind the move.”
It’s not the move they would mind.
“We’re trying to actually fire as little of our staff as possible. Why don’t you take time to think it over during the next few weeks.”
While shaking his hand I managed a shaky, “Yes, sir. Thank you sir.”
But all the while I was in a daze. Panic began to rise in the pit of my stomach. My heart began to beat uncontrollably. What was I going to do about this. I had had no choice before. My sweaty palms could barley grasp the knob as I tried to escape the suffocation. My mouth slowly filled with vomit as I sped down the hall into the elevator and hurled as the doors closed just in time.
Uneventful Existence
Mr. Carlyle O’Flanagin is awaiting my acceptance to his offer. Of course, he knows I will accept. I don’t really have a choice in the matter, that is, if I want to maintain my steady income.
The last two weeks were a blur. The most enjoyable things in life eluded me. I was unable to turn the corner in the office without fearing the appearance from Carlyle. The news was mocking me. I could not enjoy my coffee, the best part of my day. My food turned to slop, and all the while Carla paraded herself around like a prize sheep.
I grew more and more bitter towards her existence as the days passed. It seems the question was easy to the answer, the choice not hard to make. However, Carla would be difficult to dispose of. Divorce was not an option; Annabel can never know. Simply asking her to go away would result in a lawsuit, she would never settle. A way out just didn’t seem realistic.
Eventually, I accepted the transfer. It would take several months to pack up and get everything in order. But there would be no packing. The Carla problem still needed to be dealt with.
The Vision
Carla scraped at the blurry blob, her legs flailing as she stared into the eyes of the man who once again tightened phone cord around her neck. Her oxygen-deprived body gave up and her chest gave one last gilt before her eyes rolled back into her skull.
The room was quiet, except for the rain, as he hog-tied the body and wrapped her and a ten-pound weight in a clear tarp. She didn’t slide easily off the bed, he thought, as her heard a crack from inside the tarp. Sam began to rethink his decision to add the weight before he got to the drop site as he dragged her out the door and watched as she and the weight left heavy impression in the muddy grass.
Sam hauled her into the truck and locked both the bed and the cab door, then took off on the highway toward the countryside. Eventually he came to a small town, the truck bounced down a dirt road to a small lake surrounded by several summer homes and few year round folk. Early morning rain still pouring, Sam smashed the lock off the Park and Rec. pool shed and dragged the green canoe from its resting place and loaded his cargo. Reaching the middle of the giant pond Sam slowly lowers the body into the water and watched it sink into the darkness.
The room was quiet, except for the rain, as he hog-tied the body and wrapped her and a ten-pound weight in a clear tarp. She didn’t slide easily off the bed, he thought, as her heard a crack from inside the tarp. Sam began to rethink his decision to add the weight before he got to the drop site as he dragged her out the door and watched as she and the weight left heavy impression in the muddy grass.
Sam hauled her into the truck and locked both the bed and the cab door, then took off on the highway toward the countryside. Eventually he came to a small town, the truck bounced down a dirt road to a small lake surrounded by several summer homes and few year round folk. Early morning rain still pouring, Sam smashed the lock off the Park and Rec. pool shed and dragged the green canoe from its resting place and loaded his cargo. Reaching the middle of the giant pond Sam slowly lowers the body into the water and watched it sink into the darkness.
Murder 101
I began taking notes immediately. Female murders became an instant favorite along with additional crime dramas and cold case series. I studied long and I studied hard, I had always been a good student.
Views from the killer’s perspective became just as important as views from those on the outside. I needed to know my prey, my nosy bystanders, as well as my hunters. Carla’s death could not lead back to me.
I drew true inspiration from women who freed themselves from abusive, cheating husbands, ‘till death do them part’. Carla had been running to motels, hotels, the back of Timothy Jackson’s Mercedes, for almost a year now. One of their outings would be perfect for staging a “hit”. Timothy had a jealous wife. Who would probably be plotting something of her own, everyone knew by now. However, normal people only plot; they never act out their desires.
Carla’s death would need to look like an act of passion, her murder would be blamed on Mrs. Jackson, and it will all just be an unfortunate coincidence.
Answered Prayers
I was watching a woman who had slaughtered her children for no plausible reason be sentenced to death in the state of Texas when I received the unfortunate news. The pounding at the door was almost alarming. You would think officers bearing news of a departed spouse would be a little more polite and gentle.
My eyes were damp with tears as my tormented soul struggled to conceal its joy. The fear of Anne discovering the truth, the fear that had been eating away at my sanity was now a distant nightmare.
I could tell they suspected me, their non-sympathetic expression judging my every movement and response to their probing questions. Brief as our conversation may have been, I did learn that the Portland Police Department currently had no suspects.
Snow Globe
Scarlett found the gift, wrapped in purple tissue paper, hidden in the garage next to his toolbox. She had suspected infidelity, but never this, not affection. Sex is one thing, its just sex.
Nevertheless, there it was, plain as day, with a sticker reading: From Your Love. A single tear fell around her cheek and to the edge of her chin as she slowly untied the white ribbon.
The glass dome held two figurines balancing themselves on ice as snowflakes fell. It was the Park Avenue Princess leaning in for a kiss from her Park Avenue Prince.
What tormented her most was the fact that everyone knew it was Carla Webb who collected the snow globes. He wasn’t trying to hide it anymore.
* * *
She watched them for several minutes from behind the lobby pillar, clutching her stolen gift towards her heart as they laughed and shared glances from across the restaurant table. Holding back tears Scarlett pushed past several guests and into the restrooms locking herself in the stall.
After 20 minutes of masked sobs scarlet slugged out from behind the stall, she would confront them tonight she insisted to herself as she rounded the corner. She would march straight up to their table and…
Carla was applying a new coat of lipstick in front of the panel lit mirror. Her elegant black dress revealed a little too much cleavage draped in pearls, which she was obviously trying to draw attention too. Carla did not notice her at first.
Scarlett continued to stare, baffled at the calm in Carla’s movements. She was clearly standing in plain sight. Carla had seen her, she thought, and taken no notice, no pity. They had been friends for a while now, and this is how she is treated.
Carla recognized the reflection, as Scarlett stood motionless behind her. There was no emotion in her expression, a blank canvas. She had stopped viewing the world in its reality, and started seeing it, seeing Carla, for what she was. A dream she could not wake up from, a roadblock keeping her from her husband, an incident she needed to erase.
“Scarlett!” Carla breathed in surprise as she quickly turned. But, she was too late.
The dome of the snow globe beat into her head with incredible force. Carla grabbed the counter for support, clutching her throbbing skull. She could feel the indent in her temple, her vision strained to see the blood the stained her fingers. Carla staggered forward as Scarlett struck her once again. The glass dome shattered to pieces as Carla fell to the ground and rolled under the counter.
