“How are you feeling Mr. Potter?” a voice to my right asked.  I blinked hard and as consciousness overcame me I recognized Deputy Carlyle sitting next to my bed.

“Not great,” I replied.

“Mr. Potter, will you stay calm if I take the cuffs off?” he asked.

“Sure thing,” I said.  I was fresh off getting stomped by my friend and any confrontation with Carlyle was certain to produce even less favorable results.

“Mr. Carver and Ms. Potter have decided not to press charges. Given the circumstances, the Sheriff has decided to let this incident go,” Carlyle said as he released me from the restraints.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Don’t thank me,” said Carlyle.  “I wanted to lock you up.  Don’t go over there without permission again.”  With that, Carlyle turned and walked out the door.  I appreciated his honesty in that moment.  It is always good to know where you stand with people.

My keys were nowhere to be found, but my phone was on the bedside table.  After checking myself out I lit a smoke and sulked on the bench outside of the hospital.  I had no idea how I was getting home and I began contemplating the impact that my actions would have on my visitation rights with Erica.

“Hey Al!” I heard a voice call from the road.  Jane was there in her early nineties mustang.  “Jimmy called.  He said you might need a ride.”  I wasn’t sure if Carlyle was trying to help me or just fucking with me by calling Jane.  It wasn’t a secret around town that we had a history together, but it also wasn’t a secret that Jane was a complete and utter lunatic.  But, it wasn’t as if I had any other options so I hopped in the car and away we drove.

When we pulled up to my place my car was waiting in its spot.  Jane handed me my keys, apparently retrieved from Sam’s house at some point during my unconsciousness. 

“Thanks for the lift,” I mumbled and exited the car.  I was ready to slide into my bed, call to find out if I still had a job, and forget the previous day ever happened.  I didn’t get far before Jane called out to me.

“Hey Al,” she said.  When I turned back toward the car I saw her hiking up her already very short skirt, leaving very little to the imagination.  “Any way I can take your mind off your troubles?”

We were all over each other even before we were fully in the door.  Our clothing made a trail from the living room to the bathroom, as we were Hansel and Gretel leaving a trail of breadcrumbs so we would be able to find our way back.  I knew it was a bad idea.  Any time I hooked up with Jane in the past always ended in some sort of ridiculousness or drama, but in that moment I didn’t care.  It just felt so good to be desired.  I went with it.  As our bodies intertwined under the water my problems faded to the background.  Then it happened.  I was so lost in the moment, that a moment was all it lasted.

“Already Al?” Jane said.  She did not hide the fact that she was underwhelmed by the brevity of our experience.  I was, of course embarrassed.  But, there was nothing to be done.  I resigned myself to adding this experience to the ever-growing pile of garbage and misery that my life was turning into.  Then, as she was collecting her clothes and slipping back on her fishnets, Jane said it.  “Maybe I should go fuck Marty.  Sam seems to think he is an upgrade.”

It was too much; the straw that broke the back of a very weary camel.  All of the rage that was boiling over from the previous days spilled out.  Naked as naked gets I ran over to Jane without thinking and wrapped my fingers around her throat.  Then a look came over her.  It wasn’t fear, it wasn’t anger.  She was turned on, and so was I.  I kept my grip and we started again, this time leaning against the wall.  The harder I squeezed, the more enthralled I became.  While Jane was excited at first, she soon began to struggle.  It had gone from playful to violent, but I was too caught in the moment to realize.  She began clawing at my face, but all conscious thought for me was already gone and I just kept squeezing her throat.  As I finished my grip tightened without intent and there was a snap.  Jane went limp.  She was dead.

I released my grip on Jane’s throat and we both slumped to the floor.  I was horrified, not at the fact that I just murdered my sometimes booty call, but at the pleasure and the rush it gave me.  It was not intentional, but Jane’s horribleness led me to my calling.  I’ll always be grateful to her for it.  What I won’t be grateful for is her bowels evacuating all over my living room as she hit the floor.  While I have come to believe that taking a life is the most beautiful, primal experience that exists, the aftermath is undeniably awful. 

Disgusting as it may be, the prospect of cleaning up shit is pretty straight-forward.  Disposal of human remains is much more problematic.  I sat for a while mulling over the practical aspects of what I had done.  Would I get caught?  How do I get rid of the body?  Is it worth the risk to try and replicate this feeling?  I was lost.  Then I heard the voice again, this time clear and unmistakable.  It was Jack.  My dead brother Jack was speaking to me.

“You killed the only person who wanted to fuck you,” Dead Jack snickered.  As I turned to face the voice I saw him, plain as day, sitting on my couch.  He looked similar to the way he looked at his funeral, save for the rivulets of blood dripping from his self-inflicted gunshot wound to his temple.  His Army blues that he was buried in even looked freshly pressed.  I’m still unsure if I am being haunted or hallucinating.

“You can’t be here,” I said with a slight quiver in my voice.  “You’re dead.”

“And yet, here I am.  C’mon Bro, aren’t you happy to see me?” he asked, with his sly, mischievous smile I was familiar with from our youth. 

“You aren’t real,” I said.  “You can’t be.”

“Does it really matter?  You just murdered your booty call.  It isn’t as if you can go to anyone else for help.”  Dead or not, ghost or hallucination, Jack was right.  I was alone in a giant fucking mess.

“So what do I do?  How can you possibly help me?” I asked.

“We have to get rid of the body,” Jack said.

“No fucking shit, Jack.  I know we need to get rid of the goddamn body.  How do you propose we do that?  It isn’t like I can stuff her in the trashcan and wheel her out to the curb,” I said.  Jack’s statement of the obvious was already vexing.  As if I didn’t have enough problems without his smart ass remarks.

“Relax Allie,” Dead Jack said.  I hated it when he called me Allie. “The first thing we gotta do is go to the hardware store.”  The devious look that poured over Demon Jack’s face sent chills racing up my spine.

Next Chapter: Chapter 11: The Manifesto of Alan Potter, Part 4