Chaos amidst Stagnancy

After a week of restless nights, Paul Schwartz was finally able to get some shut-eye. Tedious news segments paired with the two ounces of scotch he still had in hand were just what he needed to doze off. Even though Saskatchewan’s criminality rates had skyrocketed in the last decade, the local channels rarely presented anything out of the ordinary.

The armchair he was sprawled in seemed almost more comfortable than the frugal motel room bed where he had set his travel bag and hunting gears. These were the only things he had taken before leaving his home indefinitely. At last, the breaking news jingle he had been waiting for all evening brought him back to consciousness.  

“We interrupt this program to bring you an important message,” said the newscaster with a somber look in her eyes. 

“Regina police is looking for two individuals who have been connected with the series of senseless murders afflicting the province in the past month.”

Profound uneasiness swirled around in his stomach. Paul immediately recognized the aberrant sketches made from his description of the suspects. The faces of the two fugitives were still engraved in his memory, but at the time, he hadn’t been able to focus clearly enough to give fitting descriptions to the forensic artists. Everything had just been so surreal. The news broadcast went on. 

“The last report indicates that they were seen near Virden and heading west on the Trans Canada Highway. The suspects appear to be a caucasian male and a female in their mid-thirties with strawberry blond and dark brown hair, respectively. They are considered armed, dangerous, and highly unpredictable.”

Paul quickly gathered the few belongings he had on the bed and checked out of his motel room. Without thinking twice, he got into his car and drove into the chill night of March on the westbound highway.

He was not exactly sure he understood the reasons that motivated him to go after them. Was it to get revenge? Why else would he have packed his hunting rifle? Would killing the people responsible for his wife’s death bring him a sense of closure? Deep down, he knew that it was more complicated than that. After all, his relationship with his wife had been dead long before she was murdered.

The years of arguing with her had made him numb. Instead of relentlessly fighting for no satisfying reason, he had found solace in agreeing with whatever she said. Did he feel fulfilled? Not really, but he was too much of a coward to leave her, and simply nodding without actually listening was generally enough to keep the peace between them.

Paul had replayed the scene a thousand times in his mind. These two animals had walked right past him and gunned her down like hitmen sent to settle an old debt. Without any hesitation or remorse. And without any reason. Why them? Why her? Why did she have to die, and he had to survive? He knew he had to confront them. A visceral hunger for answers drove him. Making sense of what happened had become an obsession. No matter how long it took or how disappointing the answers might be, he was determined to see this thing through. 

…

Three months of endless pursuit had tolled Paul’s mental state and finances. Even the cheapest motel rooms were now out of his budget, so sleeping in his car had become his only other option. The early summer heat waves that had crashed on the Calgary metropolitan area during the last couple of weeks made sleeping in past 8 AM a life hazard. That very morning, he woke up with the sun beating down on him through the windshield and felt like he was evaporating along with his life savings. He knew that every day his chances of finding them got slimmer and slimmer and that he wouldn’t be able to go on forever after all.

The Married Murderers, as the media came to call them, had flown under the radar after their spring killing spree got the RCMP’s attention. Since the noose was tightening around their necks, they hadn’t attacked anyone in almost two weeks.  

One brutally hot morning, Paul sat up, slowly unsticking his seared skin from the leather seat. Gathering the empty beer cans, bottles of liquor, and fast food wrappers from the car floor, he got out of the inferno that had become his car. He then made his way to the dumpster with his hands full of reminders of the poor decisions he had made the night before and many other nights since he had embarked on this wild goose chase. The only thing Paul could think of in this weather was the cure to alleviate his heat-stricken hangover: water. 

Luckily, the convenience store’s bright neon open sign was just about 200 meters from where his car was parked. Halfway into the store, Paul felt a surge of energy hit him as the AC spewed a gush of cool air onto his wet hair. Beelining towards the refrigerators, Paul thought he wouldn’t be interested in anything else than a cold bottle of water, but only a few meters away was the woman he had been looking for all this time. The very person who had made him a widower without any explanation was standing right next to him, deliberating between cola and orange soda. In awe, Paul quickly glanced around to locate her second half, but without any luck. After all, he had probably used up his last shred of luck in this life running into her. Now oblivious to his thirst and state of dehydration, Paul quickly got outside and ran back to his car to get his gun. He would not miss his chance. Making it back there just in time for her to come outside, Paul lifted his rifle and yelled, “WHY? Do you even recognize me? Because I recognized you immediately.”

Before the woman could answer, a voice behind Paul calmly let out, “I recognized you too.”

The woman’s husband had been waiting for her in the parking lot when he saw Paul run out of the store and come back a few moments later with his hunting rifle. 

Paul immediately tensed up at the feeling of the gun barrel pressed against his back. Although he could not see the man holding it, he also knew exactly who he was. After a deep sigh, the man demanded: “Put your gun down, son. Do it, and you might just—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Paul fired a shot directly into the woman’s chest. The force of the weapon pushed her flat on her back and propelled Paul into his captor. Startled, the man pulled the trigger on impact. The bullet ripped through Paul’s arm before lodging itself in the store’s façade. Without even having time to process the first wave of pain, Paul collapsed on the ground after his aggressor hit him over the head with the grip of his gun. 

“Kill me already,” cried Paul, “Why did you kill her and let me live?”

“Is that what you're doing? Why would I kill someone who is barely alive? Look at you. You had the same jaded look on your face that day. An empty shell of a man, that’s what you are!”

“I don’t- I don’t understand…” replied Paul, confused.

“You were living your wife’s version of your life. I could tell the second I saw you. You let her eat you alive, and I freed you.”

“Do I look free to you?!” He spat back angrily.

After letting another sigh, the blond man replied: “Unfortunately, no. You just found a new prison for your soul. Us.”

Paul started crawling in the direction of his rifle when his tormentor stomped on his bleeding arm. Paul screamed in agony.

“I killed your wife! Aren’t you mad? Don’t you want to watch me die?” Paul added arrogantly.

“Come on now, there is no fun in kicking a man when he’s down. I mean that figuratively, of course. You think I can hate you more than you hate yourself? My wife lived the life she wanted and died the way she wanted. She was a free spirit,” he said before adding, “So no, I don’t hate you. I pity you.”

The sound of police sirens wailed in the distance. The criminal kneeled next to Paul and whispered: “I’ll give you one last chance. One last chance to learn how to live. If you still have the same lifeless look in your eyes when our paths cross again, I’ll not only kill whoever you are with, but I’ll also put you out of your misery.”

The man then dashed to his car and drove off into the scorching hot streets of Calgary.

…

When the first responders arrived, Paul was in shock. Too distraught to talk, scream, cry or show any other reaction than the state of catatonia he was in. Not even the first police officers to arrive at the scene were able to get a word out of him. After being hauled and handcuffed onto the stretcher, he finally broke out of his trance in an epiphany. He had finally got the answer to the question that was melting his mind for the last few months. 

“This is all my fault… all… my… fault,” Paul let out in a breathless whisper and tears jerking from his eyes.

Guilt compressed his chest as he realized that the killers had picked up on his secret need to have his wife disappear from his life. An urge so deeply buried in his subconscious that not even he knew about it until today.

Having heard him, the emergency worker tried to give him some comfort. “You can’t blame yourself, sir. There’s no logic in what these guys are doing. They’re just killing anyone on sight whenever they fancy doing so.”

Paul lay on the stretcher, red-eyed, laughing manically and contemplating the extent of the misconception he had just heard.

…

The cold air from the micro-fissures in the prison’s concrete walls made Paul’s arm unnecessarily stiff. The gunshot wound had healed well enough, but he still couldn’t hold a book above his face for an extended period. The mental damage caused by the manhunt and the loss of his wife would, however, take a longer time to heal. Still, he was proud of the progress he had made during his stay in jail. Paul felt that each book he read allowed him to patch a hole in his broken psyche. However, short breaks between chapters were necessary to give his mind a break. With all the free time he now had, Paul had learned to appreciate that processing a book’s content was almost as valuable as the actual act of reading. He hoped that even though he would soon have other things to do than read and reflect, he would still keep this habit. 

A familiar voice made him snap back to reality and open his eyes. He calmly stood up and walked up to the prison bars to meet the voice getting increasingly closer. The man who had shot him two months before had finally been caught. Paul intently fixed his gaze on the man and only received a quick side glance in return.

“Much better,” stoically declared the man right after passing Paul’s cell.

Without saying a word, Paul smiled. He had never been as free as while he was in prison. Never felt more alive than before having a brush with death. He was now truly living. Thriving in purposelessness.