Secrets

Secrets

The news had been covering the murders seemingly nonstop over the past 18 months and Diane was getting sick of it. While she was definitely sympathetic to the tragedies that befell the coeds, she always felt they bore some of the responsibility of their fates. As a strong Christian woman, she believed that Godly living was imperative to survival in a godless world. She felt emphatically that her Christian values are what kept her and her family safe. Her daughter was away at school and it scared her a little bit. She was a great girl who focused on her school work and would never be in a position to be killed by a psychopath, she hoped. It gave her a sick comfort when she heard about what the girls were doing before they were killed. As long as she could keep her daughter away from that lifestyle, she would be fine. She fit the description of the other girls in every other way.  

From the sound of things, all of the victims had been out partying, drinking and, most likely, fornicating. She believed it was these actions that put them in a position to be victims in the first place thus, they were partly responsible for their own deaths. If they’d stayed home, studying and living Godly lives, they’d still be alive. However, despite her beliefs, the way in which the women died was horrific to her and she hated when the news began describing the state of the victims. She switched the channel, landing on yet another headlining news coverage of the latest gruesome homicide. This death was the tenth in the 18 month span. Twenty year old Gia Moriarty was found in the back of a frat house in Austin, positioned behind a dumpster. This homicide bore fruit for all the newscasters who had begun speculating about the potential of a serial killer. Diane didn’t believe that at first but now it made sense. All the women were caucasion with brown or black hair and in their early 20s. None of them appeared vaginally or annually penetrated for sex but with a hot metal object to cauterize the parts pre-mordem. Their bodies were left staged both breasts removed and a cross carved into their chestplate. She shivered when she heard it and knew her position of fault was cruel. Because of that, she never spoke about it to Frank. 

She switched the channel again, this time to an episode of my 600 Pound Life. One of her guilty pleasures. She loved to watch the way other people lived but truthfully, deep down inside, she would sit and pass judgment at their physical limitations; despite her being 80 lbs over the recommended weight for her diminutive frame. But, in comparison, she was healthy and that made her feel good. 

“I’s watching that news story, honey.” Frank spoke up from his recliner to her right. He was so quiet she had forgotten he was there.

“Oh, sorry, Frank. Ion wanna hear ‘bout them girls bein’ kilt by some psychopath. Some of them remind me of Becca.” 

He sat up, quicker than she’d expected but his tone was still soft, and slow. “Now, how you know he crazy? Look like he riddin’ the world a dirty whores.” 

His tone was matter of fact which sent a shiver down Diane’s spine. 

“Frank!” She yelled, agreeing with him deep down but too much of a Christian to admit it. 

“What, Diane? You know you’se thinkin’ it, too.” He spat with his slow, southern drawl. 

She looked at her husband. His red portly face wrapped in a sandpaper beard of snow and tufts of hair bursting from just about his ears. The top of his head glistened from the overhead light, the moisture a contribution of his own battle with obesity. He was once a handsome strapping athletic man, who worked with his hands and always provided for her and the kids. He had really let himself go since then but Diane still thought he was handsome, in that old dad kind of way. Since Rebecca left for school though, he had begun taking better care of his appearance and had become more romantic. He was happier lately so she wasn’t going to push him too much. “Well, I mean, guess if they wasn’t drinking’ an a druggin’ they’da had their faculties to be safer on and off the campus. Like our little Becca is.”

She smiled and he returned the smile. 

“Knew you’d understand.” He said directly.

She smiled again not knowing what it was that she’d understood but she loved when Frank agreed with her and was in a good mood, so she took the compliment. She switched the tv back to the news station that was just wrapping up the explanation of the mutilated body. She looked over at Frank who was staring at the TV with the same vigor as he used to do with her when they were young kids. His hungry eyes used to wrap her body, cup her breasts and practically do the job before they ever touched. Now he was looking at the TV like that as the newscaster described women who were torn to pieces like slabs of meat. She stared for a minute. Frank felt her looking and adjusted a bit, pulling at his crotch to adjust the front. He tried to shift the awkwardness, “Well, these lil’girls needa follow the good book ‘stead of bein’ fast out there in college. You talked to Becca bout this? ”

Diane embraced the pivot, “yes, she ain’t goin’ out to nonna them frat parties and that mess. She said,’momma now you know i’m here for education not fornication’ just like I taught her.” Diane was a proud peacocking mom at the moment. 

“Yes. we did good, Diane. Shure miss Becca, though.” Frank stood up.

“Where you goin’, Frank?” Diane was enjoying their conversation.

“I’ma hop in my basement for a few. Then heada work.” 

“Frank, what you be doin’ down there all that time lately?”

“Nothin’ woman. Maybe workin’ on sumthin’ for ya, but you can’t see it jus yet.” He winked playfully. 

Diane blushed and she hadn’t blushed in nearly 15 years, 20 because of Frank. 15 years ago there was a hiccup in the marriage that left Diane close to another man. He made her blush and do a bunch of other things but through the Lord’s mercy the marriage was able to be saved. “I love it, Frank.”

Frank stood up, walked over to his wife and kissed her on the almost wrinkled forehead. “Love ya.” He whispered. 

“You too, Frank.” She held his hand for a minute. 

Frank walked out of the living room and into the kitchen toward the stairs. Diane flipped the TV back to My 600 Pound Life. She heard Frank moving things downstairs but just turned the TV up. After about twenty minutes or so Frank emerged from the basement. “Off to work hun. Love ya.” The screen door slammed shut before Diane could reciprocate. 

She waited a few minutes listening for Frank's car to sound like it had driven off into the distance. When she was satisfied at the muffle of the engine, she was on her small, pudgy feet. She was an impatient woman, evident even in her unwillingness to wait for dessert until after her meal. She could never wait for anything and Frank knew it. She interpreted that his acknowledgment of the potential gift would only encourage her to  scour the basement.  She approached the door but there was a padlock on it. No worries though, she knew where Frank kept all of his extra keys. Frank knew that she knew where he kept everything. This only solidified her belief that he wanted her to find what was in the basement. She went to the front door and popped up a loose floorboard. She reached into the dark space, and pulled out a large janitorial looking keychain. She stood up, fingering through them as she walked toward the basement door. She found a series of keys that looked like they could open the smaller bronze padlock. She tried the first and then the second with no luck. For some reason she jumped to the fifth one and slid it in the lock, perhaps because the shades of bronze were the most similar. The key turned and the steel mechanism released and shifted.

The lock opened.

Basements were rare in the south for a multitude of reasons from conditions to necessity. Some include: temperatures, ground freezing depth and even soil composition. Still, Frank had insisted on paying the extra money when they had the home built about 15 years earlier, shortly following Diane’s affair. Frank told her that it gave them a fresh start. He was very selective in their location, making sure the soil could support a basement. He would say that it was for storage purposes which was something that other Texans would never understand. Diane didn’t question his logic much, infact she generally supported him and didn’t have much of an argument since he forgave her infidelities, thank you Lord. Diane pulled off the lock placing it on the counter to her right. She opened the door and was immediately hit with the stench of mildew, formaldehyde and a faint perfumey smell probably named something like LOVEspell or SugaryKisses. For a split second she thought Frank might have bought her a new perfume. She wasn’t a fan of those young girl smells but it was the thought that counted and currently, Frank had become increasingly thoughtful. She descended the stairs, each one moaning under the stress of her weight. The smell intensified as she walked into the dark basement. Looking to her right, she noticed an old surgical table she didn’t remember owning with a dark brownish liquid stain running off the edges. Some of Frank’s old tools littered the corner, his industrial blowtorch perched near his old iron fireplace rods that had burnt animal flesh charred on the tip. Similar brown liquid spots left a trail on the cold, cement basement floor deep into the darker recesses. Diane walked towards the darkness, squinting to see what was in the back left corner of her moldy basement. Her eyes still adjusting, she saw the silhouette of jars on shelves. She could tell the jars were filled with a dark liquid. Two gelatinous orbs floated in the liquid but she couldn’t make them out clearly. She looked around for a light cord hanging from the ceiling and remembered that there was one in the center of the basement. She walked to her right and toward the center of the basement and yanked on the cord. 

A dangling free standing light with no cover swung awkwardly in the basement, the light flailing around recklessly. Her eyes stung from the sudden burst and she adjusted looking to her left first in the jar corner. The liquid was blue and the orbs were…

No, it couldn’t be. She rubbed her eyes aggressively, leaving stars when she opened them back up. She walked closer, grabbing the first jar with shaking hands looking terrified at the floating slabs of flesh that looked forcefully removed from women’s chests. There had to be almost fifty jars, all with similar size and shape breasts. No, more.

She didn’t hear the truck rolling slowly down the long gravel road toward the house or the squeaky brakes as the trunk came to a halt just outside the window. 

Diane backed up hyperventilating. Her mind was spinning, her heart beat with an impressive thump. She turned to run and saw something at the opposite corner that made her stop. She walked toward the far right, the light still swinging back and forth slowly teasing her with a partial visual and then burying what she was seeing in deep darkness. She reached up for the light and held in in her shivering right hand making a loud clanging noise as it smacked rapidly against her rings. Diane aimed the light at the far right corner and there was a young woman, naked on the floor. Her body was bruised and battered. She shivered, nearly dead, her nose and eyes were wrapped tight with a thick cloth. The girl couldn’t have been much older than Rebecca. Diane placed her hand over her mouth. Tears gushed from her eyes. She swore the girl was dead but then her body flopped, like a fish on her last breath out of water. Diane squinted through the tears and saw the girls lips were sealed closed with an adhesive and stitches. Diane nearly threw up, bile filling her throat then up to her mouth. She swallowed it down in an acidic gulp. Her face contorted.

Diane didn’t hear the front door open or the sound of footsteps in the kitchen. The loud throbbing in her ears drowned out the basement door being pulled open and the loud creaking of each step down into the basement. Through the sound of the rushing vomit in her throat, she didn’t hear the slapping of the boots on the old concrete floor. Diane, unable to see anymore of this, turned around only to find Frank standing there with a club in his right hand. His eyes were the darkest she’d ever seen. The vein that ran from his eyebrow to temple pulsed like a firehose at full tilt. He was breathing heavily through his nose. Diane’s heart fell to her feet. Her stomach almost let all of her bowels go. She gulped and tried to scream but the terror silenced her. She took one stumbling step back and crashed to the floor landing on her elbow with a crack. She wailed in pain never taking her eyes off of Frank, who was closing in methodically. He leaned over and grabbed her gruffly by her blouse. A tiny rip could be heard from the force of his pull. He looked her into her eyes, rage and hatred filled them both. Diane thought she was looking at the devil, his once handsome face taking on demonic qualities. He leaned in close, his nose nearly touching Diane’s and in a low, throaty growl asked her:

“Can you keep a secret?”