Part V
From Parts I - IV: I returned from Afghanistan, having been shot in the shoulder and having two surgeries to repair it. I got out of the Army to help my mother who had bladder cancer and ran into the high school girl on whom I had had a crush. I found out she was a single mother of a young daughter and tried to ask her out, only to have her accuse me of treating her like someone who I thought couldn't take care of herself and needed to be saved. She realized her mistake and we dated once then I was invited to her house, where I ran into her ex, who had drugged her and then knocked me out. After the incident, Lily says she won't see me anymore, but then, one night she arrived, drunk, and fucks me. When she wakes, she says it was a mistake and goes back to not seeing me anymore. After a few weeks of being ignored and turned down by Lily, I asked the waitress Cindy out and she proved to be a sexual dynamo. After getting very close to Cindy and having wonderful sex, Buck gets sentenced and his family comes after me, leading to Cindy getting killed.
Chapter 14. Now what?
1 February 2010
I managed to get through that day, but barely. The next day the police brought my car home and asked to talk to me. They asked me about the incident and I took them through it as I remembered it. I didn't tell them about the Afghanistan flashback or the dream. No fucking way. They said it would be awhile before I got my weapon back. They were very apologetic while staring at me as if there was something wrong with me. It wasn't that they seemed suspicious, but it was as if they were looking at someone who worked for the circus, the bearded lady or some other such freak. It made me realize that in this area and that town none of them had probably ever shot and killed someone. I wondered if any of them had even drawn their weapon while on duty.
I had intermittent bursts of emotion for the next few days and my sleep was interrupted by any sound at all. The slightest thing could make me angry and a sappy commercial could make me break down and cry. In short, I was an emotional mess. I couldn't stop thinking about how I had found someone that I really did feel that I could spend time with and she was taken from me. I wondered if there was anything in life that was going to be fair to me when it came to relationships. I also thought about how great Cindy was about everything -- sex, hanging out, shooting at the range, working as a waitress; she seemed to be able to enjoy everything in life. Her outlook had been rubbing off on me and now she was gone; and with it my cheerful outlook. When they killed her, they killed that in me, too.
I also felt that it was my fault. I knew that I wasn't responsible for the actions of two lunatics, but if I had never gotten involved with her, she would be alive. She was so fun-loving, alive, and full of promise and good will. I think that's what made me feel the worst. She always meant well and never once did I hear her utter any bad things against anyone. She didn't blame anyone for her upbringing, her station in life. She just lived. And she knew how to live and have fun. That was the most difficult thing to take.
There was also the problem with Buck's family. They didn't go after Lily, they came after me. They went after me and Cindy got in the way and killed for it. At least I killed those assholes.
I didn't leave the house for the next week at all, except for the funeral. It was sunny until about 10am when the clouds rolled in. It appeared that even God did not want to watch the funeral of a person so full of life and joy. All the sunshine was taken with her. It even started raining a little just when we laid her to rest, like tears had to be shed for her. I just prayed that there was a God, because Cindy deserved the best and she could even brighten his day.
Everyone there was local except for her mother. I finally met her mother, who looked exactly like what I expected. She was a little too tan, a little too flashy, and a little too much in every way. She was the cliché I had always seen on TV and dismissed: divorced, but still playing the game, living in a small home in Florida, and probably chasing some man or other every moment. We only spoke briefly. She looked me over good. "My daughter said good things about you. I also know that you are the one that killed her killers. Thanks."
What do you say to that? I thanked her and worked on getting through the funeral and wake without getting too emotional. Earlier in the week, Rhonda had mentioned that they might want me to stand up and give the eulogy. I passed on that and vehemently told her no.
The worst part was when someone came up and wanted to talk about what if felt like to kill somebody. He asked it loud enough that several people were shocked and stared at him almost as much as I did. If stares could kill, I would have left him a smoking hole in the ground. I didn't answer; I just turned and walked away. I left the wake after that. I didn't want anything else to do with that crowd and I was still feeling responsible.
It was at the end of that week that I thought of something that puzzled me. I had been wallowing in self pity and beating myself up over getting her killed when it came to me. I called Detective Wilson and asked how the Boyds could have possibly known where I was and where Cindy lived. He looked into his notes and hesitated for a moment. "They went by Lily Johnson's café and she told them."
I was shocked. I was dismayed. I was angry. Did Lily tell them because she was angry with me, jealous of Cindy, what? She had accused me of going after someone who worked for her on purpose. What a bitch!
The more I thought about it the angrier I became. She had done it because I had moved on and she was jealous of Cindy. That had to be it. She couldn't stand the fact that I moved on and she didn't have me fawning over her any more. I was not going to let her get away with that. I was going to make her regret it.
I got dressed and called her home phone. She answered the phone and I hung up as soon as she answered, confirming that she was home. I didn't want to talk to her on the phone; I wanted to do this in person. I rushed out to my car and headed to her house. By the time I got there I had worked myself into a dark rage. I pulled up to her house, got out and slammed my car door. I was going to make her pay for this.
I stomped up to the front door, and it opened before I could knock. Lily was standing there; she must have expected me. She was wearing her robe. I just walked right past her and waited for her to close the door. I stopped in her den and turned to her. "You told them where to find us, didn't you?!" I was yelling and she flinched at that.
"Yes." She answered meekly and I could see some fear in her eyes, but I could also see something that looked like sad acceptance of what she considered her shitty life. I could see that she had been crying, but nothing could deter me from what I wanted from her.
"You fucking jealous bitch." I advanced on her. "You couldn't stand that Cindy and I had something special, could you? You were jealous that I had moved on from you." I was now standing very close to her, advancing as I yelled, scaring her. She was backing up as I moved toward her, invading her personal space. "You just had to tell them where we were, and now she's dead! How do you feel about that?!"
She stared at me, tears starting to fall down her face, but I didn't care. I was in the blackest mood I had ever been in. I had finally backed her up enough that she hit her legs on the couch, sat down, and I stood over her. She finally answered me. "Terrible. I loved Cindy, too."
"You loved Cindy? Well you had a fucking terrible way of showing it, didn't you? You pointed two armed men in our direction and might as well have said 'Go ahead, kill them'! And then you didn't even call to warn us or call the police to have them get there before the Boyds!"
Lily struggled to her feet and I waited to see what was next. I couldn't bring myself to punch her, but I sure wanted to. I stood there with my hands clenched at my side, taking deep breaths because I was so worked up.
She walked past me and pulled a belt from her jeans that she had hung on the back of a dining room chair. I stared at her and got ready for a fight. She was going to defend herself with the belt. I backed up and got ready.
