Iller Chris Crimble

Created for the

Winter Holiday 2024

bash, this is a romance based story, with a very light dusting of a loving wife tale about it.

I need to thank

29wordsforsnow

for providing me with ample Christmas cheer by editing this works for me, plus nudging me along the path as it headed for completion. As always, I can't resist a very final tinker, if there's a cock up, it'll be on me.

Killer Chris Crimble

"I'm sorry, Chris. No hard feelings, eh?"

The prison guard held his hand out as he spoke. I looked at it as I stood for a few seconds before reaching out to shake it weakly. I looked into his eyes; I know my face showed no emotion to him before I spoke.

"You're the one that's got to live with yourself now, ain't ya? If it helps you, I forgive you for what you, and the rest of them did to me. Do me a favour and pass the message along, OK?"

The guard now looked everywhere but directly at my face as he answered.

"Sure, Chris, I'll do that for you mate, no problem."

۞۞۞۞

The wicket door in the large wooden prison door opened, I took a deep breath and walked out through into.....nothing. The air was still as the stars twinkled silently, bearing witness to a man walking free, a man the country currently hated. I was the man dressed as Santa Claus who killed an Earl with a single sucker punch to the head on a Christmas Eve two years ago. I nodded to myself. At least they had kept their word, they hadn't made it known to the public that '

Killer Chris Crimble

' would be let free from prison.

As I stood there taking deep breaths, it actually felt joyous to do this outside, watching the stream of wispy vapours leave my mouth as I breathed the cold air in and out. It wasn't long before car headlights came down the one-way road towards the prison, then pulled up on the circular road outside of the entrance. The passenger door window opened, and the driver leant across to speak to me.

"Are you Christopher, Christopher Kimble?"

"Yep, that's me, booked for the railway station?"

"Yeah, hop in mate."

With just a lightweight jacket, I'd started to feel winter's cold chill. Despite being stuck back inside a metal, instead of a concrete box, I was grateful for the ride in some warmth. Sitting in the back, even the light from streetlights that filtered into the car in a rhythmic pattern seemed like majestic art after the stark grey walls of my prison cell, as we headed back into the town towards the railway station. Every so often, I could see his eyes looking at me in the rear-view mirror. Did he know who he had picked up as a cab ride? It made me feel uneasy, I wondered if he could detect it in the dim reflection. In the end, he decided to speak and break the silence.

"Cor blimey, mate! You're a lucky one, getting out this late on a Christmas Eve. We usually do pick ups for you boys mid-morningish, not late afternoon. Still, you must be looking forward to making it home for Christmas!"

And there it was, the big fat question that'd been filling my mind for a couple of months, culminating in keeping me awake for the last couple of nights. Home. Was it still my home, or had she shipped someone else in to fill my shoes? I still wasn't sure if I would go there just yet, or stay at the Travelodge room that had been booked for me for the next few nights until I had the chance to catch up with my probation officer and understand the comings and goings tied into the licence around my release.

It was only two days ago that I learned I would be released. I had requested that it be kept under wraps, so much so that not even my wife would know. The media circus that followed my family around after I killed him had been unbearable for them, and me too. I suspect that's the reason she had cut and run from me a few months back. Her visits steadily grew less and less, always a repeat of the same words over and over, as to how sorry she was, and it was her fault. I kept reminding her

I

was the one that punched him,

I

was the one that knocked him to the ground, causing him to smack his head on the kerbstone that killed him. I told her;

shit happens.

۞۞۞۞

At the railway station, it showed one more train running northwards, luckily there was no queue to get a ticket. I handed over the printed voucher I'd been given prior to release, which would provide me with a one-way ticket back to my hometown.

The booking clerk took the voucher and looked through it.

"...OK then...Mr...Christopher Kimble...bloody hell! For a moment I thought it said Christopher Crimble, you know, that bloke that kil.."

He stopped, as his brain finally caught up with his mouth. Flushing red, and stammering, he punched in the details to print my ticket. Unable to look directly at me, his hand shakily pushed it through the small opening beneath the glass that separated us. I smiled slightly as I shook my head. He was afraid of me. Maybe he thought I was that strong, I could punch straight through the glass to reach him. Was this a taste of what my life would become in the future, people fearful for their lives every time they met me?

۞۞۞۞

The train was, unsurprisingly, packed like a sardine tin. I stood in the small area at the end of a carriage by the door to the loo for the three hours home. I didn't mind. It left me thinking long and hard about what to do. As the miles and time ticked by, I actually felt more and more anxious. Maybe I

should

just go to the room at the Travelodge. Being sent to prison had been a blow to knock my legs from under me. If I knocked on my door, and another man answered, he may as well run a sword straight through my heart. And my son...how would he feel? Would she be telling him that this unknown man was his new dad since I was going to be away for a long time?

By the time the train pulled into the station, it was almost eleven at night. As we had made our way north, it had started to snow at some point, and was now falling steadily. Walking through the now almost empty and eerily quiet streets, exacerbated by the falling flakes which deadened the sound, I mentally counted down as to how long it would take to cover the couple of miles, I had left to walk to what may, or may not be my home. Despite slogging through the snow-laden pavements, every step made me feel like a condemned man walking to the gallows.

Finally, I turned into my cul-de-sac, the house sat at the bottom end of the twelve houses. My steps shortened as I drew nearer, as if some part of me was doing all it could to stop me reaching the threshold. I started to shiver, and I wasn't convinced it was due to the cold, where the snow had melted against my jacket, the icy wetness now dabbing at my skin in places.

۞۞۞۞

I stood at the gate. It looked the same, well, almost. There were no icicle lights strung on the outside under the guttering. We had a conifer in the middle of the garden that I would have decked in a multitude of brightly coloured lights, and Andrew, my son, loved the life size inflatable snowman that would stand alongside it. But not this year, they were all absent. There were some lights strung internally around the bay window of the front room, but that was it. Maybe her new man, assuming there was one, wasn't into Christmas.

Trying to stem the shakes, I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. After several seconds, the hallway light came on, then the front door opened a few inches until the security chain stopped it from opening any further. The side of a face and an eye peered through the gap....then the door closed. I stood there, motionless, unsure what to do as the veneer of love that was part of my heart started to peel away like paint being stripped by a heat gun from a door. There was sound, then the door slowly opened fully, and she stood there, like a lost soul.

She looked at me disbelieving, an arm reached out, and fingers softly touched my face before they quickly recoiled as she dropped onto her knees on the floor of the hallway and began to cry to herself quietly. I crouched down and lifted her chin so I could look into her eyes. Not wanting to cause a scene, I kept my voice low.

"Is it just you here?"

She shook her head.

"No...he's upstairs."

I stood up, and turned to walk away, my fears now realised.

All of a sudden, I tumbled over on the path, slippery due to the snow. Vanessa, or Ness, my wife, or was it now ex-wife, had literally launched herself at my back, wrapping her arms around me which had caused me to tumble over. I ended up on the ground, laying on my side, as she lay in her dressing gown still clinging to me like I was the last Titanic lifebelt in the sea when it sank. The questions came thick, fast.

"Oh my God, Chris, what are you doing...where are you going....how did you get here? I've done nothing but pray for this day, to deliver you back safely to me, to Andrew. How? How can it be....you are supposed to serve a minimum of ten years?"

I couldn't bare to hear those words as I struggled to form any sentences.

"Please let me go, you abandoned me, you said he's upstairs. I'm disappoint..."

Despite the cold, wet and now pain in my hands where I'd gone down, she had wiggled around me like an eel, then suddenly her demanding lips were mashed against mine as her body manoeuvred to try and sit astride me. For those few moments, the pain and cold simply melted away. Like riding a bike, it all came flooding back to me, the memories of those soft, pliable lips, depressing slightly as they smothered mine and her tongue ravenously trying to snake into my mouth like it had done so many times in the past.

She stopped, and moved her head back slightly. Her tear-stained eyes looked at me, and they appeared filled with love, not hatred.

"You silly fool,

Andrew

is upstairs. What, you were thinking, I'd desert you, after all we've been through?"

With that, she burst into tears, and literally collapsed on me, her body shaking violently due to the sobbing.

Gently, I rocked her, I was cold and wet from being outside for some time now, she was practically naked as her dressing gown had come adrift, the cold air teasing her now hard nipples. I finally managed to speak calmly.

"Let's go inside, we have plenty of things to discuss."

Kneeling on the cold concrete of the pathway, we both pulled ourselves up and scuttled into the warmth as quickly as we could. As soon as the door closed, she asked a question.

"Andrew went to bed around an hour ago, should I wake him?"

I shook my head slowly.

"No, firstly, he'll end up awake all night, and it'll ruin Christmas Day for him tomorrow, it'll be a nice Christmas present that money can't buy for the pair of us to clap eyes on each other tomorrow morning......But before we get that far, I think we need to have a conversation about that night...and what happens now, don't you?"

She sighed as she lowered her head, nodding slowly as she did so. We were both shivering from being cold and wet, and walked upstairs, to what was our bedroom. To my surprise, it appeared to be exactly as I remembered the last fateful time I was in here two years ago to the day.

۞۞۞۞

I'd walked out of here at four o'clock in the afternoon dressed as Santa Claus. For those previous couple of years, I'd agreed to play the part for Andrew's Cub group and hand out the gifts. He hadn't been old enough to twig it was me as my parents took him and picked him up. I'd lost two years of sharing that magical moment with him and, by next year, the innocence of youth would likely have faded from his young soul to lose much of the magic that Christmas brings. That thought left me with a heavy heart.

We didn't speak as we undressed, although we both caught each other stealing glances at each other. I opened my wardrobe to find my clothes still there, along with my dressing gown which I put on. As we had undressed, I could see that she had lost a noticeable amount of weight, her boobs used to sit high and proud on her then rounded voluptuous frame, now held a slight sag, her backside now not quite the bubble butt it once was.

But who was I to speak? Before I went to prison, I was a local authority refuse collector, it was hard graft but it kept me extremely fit. I left school and worked in an office for six years. Every year I felt more like my square edges became rounder as life tried to beat me into a round hole. When the offer of some redundancy came along, I willingly took it, and became a refuse technician, my dad said it was just a posh way of saying bin man. Before prison, I'd worked with a bunch of decent guys, we all equally pulled our weight and when work was finished, it was finished. It paid about the same as I'd earned in the office, despite most people thinking I'd taken a step down, I personally felt like I'd taken a massive step upwards giving me a better quality of life. But now, that was my history. After prison, I was just a gaunt and haunting figure.

۞۞۞۞

As Ness took a shower, I crept along the hallway and carefully opened Andrew's bedroom door to peek inside. I could see he had grown and changed. He was asleep, his PlayStation controller in his hand and the TV screen showing his paused game. Taking care to be quiet, I took the controller and placed it on his bedside cabinet and turned the TV off.

I stood and looked at him deep in slumber for maybe a minute. I used the back of my index finger to wipe away the few tears that trickled from my eyes, mourning these last precious years of him growing I'd missed along with the knowledge I could now be here for the remainder of those childhood years. I'd made a promise in prison, to do everything in my power to make it up to him. As I closed the door, I spoke to him in a soft voice.

"Goodnight, son, I love you."

With that, I regained my composure and walked back into my bedroom.

Ness came out of the shower clad in her dressing gown with a towel wrapped around her head. As I walked towards the en-suite she spoke.

"Would you like me to make you a drink...a beer, wine or something stronger?"

I smiled as I responded.

"Actually, a decent cup of tea would do the trick. They don't serve tea in prison, its gnat's piss, and I've really missed a decent cuppa, so that would be great."

She smiled as she walked towards the door. As she entered the hallway she stopped, turned and spoke in a low sultry voice.

"Anything you want, you can have it, whenever you want it, take it."

She lingered momentarily, her expression telling me it was a double entendre. Then she waltzed off downstairs.

۞۞۞۞

The shower simply felt heavenly, the warm water helping to warm the chilled bones up from the walk and impromptu rolling around on the pathway earlier. With every second that passed, those feelings of dread and uncertainty that I'd been feeling, particularly during the last couple of days, resulting in the tsunami of pain that I felt when either of us failed to communicate properly downstairs, were quickly subsiding. What I now needed to do was discuss the few hours of my wife's life before I stepped in and killed a man. I'd sat in prison analysing every detail I'd learnt leading up to that fateful night, and I was still none the wiser. Depending on the outcome, it could still make or break what was left of our marriage.

When I came out of the en-suite, she was in bed, her hair still slightly damp. Up until that night, her hair was a lustrous chestnut brown mane that flowed down her back to almost reach her backside. When I finally got to see her whilst held in custody, it had been cut into a short bob, but I knew why. Rather than get into the bed, I pulled the chair from the vanity table and turned it towards her placing us two or three feet apart.

Looking at her, I could see she was nervous. The court case had tried to make her look bad, and I needed to know how much of it was actually real. It was my turn to now become the judge, jury and possibly executioner for our marriage, if her defence didn't add up. She took a breath and spoke, her voice filled with remorse as she immediately started to cover the ground she knew I wanted answers too.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see where it was heading. I was so dumb and naive. If I would have known, I would have stopped it. It's all my fault and you paid a terrible price for my stupidity."

I let out a long breath and felt my shoulders sag slightly.

"The court witnesses, their lawyers painted you as an office tramp. Were you his office tramp, did you let him fuck you on those days when you were out to lunch with him?"

A slight smile filled her face as she looked at me, holding back the tears as she shook her head, and an almost frail voice uttered a single word.

"No."

Revisiting it now let some of the anger that had previously evaporated start to re-surface, as I asked the next question.

"Is that no, you weren't his office tramp or no, you didn't fuck him. Maybe you just gave him hand or blow jobs?"

This time she shook her head almost violently, her voice raised slightly with an angry edge.

"No! No! No! Until that afternoon when that stupid sprig of mistletoe was being passed around the office party there was never any physical contact. I was stupid because I let him compliment me, buy me lunches, and yes, I did flirt back a little. I just saw it as a reward for being nice to me. He was an attractive man, I can never deny that but you

must

know, I would

never

cheat on you. I thought the lunches and compliments were just some silly fun!"

I looked at her, the horrible hazy vision came back of watching a wobbly video being played at my trial from someone's mobile phone. I could feel the anger rising further, just like it did in court that day.

"That video evidence in court, as far as I'm concerned, didn't pass the husband test. You stood dancing real close, his hands were resting on the two cheeks that only your husband should be grabbing. And the mistletoe? That wasn't a quick peck on the lips, was it?"

Her head dropped and she sniffed.

"I know, I know! When I saw the video I was filled with shame, I just got caught up in the moment. There was plenty of champagne flowing, and I'd just been given my end of year bonus letter by him, it was twice what I was expecting. I can see now he was simply paying me extra for what he thought he'd earnt, and was going to get, but it wasn't true! I never, in a million years, would have done anything."

"As soon as the dance was over, I quickly came to my senses and called you to come and pick me up. You must have heard the shame in my voice, the shame I'd danced inappropriately with another man and foolheartedly fell for the kiss. My plan was to tell you how fucking stupid I'd been, beg for your forgiveness then fuck you to death all Christmas."

She recoiled, she had watched me react to the words

death

and

Christmas

and realised her faux pax.

"I'm sorry, Chris, I know it's all my fault. Had it not been for Andrew, I would have taken the coward's way out after you were sentenced because of the deep shame I felt. I made a promise to myself, I would wait for you and remain celibate, not so much as gaze at another man. You know I lost my job, it took a while to pick up the supermarket job and support from our parents helped until my dad died four mont.."

She was going too fast for my brain to process the information that was now coming at me in a torrent. I stopped her.

"Hold up, slow down! Why the hell didn't you tell me he'd died, why did you stop visiting or at least writing to me! I assumed the worst, I assumed you'd decided to move on and leave me to fester in prison for the next ten years, that's why I thought you had someone living here, playing dad to my son!"