Have you ever seen someone die?
Random stranger? A loved one?
I mean in real time, right before your eyes?
I saw my husband die.
It is not pleasant.
Especially when they die by a knife. The look… That realization that they are dying. The shock. The disbelief. The insecurities show in those final moments… Their lives laid bare for everyone discerning…
Oh, and the pain! He died via stabbing. I physically felt his pain. Good Lord! It was horrible!
I should feel no pity for him considering all the hurt he put me through. But, in retrospect, no one deserves to die like my husband did.
I am way ahead of myself…
Good morning. How are you doing today? Have you eaten? I hope your family is doing well? I do not know you, but I love you. Yes I do… These days my love is shed abroad.
So, my hubby.
I married him when I turned eighteen. He was always my friend. Strange fragmentation of words I know. Even Microsoft Word advices that I consider rephrasing… Nah… He was always my friend.
He was already an adult when I met him. He watched me grow. He was a family friend and a mentor. I told him everything! He provided counsel appropriately. He was my first. My best. And my life.
Was, because he started cheating on me. The signs were there, I did not see them until the very end.
He is very secretive. That enigmatic ‘introvert-ion’ started to reek of infidelity. I could not touch his mobile devices. I was constantly on eggshells around him. He seemed to be hiding everything all the time.
Luckily I had friends. Women who were older and wiser. Single moms, spinsters and fellow married women. Their advice was unanimous.
“He was up to no – good”
That revelation provoked me to the point of insanity. I loved this idiot! I had given him my virginity, my substantial inheritance and my heart. I had sacrificed everything I was, just to be with him.
Ene, my friend had a story like mine. In her case though, she had ‘arranged’ for her deviant husband to suffer a fatal misadventure. She had been his next-of-kin, and so she had full custody and control of his estate.
And so the seed was planted in my heart. Who was my husband’s side chic? Who was he sleeping with apart from me?
Unfortunately, he was a taciturn man. He never volunteered information. I was running mad with anxiety.
To further rub salt in my festering sores, I started to chance upon evidence. Some of my friends confessed that he had either propositioned them or had slept with close friends of theirs.
And in a blind rage, I contacted Ene.
Ene ‘fessed up and hinted that my husband had (at some point) behaved inappropriately toward her! She had been flummoxed until now she whispered sadly.
I was livid!
I immediately transferred the required amount of money to her and set the date for his painful death two weeks from that day. I confess that I tossed in an additional fifty grand for his painful demise.
He was home uncharacteristically early for his appointment with death. He was in a good mood. He must have made some money because he arrived with a large grilled salmon and expensive white wine. He was flirtatious throughout dinner and had even done an online bank transfer of a little under a million dollars in my favor ‘just because’.
Too much, too late.
I placed my hate on ‘simmer’ and fucked him senseless that night. He was snoring lightly when I got dressed an hour later.
At about 12:55 am, I opened the door at the back of our home and sure enough the door handle turned in confirmation. The door opened a fraction of an inch and stayed slightly ajar.
I returned to his side and must have fallen asleep.
I awoke to sounds I could not place. I jumped out of bed when I did not see my husband in it.
As I emerged out of the narrow corridor into our spacious living room, I witnessed the contract killer drive a long blade from behind my husband right through until the first three inches popped out of his torso.
This scene was pure coincidence. There was no set plan as to where or how my husband was to be murdered (at my behest).
However, therein lay the assassin’s dilemma I presume. I had seen his face.
As my husband crumpled lifelessly to the floor, the man’s eyes latched upon me.
In a flash he was upon me. I am not playing, from approximately three meters away, he suddenly had my throat in his left hand. Squeezing tight.
I was going to die too. I kept clawing at his face and iron-like forearms.
“But I paid you…! This was not the plan!!” I managed to get out repeatedly.
His brutish features were marred even more by bloodlust. He was hissing involuntarily. Specks of spit garnished his blackened lips. His breath was fetid. His eyes were out of focus and almost seemed ecstatic.
This sick, degenerate wanker loved to kill!
Our bodies are only a vessel. I started to step out into the ‘unknown’ when suddenly I was released. I fell to the cold marble tiles dragging air through a bruised trachea into tortured lungs.
I could only hope that the knife would make it quick…
But the pain never came.
I think I suffered a mild stroke when a hand touched my face. I went into a seizure when I saw my husband’s face.
Literally. The seizure I mean.
Was I dead like he was?
It is ancient history that my husband did not die.
He survived the assassination attempt and arose to drive the assassins own blade through his own temple.
And I am here living in hell…
You see with my husband you can never tell. Did he hear my conversation with the hired killer?
My husband is a bastard. I think that he did. He heard everything I said. And all else in between.
Then he decided not to die.
Then got up and killed our killer.
And then decided to keep his peace as usual.
Did not matter if I died in apprehension.
It has been a five years since. He has never broached the topic.
Not. Even. Once.