The Wife Murderer

8/14/2019 The Wife Murderer

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THE WIFE MURDERER by Devon

Pitlor, MA Econ.

I. Why Jasmine Cadieux needed

pancake makeup.

Jasmine Cadieux was a more thanbeautiful model and earned a good

living from this, but either she or some

photographic assistant would alwaysneed to apply make-up to a couple of

ugly scars on her forehead and on the

slashed upturn of tortured skin at the

base of her neck. When she was not in

front of a camera, Jasmine never

covered these scars, and, as Chris

Varlow, Jasmine's new love interest,

soon learned, she made sure that these


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imperfections were always visible and

beckoned people in her own charming

unspoken way to ask where they camefrom. She seemed to like her scars.

Jasmine was always candid and

nonchalant. It had even scared Chris a

little at first--the degree to which

Jasmine seemed, with the self-assurance gifted to all pretty women,

to care very little what people did or

did not know about her. Chris felt

that, despite the glowing radiance of

her beauty, she ought to reserve a littlemore mystery to her person. Jasmine

never did, but that did not diminish

her magic enough to relieve Chris of

his obsession. And now his obsession

with the working fashion model was

real. It haunted him daily. He was

smitten.


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II. Where the scars came from

On their second date, which was awalk along the waterfront down by

Coral Point Bay, Jasmine was bare-

shouldered and made sure the ripped-

up side of her neck was facing Chris

until, at length, he entwined his fingersinto hers and asked about the

scars...all of them.

"Damien used to beat me," she said

facing Chris with open, glowing andhonest eyes. "He was an ex-cop and

liked to hit women." She pointed to

the marks on her forehead and said

"broom handle." She pointed to the

ugly ripple on her neck and said

"twisted chain."

Chris then heard a very brief but


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nasty anecdote about Damien with his

knees on Jasmine's chest choking her

with a bicycle chain. "He almost killeded me," she said lightly. "And now

very soon he is finally going to...." she

added, casually gazing out over the

bay. The small and harmless Pacific

summer waves gently broke againstthe sea barrier, and the sun gave

notice that it was setting.

III. Another shoe drops

Nothing dissuaded Chris Varlow from

spending his every free moment with

the lovely fashion model, and three

days later, as they sat face to face in a

dimly-lit caf in Railtown, she

entranced and enchanted him once

again to ask about Damien by opening

her huge and truly breathtaking eyes,


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begging for a question. She had just

made Chris very happy by telling him

that---finally---she would sleep withhim that night. They had reached the

right point, she said, in their

relationship. Then she put one finger

across his lips, wiped some pink lip

gloss off the rim of her wine glass, andsaid "What else can I tell you about

Damien?"

Chris stammered off a series of

questions broken only into shortphrases. It all amounted to Damien

going to kil l her. That had more than

troubled him for the last few days.

Jasmine smiled and removed her

finger from his cheek to where it had

wandered. She told him with the same

candor that she revealed everything


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that Damien had kil led his first two

wives. Damien was brutal, jealous and

dominant. He wanted his wives to"behave." If they did not, he beat

them. "He started early with me,"

Jasmine continued. "I just let him at

first. Then I threatened to leave him."

That's when he told me that bothHolly and Jenna were dead by his

hand. He was an ex-cop turned

bodyguard. He knew how to make

bodies and evidence disappear. The

police suspected him in both deaths,but he was cleared each time for total

lack of evidence. Holly and Jenna are

still on the missing persons rosters.

You can look."

Chris did using his computer, and the

vanishments were detailed there as

well. Unsolved cases. Husband under


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suspicion but cleared in both cases.

The women had just gotten sick of his

abuse and left. No one could statewhere they went. But there were no

grounds to pursue Damien Cadieux.

All very mysterious, but clear cut.

Closed cases.

"He warned me that if I ever left him,

he would hunt me down and kil l me,

and no one would ever find him guilty.

'You'll vaporize,' he said. Just like

that, and he snapped his fingers. I'vegot a good track record going. I kil l

bitches who don't behave. Behave was

one of his favorite words."

IV. A pretty model like Jasmine has

more than one pair of shoes.

A third shoe dropped about an hour


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later after they had nervously

consumed a dinner of rice and lamb

tapas and shrimp dip. Jasmine toldhim that Damien had come to Fever

Bay and was probably lurking around

in the trendy Railtown district right

now, watching them perhaps from

some unseen vantage point as they saton the caf terrace. "He will probably

try to kil l me tonight," said Jasmine

as if she were discussing the imminent

delivery of a pizza. "He saw me and I

saw him outside my apartment lastnight. Tonight will probably be his

night. He's an ex-cop, you know." She

found an emery board and began

applying it to her nails. Nail dust fell

on the caf table. She blew it away.

Chris felt a frenzy of nervous tension

mount through his body. He became


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taut and suddenly needed to stand up.

His fists automatically clenched. Here

he was with one of the most gorgeouswomen he had ever known, a woman

he eventually might like to marry or at

least live with, but a woman who was

at this very moment being stalked by

an abusive and highly successful killer----and a woman that didn't seem to

care much about it either. Too many

pieces of Jasmine Cadieux just didn't

fit. No one could call her stupid, that

was for sure, but she didn't seem veryclever either. She fumbled constantly

with facial cream and emery boards

on her long nails. Her face and body

were drifting all over America on the

style and cosmetics advertising pages.

It was hard to pass a magazine rack

without looking for her on the back

page promoting some string of sensual


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chain pearls or some pair of chic, over-

tight dungarees. The public did not, of

course, know her name. She wassimply a model. He, Chris Varlow,

knew her name. So did Damien, the kil

ler cop.

V. Chris's gun.

Like many men, Chris kept a small

cartridge pistol in the glove

compartment of his car. He wasn't

exactly sure how to take the safetylock off of it because he had tried it

out only once two years prior. There

was very little violence or crime in

Fever Bay. It was a calm resort town

with a quaint antique section where

guns were not requisite or even

discussed for that matter. Chris told

her had one and would use it to


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protect her if needed. She laughed and

wiped some more lip gloss from her

wine glass. "Against an ex-Marine andand ex-cop and an ex-husband?" she

giggled. "You've got to be kidding."

Feeling stinging tension, Chris puffed

up once again and pledged hisprotective role and said something else

about the gun like that it could fit in

his pocket if he put it there.

"Well, don't go and blowyour...your....manhood off," she

laughed. "We were going to need that

tonight, remember?"

Chris mentioned the gun once again,

and Jasmine turned and looked at the

bohemian crowds walking down the

twisting streets of Railtown. She did


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more than the programmed kil ler.

VI. The time arrives.

The minutes stretched out long across

the table for Chris Varlow. Each

routine action brought him closer to

what might have been the most fearfulmoment of his life: paying the bill,

tipping the waiter, standing up,

putting his arm around Jasmine's

waist and handing her her tiny purse,

walking to the door, entering thestreet, trying not to let Jasmine see his

discomfort and fear. Chris glanced this

way and that way up and down the

busy pedestrian street. Jasmine did

not. She squeezed his hand and led

him back around to the parking lot to

his own car. She showed absolutely no

concern whatever. It began to enrage


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Chris, who once again needed to pee

although he had just done that

minutes ago. A sworn kil ler waswaiting to strike. How would he do it?

What would he use for the kil ling?

"He likes guns," said Jasmine looking

out the side window of Chris's BMWand no doubt reading his mind as she

always did. "He might could use

yours," she continued, "and make it

look like you did it. Another

disappearing wife would set off toomany alarms. They need to find a

body... my body...this time."

Chris was mildly shaken by the

expression "might could," which

seemed to come from a different

dialect than the voluptuous Jasmine

had ever spoken in before. It occurred


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to Chris that he didn't really know

where she was from. She and Damien

had lived in a penthouse sort of placein Chicago before she walked out on

him. That was all he knew. Damien

had, therefore, crossed the country to

stalk his prey.

Then there was the thought of sex with

Jasmine. Chris knew he was far too

nervous to do it right. He would have

to make an excuse. Shit, he already

had an excuse. A kil ler was on theloose and was coming to get both of

them. Jasmine didn't seem to care. She

snapped open a make-up compact

from her little purse and relined her

eyebrows in the reflection of the

window. She was not, Chris noted,

looking at anything or anyone else but

herself. How could she be this


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untroubled?

V. The legendary Bruell House.

The huge, gingerbreaded and filagreed

Bruell House had been constructed by

hoary railroad magnates during the

gold rush era. It was probably theoldest structure in Fever Bay, a

complex array of connecting annexes

and a main, hotel-like lobby. Divided

into apartments now, it was

nonetheless an historical landmarkand had a silver plaque outside to

prove it. Jasmine rented there. She

lived in the modest sort of antique

luxury that seemed to mirror her

understated personality. The huge

building had balconies and staircases

on all sides. The architectural plan was

sprawling. It dominated the entire


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view of the ocean. At once, it became a

place of fear for Chris. Damien could

be hiding anywhere. He could crawlout suddenly from any nook or cranny.

He could rise up like the devil from

under an exterior staircase. The huge,

historical building was designed for

stalking, serial kil lers. Chris knew thisat once.

Jasmine's apartment was on the fifth

floor facing the bay. Under most

normal circumstances, he would haveadmired the beauty of the view.

Tonight he just kept craning and

twisting his neck, looking for a

monster. Jasmine left him briefly in

the lobby and walked over to whisper

something to the concierge. The

concierge seemed to understand her

perfectly and shook his head in dutiful


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agreement. She returned with a key in

her hand. "I always leave my keys at

the desk," she explained. "Let's takethe elevator."

Again she squeezed his hand, which

Chris knew was getting wet with

perspiration. His entire body jerkedwith each pull of the ancient elevator

as it rose five floors and swung its

accordeon caged door open to a dimly

lighted hallway. Fear was making

Chris nearly wet his pants. A darkhallway? Did Jasmine have no fear?

Who or what exactly was he walking

along with? A corpse? A woman about

to be kil led. And of course it would be

up to him to prevent that as best he

could. Only he could do it. But could

he? A swirl of doubt clouded his mind.

In a minute he would be in the


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apartment of the most ravishing

woman he had ever set eyes on, and he

would melt into the yellow, greasybutter of abject fear at the very

moment that should have been

triumphally his.

VI. The smell of lavender.

The apartment, cozy and small,

welcomed them with the fragrance of

lavender. There were fresh flowers in

vases on every shelf and chest. Thelavender smell wafted everywhere and

was driven by a slight breeze coming

from an open window near the small

dining room. Chris felt for his

upturned gun and found it still to be in

his pocket. Shouldn't he take it out

now and check the apartment from

room to room? Who had opened the


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window. Again, as if scanning his

thoughts, Jasmine told him for no

particular reason, as he had not asked,that she always left it open. "For the

seabreeze," she said.

Jasmine put her arm around his waist.

Chris knew that she knew now thatshe needed to calm him. He was

trembling in visible motion He needed

to make some sort of move, either

embrace Jasmine or take out the gun.

But he stood frozen there by her sideand did nothing. He was certain that

he felt another presence. The kil ler

was already in the room. Chris could

sense it.

VII. Damien

And Chris was right. With a slight,


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curtain-like shuffle, an enormous

ganolf of a man abruptly stepped into

the room from a side hallway whichled no doubt to the bedroom---where

they would most certainly not be

sleeping together that night, Chris and

Jasmine. Jasmine looked at the hulk

and blinked slightly. She was notsurprised. The hulking threat had a

gun in his hand, a much larger one

than the tiny pistol which was now

chafing the skin of Chris's leg. He

pointed the gun at both of them andgrinned with a certain sour

malevolence which left no doubt in

Chis's mind that the creature would

soon dispatch them both.

Uncontrollably, Chris squirted a few

dribbles of pee into his pants. He was

about to let the rest go and grab for his

own gun or fall to his own knees when


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Jasmine spoke:

"Damien! You found me. How cleverof you. Of course, you were a police

officer, weren't you? You know how to

do these things. But still I am going to

have a word with the management this

time. I'm getting sick of this. This isthe third time someone has entered my

place from the damn scaffolding. We

need better security here."

"Scaffolding?" grunted Damien stillpointing his revolver at her forehead

and eyeing Chris with equal menace.

"No, I got a passkey. All it took was a

little bribe to the Mexican girl who

sweeps the hallways."

"You always were a charmer, weren't

you?" laughed Jasmine. "And here I


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thought you had used the stupid, left

over scaffolding and came in through

the open window. The scaffolding hasbeen up too long. It belongs to the the

next apartment. They were

sandblasting the walls for sea fungus.

This room was once part of a larger

unit. When they partitioned it off tomake more apartments, they promised

me they would block the scaffold off,

but they haven't. I thought you had

entered from the apartment next door

and walked down the scaffoldingoutside my window. Next door the

apartment is empty and still being

remodelled. It would have been easier

for you, and no Mexican girl to give

witness."

Damien glanced at the open window

and then back at the couple standing


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as before side by side in the middle of

the central room.

Chris felt his knees going weak. He

started to say something to Damien

about not being able to get away with

it this time but he could not find the

words. He released more urine into hispants. His hands and feet trembled. He

knew he was going to beg for his life.

He would blabber his reasons. He

would pee some more into his pants.

But he knew he would not besuccessful. He was already wondering

about death.

Damien clicked back the hammer of

the revolver and aimed it at Chris.

"Take your gun out of your pocket

and give it to me." Chris obliged him

immediately. He had no idea how


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Damien knew he had a gun. That was

something he never found out. He

handed to tiny pistol to Damien whoreceived it in a gloved hand, clicked off

the safety, and aimed it with his left

hand directly into Jasmine's forehead.

"You're going to die now, bitch," he

snarled. "Say your prayers. Yourboyfriend here will have done it with

his gun. I was going to do it differently,

but his little toy gun makes it even

easier." Damien readied himself and

repositioned the gun so that the barrelwas directly pressed into Jasmine's

brow. Chris felt the room shake

around him and dropped to his knees.

A paroxism of fear clenched his entire

person. He noticed that his urine had

run down a pants leg and made a

puddle on the floor where he

crouched. As he dropped, he once


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onto the scaffold. Chris, still on the

floor face downward looking into a

puddle of his own pee, heard a suddenshrill and muffled scream and a kind

of dull and distant thud from far

below.

Jasmine flung open the apartmentdoor, and there stood the bald and

obsequious concierge with a small

silver tray in his hand. On it was a

bottle of cognac and two glasses

decorated with a complimentaryyellow rose from the building

management. "As you requested,

Madame," he said politely as he

placed the tray on a small credenza by

the door and promptly left. Chris

began rising to his feet stammering

and looking toward the open window.


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"Come and have a nightcap," said

Jasmine almost in a whisper as she

decanted an inch of cognac into eachglass.

"But what about Damien?," babbled

Chris. Whitefaced with fear, he stood

up and looked into the almost visibledarkness of the night beyond the open

window. "He's on the scaffold with

both guns...waiting..."

"Oh," said Jasmine, "that... Don'tworry. He won't be coming back."

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Devon Pitlor---- October, 2008


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The Wife Murderer