The doorbell rings a second time, interrupting the still of morning. I’ve been up all night, and I’m tired and irritated. Who is it, JW’s? Mormons? Kids selling chocolate? Go away already.
Through the peephole, I see two police officers in crisp blue uniforms standing on the porch. Oh great.
An officer knocks hard on the door. My breath catches, and my pulse quickens. I’ve got to get rid of them. I crack the door and poke my head out.
“Hi,” I say
“Mr. Jay Smith?” asks the officer.
I make out Gomez on his nametag. “Yes, I’m Jay. Kind of early, officers. How can I help you?”
“Jayson Smith? Jay?” says the other officer. “Holy crap, is that you?”
I open the door a little wider and look at his nametag. “Danny Cook?”
His lips curl up into that infectious grin I knew so well from years ago. My tension subsides. I thrust my hand forward, and we shake, his grip firm and strong.
“Yeah man, it’s me,” I say. How’s it going these days? Haven’t seen you since Roosevelt High.”
Officer Cook gestures towards his uniform. “Aww, you know, doing the cop thing, as you can see. I married Betty Jane—remember her?—and we’ve got a nice little house and two kids. They sure are hungry little beasts, so I work a lot,” he chuckles.
“Hey Danny, remember when we cut school for the day, and they thought we had been kidnapped or something, and they called the cops on us? Man, was I in trouble when I got home.”
“Same here,” he replies. “But that’s the day I decided I would rather be on this side of the blue line, not the other. And here I am.”
“Well, it’s good to see you, Danny. We need to get together for beer sometime. But I have to go now.” I start to close the door, and Officer Gomez reaches for it.
“Really hate to do this to you, but we’re following up on your neighbor’s calls,” says Officer Gomez. We have some questions for you. It will only take a moment.”
“Not right now. Please come back later.”
“Nobody’s accusing you of anything, Jay,” says Cook. “It’s only a few questions. It won’t take long.”
The camaraderie I feel with my high school friend vanishes, and my hands grow sweaty. Yeah, I’m busted. They know what I did. The neighbors called the cops. They’re here to arrest me.
“I didn’t do it,” I blurt.
“You didn’t do what?” asks Cook, his brow furrowed.
“Kill my wife.”
The officers exchange startled glances. Gomez moves his hand a little closer to his belt. Closer to the gun. Uh oh. I’m thinking maybe they don’t know anything.
“Why did you say you’re here, officers?”
“We’ve had some calls about strangers lurking in the neighborhood, and we’re talking to all the residents,” says Gomez. “You say you killed your wife?”
Oh crap! They weren’t here to arrest me after all. I just ratted on myself. I feel panic rising, and my mind races. Think, think, think!
“No, no, I said I found my knife.” The look on the officers’ faces tells me they’re not buying it. God, I’m so dumb. Why did I say knife? That makes it worse.
“You found your knife?” asks Gomez. “Now that’s an odd thing to say. What does a knife have to do with anything? Did you kill your wife with it?”
“Of course not,” I sputter. “I would never kill my wife with a knife. Lighten up; it’s a joke!”
“I don’t know if you’re joking, but I know you said you killed your wife,” Gomez says, his voice suddenly cold and accusatory. “We have to take any statement like that seriously. We’d like to talk to your wife to see how she’s doing.”
“She can’t talk right now,” I say.
“We won’t leave until we speak to your wife,” says Gomez. Make sure she’s safe. We’ll get a warrant if we have to. But it’s better if you cooperate with us now.
I grip my head with my hands and squeeze hard as flashbacks of a struggle and screams invade my mind. “Stop!”
“Hey man, it’s me, Danny, no need to panic. What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“No!” I shout, as an unseen force—guilt, shame, idiocy?—compels me to do what I mustn’t do. Don’t do it…
I fling the door wide open and point to my wife’s crumpled body, sprawled at the base of the staircase behind me. The officers gasp.
“I didn’t kill her, I swear! She tried to hit me, she tried to kill me, and when I dodged, she fell down the stairs.”
Officer Gomez rushes past me toward the body and kneels beside her, checking for a pulse. Danny stares at me for a moment, that familiar grin long gone. He reaches for his cuffs.
“Put your hands behind your back. Jayson Smith, you are under arrest for suspicion of murder.”
“But I’m innocent!” I protest. “I’m the abused one here. I’m the victim. She’s always yelling at me, nagging, and complaining, and she just won’t shut the hell up!”
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will…”
My legs buckle, and my surroundings blur. I’m suffocating. My chest heaves as I gasp shallow gulps of air. Time slows, and for a moment, my heart stops.
Just like my wife’s heart stopped last night when I choked the life out of her.
