A Real Mess, II

Passion plays a double hand. It lifts. It smothers, caresses, burns, bleeds, inspires, and motivates. It also confuses the hell out of everything and everyone, makes logic vanish, and makes reason disappear.

Mary and I knew this to be true.

There was a lot of conflict in her eyes as she gazed upon the scene before us. She wanted to rip my clothes off but she also wanted to rip my head off. Somehow, it was my fault that Donald was lying on the floor, dead, bereft of life. She seemed to forget that it was her frying pan that had connected with the back of his head and brought him to the afterlife. To be fair, I bought her that frying pan. In my defense, however, it became hers once she unwrapped the packaging. Also, in my defense, I bought it so she could cook dinner, not clobber Donald.

"What are we going to do?"

I couldn't take any of more of her shrieking so I raised my hand at her before reconsidering. She was capable of murder. If she could kill Donald, she could probably kill me as well.

"Let me rearrange my mind." I said, slowly.

She seemed to take this as a cue to finally stay quiet while I thought of how to get us out of this predicament. In all honesty, I just wanted her to stay quiet so I could relax for a moment. I had already thought of a plan. Sure, it was poorly conceived and sloppily put together but it was something.

"If you ask me 'what are we going to do' one more time, I will be very angry with you." I started as I sensed her mouth start to open. It's one of those things that you just know is happening. You can't really stop it but you'll try anything to slow it down if possible. Of course, it didn't work; in fact, it backfired on me. Because she backhanded me.

"How dare you interrupt me?!" she shrieked. Yes, she did shriek a lot. "I am a woman and this is the 21st century! I will not be ignored! I will not be sent to another room while you and your bearded compatriots play billiards and drink whiskey while discussing Tammany Hall!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I scratched my head. Did she take another trip through time again? Or, more accurately, had her mind been transported through time yet again and had not fully readjusted?

"You men are all the same. Comporting yourselves with a wanton disregard for the fairer sex! I can't wait for the day we strong and powerful women take back the earth! I will not be silenced! You cannot oppress me! I will reclaim my rights that you have stolen from me!"

She made me pace quietly for a few moments because I was getting nowhere with her. She would go on like this for hours if given the chance. And Donald would still be the very least of her concerns. So, the best way to handle these things and most other problems: patiently and silently but above all carefully. I took these things into consideration as I spoke my response to her tirade:

"You can reclaim them after we get rid of Donald. How about that? And I'll even take you out for ice cream and I'll get you a bra to burn."

She looked at me, dumbfounded, and paused for a moment before squinting her eyes, tilting her head, and slowly (deliberately) saying: "Do I look like some proud woman warrior from the seventies? I would like a foot massage though."

It worked, she seemed to be in more rational state of mind. Or one more in tune with what I liked: appropriately modern with less shrieking and complaining.

"We can discuss all that stuff later. But first," I nodded over at Donald, still on the floor... dead.

"What's the plan?"

It was simple: drag him back to his apartment and place him on the floor of his kitchen to make it seem as if he died there and not been murdered (accidentally) here. A marvelous plan because it was so simple and effective. Sure, it was quickly conceived but it was logical and it took care of all the loose ends and all that nonsense that I didn't want to take care of over a long period of time.

Of course, she didn't agree and instead threatened to bash me over the head with the same frying pan she had used on Donald.

"So, that's what we're going to do? We're just going to drag him back to his apartment and place him on his kitchen floor and just leave it at that?" She was incredulous and failed to realize how brilliant and simple the plan was. "What about the witnesses? And the noise? And the autopsies?"

She had a point. I just thought of something quickly and hadn't even considered these things. Not like I cared though, I just wanted some peace again. When she saw me starting to drag Donald towards the door, she just stood there with her arms crossed. This was either a look of seduction or anger. I didn't dare leave this to chance so I just tried my best to shrug it off but the curiosity really started burning.

"Do you want to... you know?" I said, trying to wade carefully.

"We just killed a man and that's all you can think of?!"

I didn't even care that she said "we", as if I had played a big part in murdering some guy. Still, I soldiered on and continued dragging the corpse out the door until there was a knock that seemed to go on for ages. Hell, I was terrified! Negative attention at the door, a corpse in my hands, and a woman with a bloody frying pan very angry with me. What was I to do? All I wanted to do was get the corpse out, Mary calm, and enjoy the rest of my day and life. This wasn't too much to ask for. The knocking at the door did not take my dilemma into account, it continued.

Mary simply left the room, leaving me to fend for myself. She had thrown me to the wolves before so I shouldn't have been surprised but somehow, I still was. She really had thrown me to the wolves. A local zoo had opened, and it featured a wide array of very fierce and dangerous animals. Among them, wolves that had been used in illegal dogfights and as a result had been extremely difficult to handle. Mary simply pushed me over the railing and I tumbled into their den. After some stitching and time to heal, and time to learn to walk again, all was well. Except I didn't talk to her at all for a while. She absolutely hated being ignored. Her tears were a great consolation to me. This does make me sound like a jerk but you would probably feel the same if someone you trusted thrust you into a small area occupied by fierce animals.

The knocking got louder. So, I did the only thing I could: ignore it. This didn't help because in less than a minute, the door swung open and I found myself face to face with a very disgruntled Marwood.