Inside Out

I waltz into my master bathroom to draw herself a bath. I remove the blood stained clothes and sink into the hot, bubbly water. The suds around mebegan to fizzle and pop, taking me back to the Vilmart dinner I had with my husband just a week earlier. Two champagne glasses sat half-filled on a white tablecloth that reached to the floor. Candles burned in the center of the table. I had been busy staring at the menu while my husband stared at me. Every once in a while I looked up and studied his disgusted scowl. I finally closed her menu and said, “Are you really going to be mad at me forever?” “Do you not realized what you’ve done?” I looked around to see if anyone had noticed his angered tone, and leaned in towards the middle of the table. I whispered, “Nothing happened.” “Yeah? And pigs fly.” “Would you stop?” He leaned in towards me. “No, I won’t. Do you know what it’s like getting a phone call from your best friend at two a.m. saying that he went out and saw your wife in the same club?” “So I was having a girls night. Big whoop.” “Girls night my ass. How long has this been going on? How many of those ‘late nights at work’ were actually spent at work?” I had picked at the hem of her black cocktail dress, and rolled her eyes, avoiding his. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” I said. “All I want to know is why. What made you resort to that?” “You’re being ridiculous right now. Can we please talk about this when we get home?” “How? I have every right to feel this way. You crossed major boundary lines. And home? Only one of us is going home tonight, sweetheart, and it’s not you.” “How many times do I have to say that I’m sorry?” “‘Sorry’ doesn’t fix anything.” I took a deep breath and reopened her menu. “Should I get the shrimp scampi or the steak?” I asked. “This discussion isn’t over, Jenna.” “I think I’ll go with the shrimp scampi. I’ve had a craving for seafood.” Their server approached the table and asked, “Do we still need a minute or do we know what we want?” I closed her menu and put it down. Smiling, I said, “I know what I want. Do you, honey?” “Don’t be such a bitch,” he had said, and I mimicked him in a high voice before slipping under the foamy water. * * * * * * I drain the dirty, red water and begin to dry myself off with a tan cashmere towel. I stand in front of the floor-length mirror. It’s the middle of July, but I reach for the turtleneck anyway. My left rib cage is pounding with pain from last night’s fiasco. Who knew that a drunken man would kick that hard? I dry my blond hair and transform my face with makeup. I dress, and check one last time in the mirror to make sure I am fully ready for the day ahead. I look normal, but there is something that is different. Something I hope only I can notice. I pick up the blood-dried CutCo carving knife as I glare down at the lifeless mass that had once been my husband. I had been straddling him as I watched the light fade from his eyes. That short, last breath had given me butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I smile, satisfied with my handiwork. It had been so easy. I couldn’t help but think how smoothly the serrated edge tore across his neck. He had not fought me, perhaps he had no feeling. Getting him drunk was always easy. All I had to do was put another beer or shot of Crown in front of him. I had been planning it for months, but I never knew when the right time would be. After he forced himself on me last night, I knew the time had come. I knew my husband had been drunk enough to not hear me searching through the drawers in the kitchen. I had looked through every single drawer, searching for just the right knife. I had used the carving knife on many different meats - the twenty pound bird every Thanksgiving and the honey ham that was smoked last month - and came to the conclusion that it would be the best choice. I had slinked up the stairs, feeling the side of the wall for support. When I got to our bedroom, I stood in the doorway for a moment, thinking about how peaceful he always looked while sleeping. His mouth was always slightly opened and a faint snore could be heard. Ie then went over to our bed and sat on his stomach with one of my legs on both sides of him. In a matter of minutes, he no longer breathed. * * * * * * I tip-toe down the stairs of our Manhattan townhouse with one hand under the knife, careful not to drip the wet blood from the knife. Passing the marble hallway table, I spot one of our wedding photos and set the knife beside it. I pick up the expensive frame that had been a gift from my mother, lift it above my head, and chuck it on the mahogany floor. The glass shatters into a hundred pieces, but I felt a rush of happiness. I ease into the kitchen, put on a pot of coffee, and begin to rinse off the knife. I run the blade through the scorching water and watch as the streams of blood fade to water as they go down the drain, and I place the knife in the dishwasher with the other dirty dishes. Then I fix a thermos of coffee and become ready for my day. “Have a nice day, asshole,” I yell upstairs before walking outside and heading to work. * * * * * * As an Assistant District Attorney, my agenda is filled with client meetings and court prepping’s. I strut into the courthouse with my head held high. I know that I have to treat today like it was just another day. I spend all morning in the conference room preparing my witnesses for the upcoming trial. During these meetings it is almost as if I am a therapist, telling them, “You’re doing fine. Just breathe. Close your eyes and remember exactly how it happened. He can’t hurt you anymore.” Perhaps it is because I need someone to tell me these things. Finishing up with the last witness, I say, “All right, that’s a wrap. Just remember that you can do this. There is no need to be scared. I will see you Tuesday morning at eight AM.” Lunch time is approaching when I hear a knock on the door frame of my office. Looking up, I see the District Attorney, Lauren Reynolds, standing in the doorway. “Jenna, got a sec? I was hoping to grab a bite to eat with you.” “Uh…sure Lauren. Let me just finish up this email.” Lauren nods in agreement before leaving. I can’t help but wonder what in the world Lauren could possibly want to talk about. Ever since they met at Harvard it had been a war between them. We competed to be the top of their class. I had been valedictorian of our class, which had forever made my Lauren’s enemy. They both landed a job in the District Attorney’s office. When the District Attorney retired, we both ran for the position. I was sure it would be mine, but Lauren had won by two votes. All Lauren had to do was flip her fair, revealing the scent of her strawberry shampoo, and people were completely under her control. Lauren’s campaign may have been a little more organized, but my strategy and plans were better. Lauren became the District Attorney and I became second best: the Assistant District Attorney. I send the email I have been working on and walk to Lauren’s office. “Ready?” she ask. Lauren grabs her purse and we begin their walk down the street to a deli. Once we have their salads, we sit down at a table near a window. We begin to eat in silence. I study Lauren, trying to figure out what the pretense of our lunch is. After a few minutes, Lauren speaks. “So Jenna. We need to have a talk about one of your upcoming trials.” “Which one?” “The Hensley case,” Lauren says before taking a bite of salad. “What about it?” “How solid is your case?” “I feel really confident. All I’m wanting is the murder weapon.” “You know,” Lauren says, “it’s been a rocky road between us.” “No big deal.” I shoot Lauren a grimace. The corners of my mouth tighten and my eyebrows rise. Lauren sighs and attempts to shake off the tension. “Anyways. I have something for you. It was just brought to me this morning while you were at a trial prep.” Lauren reaches into her purse and pulls out a file. She slides it across the table to me. Upon opening it, my heart races. “Who gave this to you?” “Chief Roberts wanted to hand it to you directly, but you weren’t in your office and he didn’t want to leave it on your desk. So he gave it to me.” All I can do is stare at the picture before me. They had found the murder weapon, and the prints confirmed it is the Hensley man in custody. “I figured I owed you.” Lauren gives me an unapologetic smile. “Are we good now?” “For now,” I answer, hastily flipping through the manila folder. I am almost positive that something deceiving is going to follow this good deed from Lauren. It is the cycle of their “friendship” that never ends. * * * * * * Chief Roberts is driving his normal route in his squad car when he gets a call on his radio, “All units to 1205 West 5th street.” “That’s Jenna’s house. Oh no. Something must be terribly wrong,” the Chief mumbles to himself. “I’m on my way,” he replies in his radio. He is the first to arrive at the scene. Upon arrival, he knocks on the door to Jenna’s townhouse. When he doesn’t get a response, the Chief removes his Glock from its holster and turns the doorknob. Immediately, he sees the broken picture frame on the floor. After clearing the first floor, he proceeds up the stairs. Chief Roberts notices some red dots in the carpet. “Oh geez,” he mutters. He pauses for a moment, and pushes open the door to Jenna’s bedroom. Chief Roberts is appalled at what he sees. “We need a bus and a medical examiner. Bring CSU in also,” he radios to the dispatch center. After making sure Jenna isn’t anywhere on the property, the Chief becomes relieved, but also doesn’t know what to make of this situation. Lauren walks into Jenna’s bedroom. “Jesus Christ. What happened in here?” “What are you doing here Lauren?” Chief Roberts asks. “I was informed that an A.D.A.’s husband has just been found dead. What do you think I’m doing here? Go pick her up. She has to be interrogated.” * * * * * * As my day goes on, I become uneasy. My meetings and court preps don’t take my mind off of what I had done. It doesn’t matter where I am, I feel like there is a huge target on my back. Working on the mountain of paperwork in my office, I glance at the clock. It is finally four forty-five. Just fifteen more minutes until I can leave this place. Just then, the police chief from the twelfth precinct knocks on my office door. His usual attire consists of a black uniform with his badge, his Glock, his handcuffs, etc. This older man seems disgruntled. I have only seen him this way when they worked domestic violence and rape cases together. “Mrs. Ray?” I acknowledge his presence with a nod. “You need to come with me. I won’t cuff you here if you cooperate,” he states. I rise from my desk without hesitation. I can’t help but wonder how they had found out. My daily routine had been maintained as if it was any normal day. I didn’t speak to anyone about the incident. I fake it out of the courthouse, treating the police chief’s presence like there was an emergency on a case. I can’t help but think everything is fine, but I know it’s not. The only way for me to get out of this is play the victim card. The chief opens the passenger side door to his police car, motioning for me to get in. We drive to the precinct in silence. I was hoping that it was just a big misunderstanding and that he didn’t have any knowledge of what I had done. Upon arrival, I am immediately put in a dark, dingy interrogation room where I am to wait to be questioned. The room feels damp, and the light flickers as if it will burn out at any moment. My chair wobbles only slightly, but enough to annoy. I know this method of interrogation. It is a scare tactic, and I am most definitely a suspect. However, I am not intimidated by their efforts to scare me. If they ask, she will answer. I have nothing to hide. The D.A. would probably go easy on her anyway. I am a highly respected part of the D.A.’s office and it will soon become known that I am a victim of domestic abuse. I know this game better than most. They locked me in this mold infested room in hopes of getting me to snap when in all reality I am sitting here very calmly. I hum one of my favorite tunes to pass the time and study my week old manicure. I know they are behind that one-way mirror discussing my body language. I don’t care. I have a plan anyways: be the victim. Cutting my husband’s throat had brought me so much joy and happiness. All of a sudden, the door knob begins to turn and the door flings open. Some new detective walks in with his hands on his hips and slams the door behind him. He gives me a look that he believes is intimidating. Unfortunately, they intimidation isn’t something that can be taught. I laugh. This has to be a joke. Before the rookie can say a word, I say, “Cute. But no. I will only speak to Chief Roberts.” The “fresh out of the academy” looking detective becomes startled, but nonetheless, he immediately exits the room. I faintly hear him say, “I’m sorry. I can’t do it.” I patiently wait for Chief Roberts. I examine my manicured nails and look at the princess cut diamond wedding ring set on my left ring finger. The big diamond is set off by smaller diamonds around the band. My husband never told me how much he spent on it, but I know it was close to a quarter of a million dollars. After what feels like hours, Chief Roberts finally let himself into the room. “Well, Jenna. Do you know why you’re here?” he asks. “Why don’t you tell me?” I reply. “We found your husband’s body. Any idea what happened to him?” Jenna smiles. I know I am caught, but I don’t care. After all, I have nothing to lose. “Yes, Chief. I do know what happened.” The police chief takes a seat at the table, leans in close to me, and whispers, “You’re in a lot of trouble, dear.” I am the one who has endured “thousands of beatings” over the course of her twelve year marriage. She would never be in trouble again. “I wasn’t sure how much longer I was going to live if something didn’t happen,” I say while fake tears begin to form in eyes eyes, hoping he would feel sorry for me. “I had to do it.” I study his face. He squints his eyes at me, almost as if he can’t see me. Chief Roberts rubs his forehead, leans back in his chair, takes a deep breath, and crosses his arms across his chest. “What do you mean Jenna? Your marriage was fantastic. Everyone adored how much you two loved each other.” “No. You see, that’s what he wanted everyone to think. He had to put on a front so he could make up for the fact that he tossed me around nearly every night.” I huff as my face begins to turn red. I can feel the anger taking over my petite body. “All of the wining and dining was a scam.” “Come on. You really expect me to believe that your husband, a well-respected surgeon, beat you?” I push myself away from the table, the chair legs scraping across the floor. I glare at the Chief when I stand up. His right hand slowly begins to move towards his belt. “Relax, sir. I’m not about to try and hurt you.” A few moments pass. I grab the bottom of my shirt and pull it up over my head, revealing bruises of all different colors. Then, I unbutton my pants and drop them to my ankles, uncovering the bruises on the insides of my thighs that make their way around my legs. I close her eyes, bow my head, and hope he buys into it. I mutter softly, “Do you believe me now, Chief?” He does not speak, but merely examines me. My head hangs low in embarrassment. I have never told a soul about what my husband “does” to me. I’m standing almost naked in front of one of my close friends and coworkers. Part of me hopes that he doesn’t see through me, but the other part of me kind of wants to know what will happen if he does. It will be a rush of adrenaline if he knows. “Say something, sir,” I say, breaking the silence in the room. Chief Roberts is in awe as he looks up and down Jenna’s body. He can’t imagine Keith doing this to her, and why she wouldn’t tell him. They have worked together for years, and she’s always had a sweet spot with him. This attractive woman has always had a way with him. As he examines her bruises, he notices something strange. Some of the bruises didn’t seem consistent with punches. He wonders what could have caused those bruises if it wasn’t hands. “You mean to tell me that Doctor Keith Ray did this to you?” he asks. I sigh and nod my head in affirmation. “Nearly every day for twelve years.” “Tell me about it. And you may put your clothes back on.” So I do. I tell him about the first time “it happened”, hoping it sounds real enough to believe. I tell him, “It was a cool, crisp fall day not too long after our honeymoon. I had “looked” at another man in a way that upset Keith, so naturally I was punished. After every time he violated me in some way, he would surprise me with gifts to show how sorry he was.” The chief then asks me to describe what happened the night before. “It was just a regular night. I cooked dinner for us: pot roast with mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, bread, and salad. I had two glasses of wine; he had six beers and two glasses of coke and whiskey. He wasn’t completely drunk, but he was drunk enough. After I cleaned up dinner, I went upstairs to get ready for bed. I grabbed a book that I have been reading and crawled into bed. All I wanted was to relax and have a quiet night at home.” “And then what happened?” Chief Roberts asks. “Keith didn’t want to. He wanted to go out and have fun. I’ve never been about the bar or club scene, but he loves it. I told him that I was going to stay home, but he could go out if he pleased. He didn’t like that. Keith began yelling and screaming, ‘WE’RE GOING OUT. YOU’RE NOT STAYING AT HOME. PEOPLE EXPECT US TO MAKE APPEARANCES.’ I stood my ground. There was no way I was going out. My schedule for today was booked and I didn’t want to be hungover at work, plus, I just wanted to stay home. He went into my closet, grabbed a dress, and threw it at me. He grabbed a pair of heels and threw them at me as well. I tossed the dress and shoes on the ground and continue to read my book. By this time, he was fed up with me I suppose. He stormed over, yanked The Thirteenth Tale out of my hands, and tossed it out of our room. Then, he pulled me out of bed by my hair. I landed on the ground and he went to town.” “What exactly did he do last night?” “Well, when I was on the ground, he started kicking my side. After he was done kicking me, he grabbed me by my neck, around my collar bone, and pulled me up and forcefully threw me onto the bed. After these past twelve years, I had no fight left in me. I just let him do whatever it is he was going to do. He then pushed my legs open and held them down with his knees. Keith still had ahold of my collar bone area. When he was done, he rolled over and went to sleep. It was like it didn’t even bother him.” I begin to sob. The tears stream down my clear face, staining it black. I can tell that Chief Roberts is buying into it. “What is going to happen to me?” I ask. “Well, that’s for the District Attorney to decide. But first, let’s get you sent to the hospital to get an x-ray on your ribs.” Chief Roberts walks out of the interrogation room to find Lauren waiting for him. Her arms crossed, she says, “Chief, I need you to do me a favor. Go canvas the neighbors at Jenna’s. I want to know what has been up with them lately.” “Will do. Something just doesn’t feel right, but then again, what do I know?” he replies. * * * * * * I am then escorted to the hospital for my x-ray’s, where I am seen by a female doctor. The female doctor, whom I know works with my husband, speaks no words to me, probably because she thinks that I killed my husband, which she is right about that, and wanted to prove it. A rape kit is taken after the x-rays. The doctor make no efforts to make sure that I am comfortable during the process. All I can do is cry as the doctor goes through the fifteen step kit. It makes her feel violated all over again. I can only hope that her actions at the hospital would help corroborate her story of a battered woman and that the doctor wouldn’t try and throw me away to Lauren. * * * * * * When the Chief arrives at Jenna’s house, he walks to her neighbor’s house and knocks on their door. Almost immediately, it is opened a middle-aged woman. “I don’t mean to bother you, ma’am, but I just need to ask you a couple of questions about Mr. and Mrs. Ray.” “Of course, sir,” she replies. “Has anything seemed off lately? Did you notice a change in their routine?” “Well, to start with, she hasn’t been at home in about a month. Maybe a month and a half. I don’t know what the issue with that is, but I can only guess. Other than that, it’s been the same around here,” she states. Chief Roberts processes the information for a minute. He can’t help but wonder why Jenna never mentioned that she wasn’t staying at home. The Chief walks down the sidewalk to Jenna’s other neighbor. He is hesitant to knock on the door, but does so anyways. The door opens after a few seconds. A little girl stands behind the door, peeking her head around. “Hello. Is your mommy or daddy home?” the chief asks. She nods, closing the door. A moment later it reopens, a man with large, round glasses standing behind it. “Can I help you?” the man asks. “Yes sir. I have a few questions to ask you about Mr. and Mrs. Ray.” “Well…all right. My name isn’t going to come up is it?” “No sir. So, have you noticed anything differently going on around here lately? Maybe a change in their routine?” the Chief asks. “All I know is about a month or so ago I heard yelling and then Jenna stormed out with a suitcase. She hasn’t been back since.” The Chief notices, behind the door, a security system set up. “You wouldn’t happen to have any cameras hooked up to that system would you?” the chief asks. The man nods, and volunteers to retrieve the data for the Chief. Shaking the man’s hand when he leaves, Chief Roberts thanks him. The Chief pulls out his phone and calls Lauren. “What do you have?” Lauren asks when she picks up the phone. “So, apparently Jenna hasn’t been staying at home for the past month or so. Oh, and I have a video tape.” Lauren sighs deeply, taking a minute to respond. “Okay, get back to the precinct. I will have one of your detectives look into that,” Lauren says, hanging up the phone. * * * * * * Once back at the precinct, I lay head down on the table and continue to sob until something slams down on the old table. I jolt up in confusion, shock, and fear. There, standing in front of me, is Lauren. Lauren’s long brown hair curls around her face. Her newly glossed lips form themselves into a smirk. There is also a look of intent in Lauren’s eyes, telling me that our newfound friendship is over. Lauren glares at me, her baby blue eyes pierce through my skull. “Well, Jenna. I guess you thought you were so smooth. Didn’t you? I have you all figured out,” Lauren states with a smirk on her face. “What do you mean?” I ask. “I’ll tell you what I mean. Here, in this manila folder, are your phone records. Text messages. Emails. Bank statements. Medical records. It’s everything from the past year. You want to know what I found?” Lauren asks. I shake my head. “I found out that you, Mrs. Ray, are a not so innocent lady. When did Keith find out about your love affair?” I don’t say a word. I stare down at the table and fiddle with my fingers. “Are you going to answer me?” “What are you talking about, Lauren?” I ask with a huff. Lauren opens up the manila folder and lays out several pieces of paper in front of me. “This is what I’m talking about. You were cheating on Keith with a low life club owner named Jacob Moore. Now tell me. When did Keith find out?” “He never walked in on us. One of his friends saw me at Jacob’s club,” I say shamefully. “I see. Did he ask for a divorce right then and there? Did he threaten to throw you out? I talked to your neighbors and they said you hadn’t been at home in about a week and a half. Where you been?” “I…uh…” I can’t form a sentence. Lauren leans in across the table and gets as close to me as she can. “Well let me ask you this, did he walk in on you screwing the club owner before or after you told him you were pregnant?” I sit at the table in disbelief. “Lauren. How do you know all of this?” “You see, Jenna. Your husband sold you out without even meaning to. Luckily, he told his assistant what had happened between you guys. She’s the one who called the police this morning because he didn’t show up for work. She knew to point the finger at you. After all, you’re the only one with a good motive to want him dead. You have nothing else to lose. Anyway, when she reported his absence to the hospital and then when the police found him dead in your house, they knew it had to be investigated as a homicide. So there you have it.” Lauren leans back in her chair and folds her arms across her cashmere suit. “Fine. You caught me. I did it. I killed him. But he was beating me. I had to do it. There was no other way for me to live.” “No, Jenna. Keith never touched you except for in a loving way. Those bruises are self-inflicted. The doctor even said so herself. We found the baseball bat that was used to create those bruises in Jacob’s apartment where you’ve been staying. We have his testimony as well. He said that you made as many bruises as you could and then forced him to make the other ones. You’re sunk. I just want to know why you didn’t hide Keith’s body.” I begin crying uncontrollably. I have no idea how I have not gotten away with this. “Oh suck it up,” Lauren says. “Cut out the crying. You’re a sociopath and you know it. You’re not fooling anyone. Now answer my question.” I look up at Lauren and smile. “I want a deal.” Lauren smirks. “Sweetheart. You’re not getting a deal. I’m thinking lethal injection. Your love child is going to be born in jail. I’ve heard the labor and delivery room is really rough. Your club owner lover is going to raise your child and you will probably never have anything to do with it. Sounds like what you deserve to me. Now, they’re taking you to central booking and I’ll arraign you tomorrow morning.” Lauren gets up from the table. “Oh Lauren, lethal injection hasn’t been used in New York state for nearly sixty years. Good luck with that. I didn’t hide his body because I wanted to show everyone what I had done. Yes, I made my own bruises. I cheated on my husband. And I killed him. I wanted everyone to know what I had done.” “Poor Jenna. You see, I’m trying your case. I have enough evidence to convince a jury that there is no other option for you. And when they decide to use lethal injection, maybe I’ll get a raise. We know you’re guilty and we didn’t need your confession to prove it, but thanks for putting the needle in your arm yourself. No matter what, I’ll always come out on top over you.” Lauren slams the door behind her as she leaves the room. I continue to sit at the table. Two police officers enter the room and begin to handcuff my hands and feet. I feel no remorse for what I had done. Jacob had just been an excuse to get out of my unhappy marriage, and I am finally going to get the baby I always wanted. “Well boys, we’re going to get to know each other really well,” I say with a smile on my face as the two police officers drag me out of the interrogation room.