Lead Acid Battery

I walked home from work via the park, it was a rainy day full with sparse sun, rare crisp and soothing. Not ready for what was happening at home. I got there, an undercover police car parked in front, you know the type they have the blue and red lights inside and the big flood light on the right side, and they are at least eight years old, an undercover police car parked at my house. The wife and I did not contribute to the police fund nor did we help them in their food drives for children or whatever; why even fireman could not get us to open our wallets for the causes they may support. I checked my watch just to make sure that I wasn’t home early and thus accidentally catching my wife having an affair with a cop. But disturbingly my watch noted that I was on my mundane schedule. I walked up to the front door it was ajar.

Calmly I precipitated my entrance, shoes walking on a wooden floor announce the age of the floor and the choreography of the walker. No one in the living room, voices in the kitchen, I walked in, my wife Mary was in tears, they did not suit her, she is a red head, freckles everywhere, when her eyes turn red they stand out above all things, rich into the sky her eyelids were inflamed lips, her eyes gorging with reddish tracks outlining her arterial insides, I came up to her, barely noticing the man standing by the cutting board, “what is wrong honey?” Then I realized that she wasn’t really crying rather she was highly irritated, a stretched disturbance was running her skin, Mary did not like to be this way; “there is a dead man in the house.” “an intruder?” I asked. The detective interrupted our indifference towards him; “Not an intruder a dead man that your wife knew.” I had to ask “why is he dead here?” the detective replied; “Think somebody killed him.” My eyes drifted looking for knifes, for guns, for blood on Mary’s hands, but as usual the kitchen was ambitiously clean.

The detective sensing my disbelief walked over to me, grabbed me by the arm, walked me into our food closet where plenty of canned food revealed the secret to our cleanliness, and on the floor, uncomfortably nestled against a cabinet, was a tall, swanky man, about thirty five years old, but looking more like forty eight, losing his hair, dressed in a well tailored suit, lacking any anguish in his facial expression of death, he seemed to be more sleeping, more at rest, more not willing to wake up than dead. But the nice detective assured me that he was dead. No marks, no wounds, just dead.

I looked at the detective searching for answers; he commenced outlining some basic facts for me “Your wife tells me she knows this man but she can’t remember how it is that she knows him. Most victims know their attackers, this guy probably knows his, not saying it was your wife, but right now the evidence is all in this house and the exhibits are all in this house; and your wife Mary seems to be suffering some kind of memory lost either conveniently or shocked induced, but we are going to need a psychiatric evaluation.” While Mary remained catatonic through the insensitive accusations, the first thought that crawled into my mind was that I was not guilty, then I felt sorry for Mary, sorry that she was a suspect, and sorry that she had such an insensitive husband. Then I replied “My wife would never kill anyone what are you doing to find the real killer?” He would have taken out a cigarette at this point but this detective was a young one, maybe all of twenty eight, so he looked more like he worked out a lot at the gym and was probably not into coffee, cigarettes nor blurring lines of reality. “What am I doing to solve this? I am here right! I am here talking to the two principal suspects in the case, right! And this may sound a bit intrusive but you may want to get a lawyer; I don’t want to be the one to tell you your rights, I am sure you have seen enough police shows to know your rights; only this is not a television show, you are not as innocent as you look, I am not saying you are the perfect suspects but you are the most obvious suspects, and my experience has taught me that most of the time the most obvious is also the most true. Now I am going to go out to my car to begin a report and get the county coroner to come out here and rush an autopsy on this man while he is still fresh with what has killed him. In the mean time you two might want to search your memories to help me out here, other wise you are going to answer a lot of questions in a court of law and that will include any secrets you have from each other.” With those words he parted for his undercover car. But just before exiting he turned around to utter, “There is nothing in this man’s pockets that tells us who he is, not even a dollar or a leaflet from a fortune cookie, so don’t touch him, would not want to have to charge you with tampering with the evidence.”

I grabbed Mary by the shoulders “How did he get in here? what is happen? Why is this man dead in our house?” Mary did not utter any more words than a deaf mute would; her memory loss had affected her hearing and language skills, maybe she could still utter bowels but I wasn’t certain of that. And personally I had two suspects, the detective and Mary. Mary and I were getting alone the average marriage line. We were comfortable with each other, we had sex once or twice a month, we could continue thinking of our work or our hobbies during the pleasure, I could not really remember the last time I kissed her with moist passion, maybe it was when she proposed to me, I was surprised, but then if you saw Mary with her chlorine personality you would understand, no one was going to ask her to marry, when I met her I was bored, I had nothing better to do, that was the best offer I had all month; I know it sounds terrible, but I never thought anything serious of it, I thought this will come to pass before it happens, its been thirteen years of boredom, plenty of time by myself, and the most exiting thing ever in our wedding was this man dead. And of course like Mary he was not carrying an identity, and like her he could not hear nor talk the language of the living.

It takes a while from thirteen years of boredom to wake up, but I was waking up. Mary made some gestures to me sort of asking me to act quickly and follow her. I was paranoid about the detective outside, I looked though the kitchen window to see him merely sitting in his car writing something, Mary tugged at me and forced me into the garage. There she got into her car, popped the hood open, and run out in front of it, pulled it open. Then pointing at me gestured that I needed to pull the battery out. When I acted a bit confused she insisted, imploring with her hands strangling themselves. I don’t know, don’t ask me why I was listening to what was now seemingly a very disturbed woman but I hastily pulled the battery out of the car. Mary grabbed it from me, a skinny redhead carrying a lead acid battery is a very exotic sight; I must say I was rather turn on by it. So I grabbed her waist as she carried it along, and she was not receptive, she was on some kind of a mission, but I was more turned on, I started to fancy me eating her pussy, and sucking her nipples and licking her armpits; and all my thinking organs disabled I forced her to the ground, battery anchoring itself to the floor, and I start to force her to listen to my pleasure seeking endeavors, where she reacts with fury, and yet cries not nor screams not, but succumbs to my inner most desires, and I fuck her hard until I mine even distant pleasures from her, my diamond head reacting to the reckless explorer within me, and she was wet, wet and I was not averse to taking every liberty to explode inside of her deepest most, her energetic fragile body just let me map her surface, she tasted so good, so good, I swear this was not the Mary that I knew, and come I did, I think she did too, but maybe I am more sure that she didn’t, I was not too concern with it; I make no excuse for it, we picked ourselves off the garage floor, and she rushed toward the battery, grabbed it and took it into the kitchen, placed it on top of the cutting board and then told me to light it on fire. She did this by pointing to the gas stove, don’t ask me why, I don’t know why I went and turned one on full blast, we were both sweating some kind of fiery passion, while I lit the stove she grabbed the big can of virgin olive oil, and dozed the acid lead battery with it. Then she motioned that I place it on top of the stove, her yes wide wide with life, she was flirting with the infinity, I was unleashing every perspiration that had been constipated in our relationship, I placed the battery on the furnace, at first it seemed like it was not going to start firing, but Mary rushed into the closet and as if saying fuck the virgin olive oil, she pulled out a can of charcoal lighting fluid, rushed back, stopped right in front of me, looked at me with the heat in her eyes, she was vivaciously sparkling, grabbed my hands and placed the can of charcoal lighting fluid in them; I loved her, there was no way to say which one of us would end up in jail for life, I blasted the cap off and dozed a furnace while embracing Mary and kissing her nipples adios.

RC