UNTIL DEATH............#1

 
  The ordinary quiet of small-town Danse, Georgia was suddenly interrupted on a warm November night by a blast from a ten-gauged shotgun that rang out across town,  through the 1:30 a.m.wooded darkness, announcing the death of my husband, my baby boy's daddy. The shotgun was owned by my grandfather and had been very much admired by my husband, being a lover/collector of guns, especially antiques and rarities; He'd even tried to buy it from Grandpa a couple of times. I was holding the gun that night when it killed Terry Smith.
 
  Danse is a little gun-totin' town, which is maybe why it's generally such a peaceful, safe place to live. A country town, the neighboring Atlantans refer to it as "hicksville ", or  the  "boonies". Most of the folks that live there own guns and most of those folks carry their guns with them and are hunters and participate in the many competitions  testing their marksmanship, so rarely is a second thought given to the sound of the firing of a  gun, even in the middle of the night. The light sleepers who were awakened that fateful night probably just thought it was a disgruntled neighbor firing off a round in an attempt to scare away some garbage-can-raiding raccoons or other such mischievious wild animal. The morning news would tell them, though,  that it was actually me shooting my husband of ten years to death.
 
  "Did you shoot daddy?", asked my precious little boy of four years, who seemed to just suddenly appear from nowhere. In fact he had been in bed asleep when the gunshot woke him and now he stood wipeing at his sleepy eyes with the backs of his hands, trying to adjust his vision to the sight of his father  sprawled out in front of him on the dining room floor.   
   
  Quickly, I grabbed my lightweight cotton bathrobe from the back of a nearby chair, covering my child with it (hoping to shield any further view of his father) as I lifted his little body into my arms. He didn't struggle, as if he knew on some level it was a thing better left unseen. His father, who only a few hours earlier had been playing kiddie games with him, had been in a rare good mood that day and so made it a good and a happy day for little Michael, giving him good memories for their last day together.
   
  "It's okay, baby", I lied. "We're going right now to get help for daddy, so don't worry,okay? It' all going to be okay."
   
  Somehow, while holding Michael awkwardly hiked  up on one hip and keeping his view of Terry blocked, I bent  over my husband's still body far enough to look directly into his open eyes . They were blank, unaware, blind - staring into nowhere, nothingness.That was when the strange feeling began to creep over (and through) me. What lay there on the floor before me was real enough but was becoming incomprehensible.This man, who had been my husband and lover for the past ten years, simply could not be dead. To me he was omnipotent and it seemed against nature that I could possibly do him physical harm, much less take his life. This man who could, in my mind, strike fear into the hearts of man and beast alike  without much more than a single glance - this man simply could not be dead! Not Terry!  He was invincible so I half expected him to suddenly jump up and take my head off.  But he didn't. He just lay there. Dead.

  Although I knew deep down in my heart that Terry was really physically dead, I spoke to him as though he could hear me  -  for Michaels' sake, " Hang on, Terry. I'm going for help now and someone will be here in just a few minutes. Okay? Hang on."  We had no phone so I had to drive to the police station which was only about three blocks away.

  I turned to run for the door when I was surprised by the amount of blood that had already almost covered the dining room floor. I could see it moving, rolling slowly but surely to cover the living room floor, too. So much blood , so much more than one would think. I realized then that I had shot bullseye through  one of his prison tattoos: the one that lay over his heart. It was a tatoo of a broken heart (broken jaggedly down the middle of the  life-sized heart - top to bottom). In the left side was printed "Michael" and in the right part was "Lily". I'm Lily.

  Since Terry was only a couple of steps away from the front of the gun, the slug blew out a large section of his back. Such a wound would leave no need for a heart to pump the blood out, especially since he landed on his back. A small river of blood ran its' path into the living room which was hardwood floor; no carpet or rugs to soak up  the blood that was beginning to crawl up the floor length draperies. To say the scene was surreal would be putting it mildly, especially if you consider the strong odor that comes with that much blood. And the fact that I took the time and energy in such an emergency to deadbolt the door because I was afraid a wild (or otherwise) animal would pick up the scent of Terry's blood and be hungry - well, maybe it meant my mind was beginning to teeter just a little bit.  A little bit, at least.

  I ran through the darkness about fifty feet to get to my car, almost tripping once because I forgot to turn the outside  flood light on. When I turned the ignition on, the stereo was suddenly blasting the song, "ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST!"  -- those very words! I felt as if some giant cosmic joke was being played on me.

  We made it to the police station in less than five minutes since it was so close and in a town as small as Danse there's never any traffic at 1:30 a.m., except for the few who would take to the backroads on the week-ends, just drinking, smoking a little maybe, talking, and listening to the music while poking along or mudding through the few dirt roads still unpaved. Anyway, traffic was never a problem  in Danse - city or rural, it didn't matter.

  The very front of the police station featured a large picture window, so from the parking lot one could see most of the goings on of the inner office. I could see two officers standing at the window, looking outside, coffee cup in one hand, cigarette in the other. I can barely imagine what they thought  when  my car came to a screeching halt just inches this side of their window.  They didn't move a muscle but watched wide-eyed as a wild woman in her mid twenties, bare-footed, wearing only a thin nightie and panties (all splattered with blood - - clothes and skin)  pulled a likewise half naked toddler from the car and swing him around to land on her hip as she broke into a run  toward  the  station  door.

  For just a moment or two after we entered the station there was utter silence. I lowered a wriggling Michael to the floor, thinking I wished I had at least grabbed his clothes.  He was wearing only his action figure underwear, which was all he ever wanted to sleep in. Now I felt neglectful as I so often did since Michael's birth, not good enough to be his mother.

  Suddenly doors were opening and people entered, filling the small office.  Some of them I knew, others were strangers but not for long. A couple of police cars screamed out of the parking lot, a siren sounded off a short distance away, which must have been an ambulance leaving the hospital two or three blocks away. Later I learned they had to break into the house to get to his body because I had locked the door.

  In the meantime while I related the evenings events to one officer Michael pled my case with another; "Mama had to shoot him or I would have had to do it!"  He amazed me often with his beyond his years intelligence and insights. I knew he was afraid of losing me through this happening and I wanted so badly to take him up in my arms and away from all of this and everything that could hurt or worry him. I wanted to reassure him and make big unbelievable promises like, "We won't ever have to be afraid again or ever have to hide in silence again." Or "I'll never let anything worry you this way again and we'll make a happy, safe life now." I wanted to see him smile a true happy smile and often. When all this was over I would make it all up to him,  I promised myself privately.

  An aunt and uncle of mine picked Michael up to stay with them until the officers were finished with me  and the investigation. Thankfully someone brought some clothes for Michael and me. I was thankful even though the clothing they brought for me to wear did belong to my husband. I wore them anyway; They were at least better than the nightie and I was sure it was an accident, even if the jeans and shirt were a good few sizes too large for me. They even brought Terry's coat which I could almost get lost in it was so big. It was really a kind of comforting feeling while I wondered why it didn't bother me to wear Terry's clothes such a short while after killing him. But it didn't bother me at all and that puzzled me some.

  It was not until after  Danse City Police (labeling my actions, "justifiable homocide") turned me over to the Sheriff's Office of Patton County to do their own investigation that I  realized I could  actually be charged with a crime. I had done only what I had to do. Kill or be killed. Honestly it was my sons' safety  I was really concerned with most. I was actually  surprised when the deputies fingerprinted me, took my mug shot, and booked me.  "MURDER". That's exactly the way it read. Just plain "murder". And I went to jail. Clang!!!  It was one of the old-fashioned jails, with a lot of loud metal on metal clanging and almost constant echoes of one thing or another.

  The cold, hard sound of the turnkey locking me in jarred back some long ago memories.  I'd been in this cell about ten years before  -  with Terry.  Just the two of us, together, at the same time. That's another story, though.

  Listening to the loud footsteps of  the turnkey on the metal staircase, I turned and walked over to one of the two barred windows. I looked out over the fenced-in backyard, which held two big Dobermans as guards and prisoners. Beyond the fence a few yards lay the railroad track that carried the train  that long ago woke me up many times thinking a tornado had hit the building I was locked up in. The windows rattled, the whole building shook everytime the train traveled by that jail -  and always at full speed, it seemed.

  I wondered if our artwork and  words of wisdom still adorned those ancient walls and it didn't take me long to find it all mixed up with the hundreds of others' drunken words of genius. I suddenly became overwhelmingly sad when my minds eye looked again at that young girl scribbling nonsense on that jail wall, feeling invincible while I was really extremely naive. At that time I thought I was sterile and later when I became pregnant I felt so unworthy of that precious baby. He deserved much, much  better than me.

    I pushed hard on the window and opened it enough to get some fresh, cool air in my lungs. It was then when the incoming air made my face feel wet cold that I realized I was crying big tears. I tried to bury myself deeply into Terry's  oversized clothes and curled up on the bunk nearest to the window, closed my eyes and drifted back, far back into the past: things said that could never be forgotten, actions that could hardly be believed really happened, incredible magic in love, and incredible horrors. Back, back, back......

 

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                        UNTIL DEATH.....                      -CHAPTER TWO-



    I had spent that day at the popular Luther's Beach trying to deepen what was already a good start on a tan and drinking beer with some acquaintances and, I might add, I was feeling pretty good. Without making it by conscious decision I had by this time in my life discarded any plans for a successful and happy future. I had no tools to work with in making a "normal" life, so I lived as happily as I could with whatever presented itself for the moment. There was no tomorrow for me, only now. I felt my only responsibility was to treat my fellow human beings fairly and help anyone who needed help - if possible. Mostly, all I thought of was escaping bad feelings. Booze and drugs did that for me. And love. But love was not so easy to find so I settled for getting high every day and in any way I could, unafraid of overdosing or dying. I was more afraid of living than of dying.

    Laying there in my string bikini, in the gloriously bright sunshine, my long blonde hair sun-bleached and wild down my shoulders and back, I knew I looked good and that made me feel good; I liked the attention it brought me because I believed my looks to be my only asset, a mentality unknown to me at that time. I didn't even believe I looked good when I was straight but instead felt terribly inferior to other girls no matter how nuch make-up I used or how smooth and golden my tan became. My whole life the one and only thing people bragged on me for was the way I looked physically, and I still didn't fully believe it,


    I always wanted to look good since I thought that was the only way I could get a man/boy to want to be in my company long snough to fall in love with me. Why I needed love so badly, I don't know, but in the most secret place in my heart I wanted a good, clean life with a good man,  kids, a stable place in the community, the whole respectable gig. I just couldn't let anyone know that I had no idea about how to make such things happen to or for me, Nor did I know what to do with it if I had that idealic life. I'd never, as of yet , learned how to live that style of existence without it being pretence. And I didn't want the world to know I couldn't, for whatever reason, get a  man to fall in love with me. I didn't know I wouldn't recognize such love had it come to me. I pretended to have actually chosen the style of life I was living. I chose nothing; I just existed from one day to the next as a real party girl.

    Late afternoon was my favorite time of day;  The sounds of the whooperwills and other night birds, the tree frogs and bull frogs croaking, the feeling of magic in the occasional balmy breeze - all gave me that special feeling of romance, even when I was alone.  But this night I wasn't going to be alone. I knew that the moment mine and Terry's eyes met at that first meeting.

    We were at a party I had been invited  to by the couple I had spent the day with at the beach.