Ashes On The Water
Bob was in a
good mood as he drove down the country road on a glorious day. He chatted
amiably to his wife, even though he knew she wasn’t listening. The incessant
rain and all of the troubles of the past week were finally over. It was the
first true summer day of the year and the classic rock station was playing all
of his favorite songs back to back. But the real reason for his good mood was
that he knew now that he had succeeded. There had been some tense moments in
the last few weeks; the plans he had so carefully drawn out had really been put
to the test. All the plans in the world cannot prepare one for the way things
play out in reality. But he was proud of himself. When the story deviated from
the script he had written, he reacted as an actor inspired. He realized flaws
in his story when questioned and adapted to the situation. And now he was on
the final stretch. He had merely to dispose of the ashes of his victim and the
last traces of the murder he committed would be gone forever.
He looked over
at his wife, who was on the front seat next to him in a little black plastic
box. He missed her company and wished he could share this moment with her. He
patted the box gently in remembrance. He didn’t hate her—far from it, he had
always been fond of her. It seemed somewhat regrettable that she had to be the
victim of his plot. It’s just that the idea had taken hold of him. Surely
everyone at one time or another has wondered if they could commit murder and
get away with it. Well he was no different, he just took the idea to its
conclusion. It’s hard to explain how an idea can grow in the mind until it
becomes a compulsion, but sometimes the only way to get rid of a temptation is
to give in to it.
“Wish You Were
Here” came on the radio, ruining for him the streak of upbeat tunes. He
switched stations just in time to catch the weather. Sunny and warm for the
next few days, it said. Good. He was driving up to the cabin to dispose of his
wife’s ashes. The good weather would give him the opportunity to do a little
work on the property they…he had inherited from his wife’s parents.
The radio was
still on, and the local news followed the weather. It seemed that a body was
discovered floating in the river somewhere outside of town. Bob immediately
wondered if there was another murderer in town. “Dumb”, he thought to himself.
To leave a body is to leave evidence. He was aware of how clever the police
could be once their suspicion was aroused. Pride arose in him again as he
started to compare himself to this possible new murderer. He had seen too many
criminal investigation shows to make his plan complicated. His scheme rested
solely on not leaving any evidence behind. There was no murder weapon; he had
poisoned her using chemicals that were in their house, that were in most
households. The result was similar to a heart attack. She was in her
mid-fifties with a family history of heart disease so there was no real reason
for anyone to dig too deeply for explanations for her death. And he had always
been both a model citizen and husband. His whole plan rested upon him being
able to get rid of the body before anyone could suspect something. As long as
they did not have a body on which to perform an autopsy, he would be home free.
Fortunatately, the Tri-State Crematory had taken care of that detail for him.
All that was left was ashes now. He did not know if modern technology could
decipher anything from these, but they would be gone soon too, scattered on the
lake he and his wife had so often looked out upon from their cabin. And then he
would be free.
It was a three
hour trip to their cabin up north, and he continued to listen for further news
on the body discovered in the river. After a time, an update was given. Two
more bodies had been found and police were reporting body parts of several
more. “Wow”, he thought, “I give this guy credit for quantity at least. Good,
let him get all the notoriety. This ought to keep the police busy and off of my
case.”
This news item
held Bob’s attention now. He turned to the all-news station in order to get the
latest updates. He felt some kinship with this presumed mass-murderer, felt as
they were both members of an elite club. The count was at least six people now,
and Bob suspected, half-hoped, that there would be more. It was about two hours
into his trip that the newest information was given: a storage shed filled with
stacked corpses was found upriver from town. A thrill of vicarious excitement
went up Bob’s back as he realized the accomplishment of this imagined murderer.
Here was a real killer, a psychopath. He imagined this man in his mind, tried
to re-construct his experiences using his own as a blueprint.
As he drove into
the town nearest his cabin retreat, the radio revealed the story behind the
mystery. The serial killer was a figment of his imagination, no murders had
taken place. He pulled the car over and sat in stunned silence as the radio
report continued. It was unclear why, but it seems that the Tri-State Crematory
had not been doing its job. Bodies had been hidden in the woods, stored in
sheds or buried in shallow graves. The recent heavy rains had unearthed some of
the bodies, washing several of them into the river. Autopsies would have to be
performed on the corpses to determine identity so that loved ones could be
alerted. As the radio moved on to other news, Bob sat with his head in his
hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
This short story was based upon a real-life
occurrence, a crematory that never got around to cremating many of their
customers and instead gave concrete dust to the loved ones of the deceased. You
can read more about it here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tri-State_Crematory
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