Body of Immorality (25 page)

Sarah was good, though. She could’ve been an actor.

His chest was damp with Sarah’s tears. She wept against him, body hitching with sobs.

Could it be? Surely, Sarah had never felt so much love for him! This, too, must be part of the act. She could turn tears on and off at will!

“I love you, too, Sarah,” Franklin whispered next to her ear. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair. It smelled like strawberries.

Yes, I love you, too,
he thought.

Franklin opened the paper bag, exhuming its contents.

When the Spanish girl at Walgreens announced the total, Franklin specifically asked for, ‘a small paper sack.’ Once outside, he tore open the package and threw the knife inside the sack, then walked to Sarah’s house.

He held her now with his left arm. With his right, he positioned the knife below her ear.

“Of course, Sarah,” Franklin said. “I’ll always love you, too. Tears of joy and love, right?”

Sarah nodded, the wet spot on his shirt slightly damp; sobs, louder.

If any amount of love were impossible to measure,
Franklin thought,
this must be it.

Franklin closed his eyes, smiling in his devotion, taking a deep breath of her hair again. In the next second, he rammed the blade into her throat. Sarah gasped and stiffened instantly. An arc of blood shot to the ceiling after he pulled the knife out. Sarah went limp, gagging on her own blood. She clutched his sleeve and fell away…

He did not let her fall completely, however. Love brimmed from his inner core. It emanated outward, ricocheting off the walls and back toward him. To Franklin, he could virtually see it. His love was an intense ball of bouncing, white energy.

Thinking of the daggers Sarah had delivered yesterday to his stomach, Franklin turned savage. He yanked her back up, grabbing her by the hair. He smiled like a villain and looked into her incredulous, white stare. She was barely alive. Seeing her shocked expression gave him satisfaction. Nodding—reminding her who had gotten the best of whom—Franklin drove the knife into her stomach, delivering repeated thrusts to her abdomen. He remembered the day on the bench, the pain of her pretentious pomp and condescension. Blood spilled over his hand and onto the floor.

“How—?” Sarah tried to say, eyes wide. “How—?”

Blood spilled to his feet. He let go, and Sarah fell to the floor. Her mouth was agape, eyes wide in shock.

Franklin shook his head and smiled.

He felt a mixture of loss and sadness, but only for a moment. Above anything, he brimmed with energy.

“When it comes to love, Sarah,” Franklin said, wiping the bloodied blade on his shirt, “you obviously have a lot to learn.” He looked at her for a few more seconds until she was still, her eyes incredulous in death. “Maybe now you’ll understand this theory I have…a little thing called…
Destiny.”

*

He found a roll of trash bags in the kitchen drawer, a saw in the shed in the backyard. He made a pot of coffee, poured a cup, and occasionally sipped at it while he went to work.

Franklin sawed off Sarah’s arms at the shoulders. He sawed through her legs at the top of her thighs. He sawed off her head and dispersed each of her body parts into several trash bags. The chore was abominable and tiresome. Blood stained the living room floor in a wide pool of gore.

When he was done, he went to the fridge, hoping for a beer, but discovered eggs, syrup, a gallon of milk, and a block of cheese, so he made another cup of coffee.

“My first dismemberment,” he said, aloud. “How did it go, doctor?”

“Very well, thank you,” he answered himself. “Considering the circumstances, I think it went
very
well. I must be a natural.”

Finishing the coffee, Franklin scanned the apartment for the keys to Sarah’s Saab.

*

Her arms were small enough to put in one bag by themselves. The other body parts were in their own bags: the legs, the torso, and the head. Sarah was in six pieces in five different bags.

Franklin found the keys in Sarah’s purse on the mantle above the fireplace. The smell of blood and gore thickened, bringing tears to Franklin’s eyes.

Not heeding his bloodied clothes, he took the bags to the car, making three trips. He shut the trunk when he was done. No one, that he saw, paid any attention. He could’ve been taking out the laundry for all they knew.

Taking a deep breath, Franklin went back inside and turned off the coffee pot. He closed the front door behind him, moving along the broken walkway with a bounce in his step. He looked up and down the street. He got into the Saab and shut the door. He stuck the key in the ignition, revved the car to life, and drove to his apartment.

Once home, he carried the bags up three flights of stairs, making three separate trips again. Bloody trails followed him to the front door. He must’ve accidentally punctured one of the bags.

Miraculously, in the unnatural heat of midday, no one had paid attention to him. If they did, they simply ignored him.

“That,” Franklin said, toasting himself in his apartment when he was done, “was sheer luck. Or Destiny. However you want to look at it.”

*

He used the empty trunk under the window. After padding it with sheets and pillows, wrapping, and re-wrapping the body parts in extra trash bags, Franklin positioned Sarah inside and filled the leftover space with air fresheners. With a thick black marker, he wrote his aunt and uncle’s address on the lid and secured the trunk with rope. All he had to do now was get her to the post office.

Carrying the trunk down three flights of stairs, however, proved a daunting task. With his back throbbing, Franklin was able to get it to the curb by the Saab, but that was a s far as he got. How was he going to lift it up into the trunk of the car?

Franklin took a deep breath and put his hands on his hips.

He’d changed his shirt, but not his shoes and pants. Sarah’s blood was still on his jeans.

“Need some help with that?”

Franklin turned, slightly out of breath. With the heat, he was sweating profusely. A blond man, roughly his same age, wearing a Doors T-shirt and jeans, stood behind him. The man was gangly, a face marked with acne.

Franklin smiled. “You’re a life saver,” he said.

The trunk of the Saab was already open. With the man’s help, they heaved it up into the Saab with a heavy
thud!
The rear of the car bounced and settled.

“Man!” the Doors fan exclaimed. “What do you got in there?”

“My girlfriend,” Franklin said.

The man looked serious for a minute, then burst out laughing. “By the looks of you,” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” He nodded toward Franklin’s blood-splattered jeans.

The color drained from Franklin’s face.

“You must paint for a living,” the man said. “Not that I could tell. I’m colorblind, anyway. Could be sea-foam green, could be blood. Maybe its hot pink!” The man burst out laughing at his own joke, nudging Franklin with his elbow.

“Is that the last one you got?” the man asked.

“That’s it,” Franklin said. “Thanks for the help.”

“Glad to be of service,” the man said, and shook Franklin’s hand. Without an introduction on either side, the man waved and continued down the street, leaving Franklin alone by the Saab.

Franklin watched the man in the Doors shirt for a minute, then grabbed the rest of the rope, securing the lid to the bumper, so Sarah wouldn’t spill onto the road.

“Painter,” he said, unable to believe it.

Before he went to the post office, Franklin decided to take a long hot shower, and put on some clean clothes.

*

Everything was in order. He would be leaving for Oregon later today. He had successfully shipped the truck to his aunt and uncle’s house. It would arrive in a week, maybe more, the man at the post office had said. Franklin nodded.

Mr. Bennet, his landlord, handed him a check for the deposit, and Franklin handed Mr. Bennet the keys to the apartment.

“Don’t forget us little folk,” Mr. Bennet said. “When you’re in that beautiful Oregon.”

Franklin said goodbye to the building, Mr. Bennet, and took a shuttle to the airport, leaving the Saab at the complex.

His flight was number 403 at 5:40 pm, Gate 13A. He was two hours early. He checked in with no baggage, only a carry on. All his things had been shipped. Uncle Walter was taking care of his mail.

Franklin bought a hamburger, fries, and a large Diet Coke at a McDonalds before his plane took off. He lingered at the gate reading a
Time
magazine.

Once on the plane, the flight seemed to go by in no time. He did not talk to a single person. He watched old episodes of
M.A.S.H,
wearing earphones provided by the airline.

He ordered two beers, not wanting to get too light-headed before seeing his aunt and uncle. How many years had it been since he’d seen them? Franklin couldn’t remember.

The flight was two and half hours long. Finally, the plane touched down in Portland. When he followed the directions to Baggage Claim, he saw a short redhead and a tall, gangly, graying man with deep blue eyes. His aunt and uncle had aged.

“Franklin!” Hilary said, anxious to embrace her nephew.

“Hi, Auntie,” Franklin said, smiling.

“Franklin,” his uncle greeted him, pleased. Franklin shook the tall man’s hand and closed in for an embrace. Not ten minutes off the plane, and he already felt better.

“How was the flight?” Walter asked.

“Good,” Franklin said. “Hardly a bump.”

“I got some people I want you to meet later in the week,” Walter said. “I think I got some good news for you.”

Franklin shook his head. “That’s incredible.”

“Your uncle is a go-getter,” Hilary said.

“Got
you,”
Walter said, and Hilary laughed.

Franklin joined in the laughter.

They made excitable conversation on the way to a black Lincoln Continental.

“And Sarah,” Hilary said from the passenger seat, once they were on the road. “When’s
she
coming?”

“A few more days, I think,” Franklin said. “She’s gonna love it out here.”

“We can’t wait to meet her,” Hilary said. Walter turned and smiled at his wife.

“I hope you like her,” Franklin told them, staring out the window as the highway unfolded. They drove into the suburbs around Portland.

The house was on Bleeker Street. They’d moved since Franklin lived here. The house was a wide, brown, single story, stretching across an expansive, manicured lawn. Elms and maples shaded the yard. Yes, his Uncle was a ‘go getter,’ Franklin saw.

“This is incredible,” he said.

Walter parked the car, and they stepped outside. Franklin surveyed the house.

Walter smiled. Hilary wrapped her arm around her husband’s elbow, and the three of them walked along the pathway to the front door.

“Welcome home,” Uncle Walter said.

“It’s good to
be
home,” Franklin said.

Walter unlocked the door and pushed it open. “After you,” he said, inviting Franklin inside.

Franklin couldn’t believe it. He shook his head, experiencing a moment of private wonder. He stepped across the threshold. He eyed the inside of the house with intimidation, comfort, and a sense that he
did
belong.

Not, just belonging,
he thought,
but welcome, too. Welcome home.

Walter and Hilary were just as pleased, it seemed. They directed him to his room down the hallway, replete with a queen-sized bed, a desk, computer, telephone, television, reading chair, and a view of the sloping back yard. Franklin was a long way from the city, he thought.

“Is this okay?” Hilary said.

“Is that a joke?” he asked, smiling.

“No.”

The three of them laughed. Franklin was awestruck every time he turned around. He felt like a kid.

“Put your bag down, nephew, and let’s have a beer on the patio,” Walter said. “Ease some of that jet-lag.”

“Sounds perfect,” Franklin said.

He followed his uncle through the kitchen and into the back yard. Through light conversation, it was the perfect end to a perfect day.

*

The trunk arrived a week later. Franklin and his uncle were relaxing in the entertainment room watching the Mariners beat the Yankees. It was 11-2 in the top of the fifth.

“A big trunk is outside, Franklin,” Aunt Hilary said, walking into the room. “There’s a terrible stench to it, too, I’m afraid. You didn’t ship the meat in your refrigerator, did you?”

Franklin wiggled his eyebrows. The moment he’d been waiting for…

Walter and Hilary exchanged a puzzled glance.

They followed Franklin to the front door. An unpleasant odor
was
hovering around the trunk. Walter made a comment about the ropes and went to the kitchen for a knife. The smell, he was sure, had a logical explanation, but he ignored it. When he returned, he handed the knife to Franklin. Franklin took the knife and noticed it was the same kind he’d used—

He bent and cut the ropes. They fell away, resembling two motionless white snakes on the porch.

“Better see what got caught in there, Franklin, before you bring it inside,” Aunt Hilary said, wrinkling her nose.

“This is better anyway,” Franklin said.

He undid the clasps and lifted the lid, the stench not fazing him at all. Hilary’s hand went immediately to her face, covering her mouth and nose. She gasped, winced, and took a step back. She gave Walter a worried glance.

“Good Lord, Franklin,” Walter said, frowning. “What have you
got
in there?”

Franklin exhumed two trash bags. He had difficulty carrying them out onto the lawn in the afternoon sun; the smell of decay was powerful despite the air fresheners.

Walter and Hilary stood on the porch waiting for the joke to present itself. Franklin dumped Sarah’s left leg and both arms onto the lawn.

Hilary and Walter frowned. Was it a dream, a joke, their expressions seemed to say? What’s the catch? Had Franklin brought a smelly mannequin all the way from Denver?

“Sarah,” Franklin said.

He returned to the trunk and grabbed two more trash bags. Again, he walked out onto the lawn, depositing Sarah’s leg and torso next to the arms and leg.