Mr. Shepard Kills His Wife
Before he even walked through the door, Detective Schody was bitching to himself. “...just when I thought I was going to enjoy my night off, some nut decides to fuck it up. Christ.” He lit a cigarette and offered one to his partner, Abbott, who waved it away.
“You don’t know the half of it Schody,” he cautioned.
Schody took a long drag off his Marlboro. When he transferred out to a sleepy suburb like Penrose, Rhode Island, he had hoped for quiet nights and an easy paycheck. Not this. On the other side of the one way glass was a Mr. Anthony Shepard. A wiry mess with black hair, Mr. Shepard likely weighed 90 pounds soaking wet. Which he actually was. There was a puddle beginning to form beneath him from the water dripping off his shirt. Then there was the matter of his shirt. It was covered in blood, with some dirt mixed in for good measure. He sat quietly, clenching his fists on the steel table. His eyes were locked on the corner of the room. Schody tracked his gaze to a stain on the floor.
“Damn night janitor was getting lazy,” he thought to himself before snapping back to the task at hand: “Let me guess: Wife was fooling around, jealous husband takes things into his own hands?”
Abbott turned pale. “Almost. That’s what he thought too.” The words hung in the air like a noose.
“What?”
“Yeah. Longo and Stark picked him up on the beat. Ranting and raving about how he cut her up. Get this though: we sent a car over to his house. Guess who answers the door?”
“Mrs. Fucking. Shepard.” Schody exhaled the words through a puff of smoke. His gaze tightened on the shell of a man on the other side of the glass. This was going to be a hell of a night.
“Yep. She’s down the hall now. Doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. Far as she knew, her husband was home with her.”
Schody tilted his head. “So whose blood is that?”
“Dunno yet. They ran some tests an hour ago. Should be done soon.”
As if on cue, the lab tech burst in. Schody jumped. Barely able to catch his breath, the tech began to speak.
“Guys, we got a match on the blood. It took a while, but we got a hit on some old hospital records from a few years back. It’s her’s.”
Schody almost choked on his cigarette. It took him a moment before he could suppress his confusion enough to issue a command. “Get Longo and Stark in there with this guy. We’re gonna have a crack at the wife.”
***
Much to Detective Stark’s chagrin, his partner had a temper. Perhaps it was his wife leaving him, maybe it was the booze, or it could’ve just been the good old fashioned Italian genes. Either way, Longo was a hothead. A pissed off partner wasn’t without its advantages, though. It made the two a natural fit for the good cop-bad cop routine, which they had perfected. Stark would start by easing the suspect into a false sense of security.
“Mr. Shepard, we’d like you to run us through what happened this evening. We’re here to help.”
Mr. Shepard was not convinced. He remained silent, staring at the floor. Without looking up, he asked, “what time is it, Detective?”
“It’s about 11:30, Mr. Shepard. Anthony. Can I call you Tony?”
Mr. Shepard looked up and stared at the two detectives and cracked his neck.
***
“Mrs. Shepard, our department doesn’t take kindly to pranks, ya know. We found a bunch of your blood on your husband’s clothing.”
Still in her pajamas, Mrs. Shepard looked hopelessly back at Abbott.
“I’m sorry, but we’re going to need you to lift up your shirt. We need to look for any scars or wounds or anything like that. If you could please?” Schody asked.
Mrs. Shepard complied and lifted her shirt. She spun around for the detectives. No scars. Schody and Abbott looked at each other with a look of utter bewilderment. They were out of ideas.
“I think...I think-” Abbott began to stutter before Schody cut him off.
“-I think we need a fuckin’ coffee, in all honesty.”
The one thing Schody missed about the big city was the coffee. Break room coffee tasted both cold and burnt at the same time, somehow. But he drank it anyway. He grimaced in between sips trying to force the coffee down.
“I think I’ll actually take that cigarette now,” Abbott admitted hopelessly. Schody laughed and handed him one.
“You know,” Abbott began, “we aren’t even allowed to smoke in he-”
Before he could finish, a gunshot rang out. Schody spilled his coffee. Another rang out, echoing loudly throughout the station. The two ran to Mr. Shepard’s holding room. Guns drawn, the two stacked up beside the door. Abbott kicked it open. Longo was slumped over the table. Stark was bleeding out in the corner. Mr. Shepard was nowhere in sight.
“His wife!” Abbott shouted. He darted out the door and down the hall, with Schody right on his back. Their footsteps pattered on the marble floor. As they rounded the corner to the second room, Mr. Shepard leapt through the door. He fired three shots in rapid succession at the men as he darted towards the rear exit.
“You follow him, I’ll check her!” Schody yelled. Abbott sped out the door in pursuit. Mrs. Shepard’s throat was slit wide open. Her blood was pooling quickly underneath the table. The dark red contrasted greatly with the bright white of the floor. For a fraction of a second, Schody was hypnotized by it. He ran out the back and through the parking lot. As he ran he fumbled through his pocket for his phone. He punched in the Chief’s number.After what felt like forever, a groggy voice answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Chief, it’s Schody.” He was sprinting as he yelled through his phone. “Me and Abbott need backup at the station now!”
“What the fuck? Why aren't you on the beat?”
This frustrated Schody. Chief didn't know what was going on. “No time, just do it!”
“Everyone else is off duty. It’s fucking ten on a Sunday night. What happened?”
“No time! Send people! And ambulance! We have officers and civilians down!”
That woke the Chief up quickly. “Fuck... alright, alright. On it!”
Schody hung up. He was covering ground fast now. Any moment, he would reach the woods. The Police station was located right on the edge of Penrose, in between the woods and the nearest county road. Schody was darting between trees as fast as he could. The loud crack of another gunshot rang through the night. A flock of birds flapped away in fear. Schody followed the noise, heading deeper into the woods. The woods were pitch black.The tree cover blocked any moonlight that may have shone through. Schody pointed his gun into the darkness, but he couldn’t see a thing. Not that it would have mattered. He was trembling so much that he probably wouldn’t even be able to shoot straight. He tripped on something in front of him as he slowed down. A log, maybe. He regained his footing and pressed on. Before he had time to worry about who that last gunshot was for, a twig snapped in half on the ground behind him.
“Detective Schody! Drop your gun and get on your knees. Slowly!”
A chill went down Schody’s spine. It was a fine compliment to the cold sweat streaming down his face. He let his gun slip from his hands as he fell to the ground. He heard Mr. Shepard’s footsteps nearing closer. He was muttering something to himself, but Schody couldn’t quite make it out. Mr. Shepard collected his gun off the ground and put it against Schody’s head. He was shaking. Crying too, from the sound of it. In between the tears, he choked out an apology.
“I’m sorry. I had to do this. All of it. But it wasn’t my fault.”
Schody was only half listening. In front of him, he could begin to make out what looked like a body. Abbott’s body. He was face down in a pile of leaves. It was beginning to rain now. Thoughts were rushing through his head. None of this made any sense. He was going to throw up from the sheer madness. If he were able to gain just a shred of clarity, he would probably wonder how Mr. Shepard knew his name. As the rain came down, it made a rustling sound against the leaves that somewhat soothed Schody. He closed his eyes and embraced his fate.
“...again. I’m late anyway,” Mr. Shepard finished.
Mr. Shepard collected himself and pressed the gun deep into Schody’s head. He pulled the trigger. Schody slumped to the ground, lifeless.
Rain was coming down heavy now. Mr. Shepard tossed the gun beside the detectives. For a moment he stared at their bodies. Then at all the others around him. He never understood why these bodies stayed and the others didn’t. Mr. Shepard usually broke down at this point. None of this made any sense. But he knew what he had to do. He took off towards the edge of the woods. Twinges of regret pierced his thoughts while he ran. The further out of the woods he went, the more confused Mr. Shepard became. Before long it was all a blur. Everything that happened became lost in the fog of anger and sadness. And loss. All he remembered now was that somehow, some way, he killed his own wife. He was a monster. And he needed to be stopped. It would all come back to him later, of course. But for now, Mr. Shepard was a confused man looking for a way out. The rain was slowing to a halt. As Mr. Shepard ran out of the woods, he could see a street in the distance. He looked out as he got closer, and waved. He could just begin to see a police car up ahead.
Back at the police station, Detective Longo was bitching to himself as he walked through the door. “...just when I thought I was going to enjoy my night off, some nut decides to fuck it up. Christ.” He lit a cigarette and offered one to his partner Stark, who waved it away.
“You don’t know the half of it Longo.”
“You don’t know the half of it Schody,” he cautioned.
Schody took a long drag off his Marlboro. When he transferred out to a sleepy suburb like Penrose, Rhode Island, he had hoped for quiet nights and an easy paycheck. Not this. On the other side of the one way glass was a Mr. Anthony Shepard. A wiry mess with black hair, Mr. Shepard likely weighed 90 pounds soaking wet. Which he actually was. There was a puddle beginning to form beneath him from the water dripping off his shirt. Then there was the matter of his shirt. It was covered in blood, with some dirt mixed in for good measure. He sat quietly, clenching his fists on the steel table. His eyes were locked on the corner of the room. Schody tracked his gaze to a stain on the floor.
“Damn night janitor was getting lazy,” he thought to himself before snapping back to the task at hand: “Let me guess: Wife was fooling around, jealous husband takes things into his own hands?”
Abbott turned pale. “Almost. That’s what he thought too.” The words hung in the air like a noose.
“What?”
“Yeah. Longo and Stark picked him up on the beat. Ranting and raving about how he cut her up. Get this though: we sent a car over to his house. Guess who answers the door?”
“Mrs. Fucking. Shepard.” Schody exhaled the words through a puff of smoke. His gaze tightened on the shell of a man on the other side of the glass. This was going to be a hell of a night.
“Yep. She’s down the hall now. Doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. Far as she knew, her husband was home with her.”
Schody tilted his head. “So whose blood is that?”
“Dunno yet. They ran some tests an hour ago. Should be done soon.”
As if on cue, the lab tech burst in. Schody jumped. Barely able to catch his breath, the tech began to speak.
“Guys, we got a match on the blood. It took a while, but we got a hit on some old hospital records from a few years back. It’s her’s.”
Schody almost choked on his cigarette. It took him a moment before he could suppress his confusion enough to issue a command. “Get Longo and Stark in there with this guy. We’re gonna have a crack at the wife.”
***
Much to Detective Stark’s chagrin, his partner had a temper. Perhaps it was his wife leaving him, maybe it was the booze, or it could’ve just been the good old fashioned Italian genes. Either way, Longo was a hothead. A pissed off partner wasn’t without its advantages, though. It made the two a natural fit for the good cop-bad cop routine, which they had perfected. Stark would start by easing the suspect into a false sense of security.
“Mr. Shepard, we’d like you to run us through what happened this evening. We’re here to help.”
Mr. Shepard was not convinced. He remained silent, staring at the floor. Without looking up, he asked, “what time is it, Detective?”
“It’s about 11:30, Mr. Shepard. Anthony. Can I call you Tony?”
Mr. Shepard looked up and stared at the two detectives and cracked his neck.
***
“Mrs. Shepard, our department doesn’t take kindly to pranks, ya know. We found a bunch of your blood on your husband’s clothing.”
Still in her pajamas, Mrs. Shepard looked hopelessly back at Abbott.
“I’m sorry, but we’re going to need you to lift up your shirt. We need to look for any scars or wounds or anything like that. If you could please?” Schody asked.
Mrs. Shepard complied and lifted her shirt. She spun around for the detectives. No scars. Schody and Abbott looked at each other with a look of utter bewilderment. They were out of ideas.
“I think...I think-” Abbott began to stutter before Schody cut him off.
“-I think we need a fuckin’ coffee, in all honesty.”
The one thing Schody missed about the big city was the coffee. Break room coffee tasted both cold and burnt at the same time, somehow. But he drank it anyway. He grimaced in between sips trying to force the coffee down.
“I think I’ll actually take that cigarette now,” Abbott admitted hopelessly. Schody laughed and handed him one.
“You know,” Abbott began, “we aren’t even allowed to smoke in he-”
Before he could finish, a gunshot rang out. Schody spilled his coffee. Another rang out, echoing loudly throughout the station. The two ran to Mr. Shepard’s holding room. Guns drawn, the two stacked up beside the door. Abbott kicked it open. Longo was slumped over the table. Stark was bleeding out in the corner. Mr. Shepard was nowhere in sight.
“His wife!” Abbott shouted. He darted out the door and down the hall, with Schody right on his back. Their footsteps pattered on the marble floor. As they rounded the corner to the second room, Mr. Shepard leapt through the door. He fired three shots in rapid succession at the men as he darted towards the rear exit.
“You follow him, I’ll check her!” Schody yelled. Abbott sped out the door in pursuit. Mrs. Shepard’s throat was slit wide open. Her blood was pooling quickly underneath the table. The dark red contrasted greatly with the bright white of the floor. For a fraction of a second, Schody was hypnotized by it. He ran out the back and through the parking lot. As he ran he fumbled through his pocket for his phone. He punched in the Chief’s number.After what felt like forever, a groggy voice answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Chief, it’s Schody.” He was sprinting as he yelled through his phone. “Me and Abbott need backup at the station now!”
“What the fuck? Why aren't you on the beat?”
This frustrated Schody. Chief didn't know what was going on. “No time, just do it!”
“Everyone else is off duty. It’s fucking ten on a Sunday night. What happened?”
“No time! Send people! And ambulance! We have officers and civilians down!”
That woke the Chief up quickly. “Fuck... alright, alright. On it!”
Schody hung up. He was covering ground fast now. Any moment, he would reach the woods. The Police station was located right on the edge of Penrose, in between the woods and the nearest county road. Schody was darting between trees as fast as he could. The loud crack of another gunshot rang through the night. A flock of birds flapped away in fear. Schody followed the noise, heading deeper into the woods. The woods were pitch black.The tree cover blocked any moonlight that may have shone through. Schody pointed his gun into the darkness, but he couldn’t see a thing. Not that it would have mattered. He was trembling so much that he probably wouldn’t even be able to shoot straight. He tripped on something in front of him as he slowed down. A log, maybe. He regained his footing and pressed on. Before he had time to worry about who that last gunshot was for, a twig snapped in half on the ground behind him.
“Detective Schody! Drop your gun and get on your knees. Slowly!”
A chill went down Schody’s spine. It was a fine compliment to the cold sweat streaming down his face. He let his gun slip from his hands as he fell to the ground. He heard Mr. Shepard’s footsteps nearing closer. He was muttering something to himself, but Schody couldn’t quite make it out. Mr. Shepard collected his gun off the ground and put it against Schody’s head. He was shaking. Crying too, from the sound of it. In between the tears, he choked out an apology.
“I’m sorry. I had to do this. All of it. But it wasn’t my fault.”
Schody was only half listening. In front of him, he could begin to make out what looked like a body. Abbott’s body. He was face down in a pile of leaves. It was beginning to rain now. Thoughts were rushing through his head. None of this made any sense. He was going to throw up from the sheer madness. If he were able to gain just a shred of clarity, he would probably wonder how Mr. Shepard knew his name. As the rain came down, it made a rustling sound against the leaves that somewhat soothed Schody. He closed his eyes and embraced his fate.
“...again. I’m late anyway,” Mr. Shepard finished.
Mr. Shepard collected himself and pressed the gun deep into Schody’s head. He pulled the trigger. Schody slumped to the ground, lifeless.
Rain was coming down heavy now. Mr. Shepard tossed the gun beside the detectives. For a moment he stared at their bodies. Then at all the others around him. He never understood why these bodies stayed and the others didn’t. Mr. Shepard usually broke down at this point. None of this made any sense. But he knew what he had to do. He took off towards the edge of the woods. Twinges of regret pierced his thoughts while he ran. The further out of the woods he went, the more confused Mr. Shepard became. Before long it was all a blur. Everything that happened became lost in the fog of anger and sadness. And loss. All he remembered now was that somehow, some way, he killed his own wife. He was a monster. And he needed to be stopped. It would all come back to him later, of course. But for now, Mr. Shepard was a confused man looking for a way out. The rain was slowing to a halt. As Mr. Shepard ran out of the woods, he could see a street in the distance. He looked out as he got closer, and waved. He could just begin to see a police car up ahead.
Back at the police station, Detective Longo was bitching to himself as he walked through the door. “...just when I thought I was going to enjoy my night off, some nut decides to fuck it up. Christ.” He lit a cigarette and offered one to his partner Stark, who waved it away.
“You don’t know the half of it Longo.”