Dave Zeltserman - Fast Lane

For about a year Rose and me were seeing each other whenever we could. We were careful about it. I made sure of that. No one would have found out about us if it were up to me.

I have to be fair to Rose. You might be thinking Rosie and me were working together to get rid of her husband. That’s not true. Rose told her husband about us because she wanted us to be together. She wanted everything out in the open so they could divorce and her and me and everyone else in the whole goddamned world could live happily ever after. She had no idea I would do what I did. How could she? If she’d only had the good sense to tell me what she was planning I would’ve slapped the idea right out of her.

So her husband coming to see me was as big a surprise to me as the rest of what happened. And he certainly didn’t want to hire me for anything. He just wanted me to stop seeing his wife. But he should have been nicer about it.

I guess he had a right to be upset, what with me being with his wife whenever I wanted and him knowing all about it, but he still had no right saying those things. Maybe if he hadn’t, the sickness wouldn’t have come over me. I don’t know. It might have happened anyway. Rosie had told me all about him, all about the things he used to do to her.

Most of what happened was the way I already described it. Not all of it, though. After I put a hole through his belly, I didn’t exactly forget about him. I guess I spent part of the time thinking about what I did, part of the time drinking, and part of the time teasing him.

It’s funny, but that part of it has crystallized itself in my mind over the years. Sometimes, before waking, I can see it all over again. I can see him lying on the floor, his face white and bloodless, a stream of red leaking from his stomach. He’s begging me for help, and I’m standing over him, grinning like a bastard. Sometimes I can even hear what was said.

“Please help me. Call me a doctor.”

“Okay, you’re a doctor. Ha ha. Seriously, I’d like to, but if I’m the human garbage you say I am, then why should I? It’s funny, but in a few hours you’re the one they’re going to be shoveling out of here like a pile of crap. Makes you wonder who the garbage is.”

“Oh fuck. I’ll tell them it was an accident, that it was my fault. I won’t say anything, please. I promise.”

“Got to agree with you there. In a few hours you won’t be saying much of anything.”

“I’m dying.”

“Well, you better enjoy it while you can because that’s all you’ve got left.”

“Damn it, help me!”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you. Later, after you’ve been incinerated, I’ll warm up your wife. I won’t get her as burnt up as you, but I’ll get her nice and hot, don’t worry about that.”

“You sick bastard-”

“There you go again. Just when I was thinking of getting you some help, you have to go and hurt my feelings.”

When I think about it, when I make myself think about why I did it, I have to think it was for Rosie.

* * * * *

After landing, I rented a car and drove straight out to Rose’s little clapboard shack. Walking up to her door, I couldn’t help feeling disgusted. I know the place wasn’t much, but that was still no reason for the neglect it had suffered. She could’ve at least planted some grass out front or put on a fresh coat of paint occasionally. Or maybe fixed the mailbox before it fell over completely. As it was, the place was a mess.

I rang the doorbell. The latch was pushed back and the door opened a few inches. I saw Rose peering out through the crack.

“Hello, Rosie.” Recognition hit her and she tried shoving the door closed, but I pushed back against it and made my way in. I closed the door behind me.

“Y-You,” she stammered at me. “Get out of here or I’ll scream.”

“Is that any way to talk to an old friend?”

“I mean it. Get out now!”

“You still have such a nice set of teeth,” I said. “It’d be a shame if they were knocked all over this room. Besides,” I added, “it didn’t look to me like your neighbors were home so I don’t see how screaming would do you any good.”

Rose had to be almost forty now and she still looked good for her age. Nice and thin, and, as best I could tell, nothing was sagging. But I’ll tell you, with the way she was twisting up her face it was tough to judge exactly how good the years had been to her.

“Wh-What do you want?” Just so you don’t get the wrong idea, she wasn’t stuttering out of fear or anything like that. Just out of being boiling mad.

“Do I need a reason to want to see you?” I started worrying that if her face twisted itself up any more, something would fall off. “I’m just here for a friendly little chat, that’s all,” I said.

“Y-You left that picture at my door last week, didn’t you?”

I nodded. “To be honest, that was an accident. Look, I’m starving. You got anything to eat?”

She didn’t say a word, so I walked over to the kitchen. The only stuff in the refrigerator that wasn’t wilted or spoiled was some yogurt, cheese, and eggs. I took out a couple of eggs and the cheese.

I found bread in the cupboard and used up the cheese making myself a sandwich. The plane trip had put some sort of hole in my stomach, and I could tell that the scraps I was putting together weren’t going to help much. I took the sandwich and eggs back out to Rose, and tossed the eggs to her.

“Why don’t you scramble these for me. You remember how I like them. Right, Rosie?”

She planted her foot forward and hurled the eggs at me, but her aim was a little wild and they sailed over my head and splattered against the wall.

“I don’t know if I agree with yellow over there,” I said.

Rosie dropped into a chair making funny animal sounds. I sat down and started eating my sandwich, taking time to chew it carefully. When I was finished she was still making those sounds. That was the thing with her and Mary, they sure loved a good cry.

“Did you sleep with her?” she asked, looking up at me.

Her eyes were shining like mad, and a grin a mile wide was stretching her lips across her face. I realized the animal sounds weren’t the result of her crying. She had been laughing.

“The girl in the picture,” I said uneasily, “is your daughter. She hired me to find her birth parents. When I came here last week, I hadn’t made the connection between Rose Martinez and my Rosie Murphy. I guess I made it right before you answered the door.”

She nodded. “You did sleep with her. You want to guess who the father is?”

She started laughing again, those same damned animal sounds. Softer than before, but they cut right through me. Of course I knew who Mary’s father was. I knew as soon as I had seen Rose last time and made the connection with my Rosie Murphy. I must have known, at least at a subconscious level, that day Mary and I were together and I got sick. I’ve gone over the dates a dozen times since then and nothing else is possible. Mary may look a lot like Rose, but if you squint real hard you can see some of my features in her.

“Well, anyway,” I said, “she-your daughter-wants to see you.”

“I don’t want to see her.”

“Rosie, she’s a sweet kid. What harm would it do to talk to her?”

She shrugged. “It’s a free country. If you bring her here, I’ll talk. You can bet on that. I’ll tell her about her father. I’ll tell her all about you. How you killed my husband out of pure spite. How you ruined my life on a whim. How you’re nothing but an empty twisted psychopath. Don’t worry, I’ll have a nice chat with her.”

She stood up and spat at me. I took out a handkerchief and very slowly wiped off my face, taking deep breaths as I did so.