A Simple Country Murder

Here's my latest short story. Be sure to check out my recent collections available on the Kindle.

Part One

Alvin Singer was fourteen years old, wheezed when he got excited, and wore a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that were still two sizes too big. The recent explosion in hormones in the boy had manifested itself in a number of ways, but most visibly with a smattering of acne across the landscape of his face. But the hormones had taken a much more insidious toll on the boy. For the last week, he'd had a completely inexplicable bulge in his pants. The phenomenon known as "an erection" was as foreign to the boy as a Siberian winter. The zipper of his jeans rubbing up against his crotch was the most titillating experience Alvin had ever had in his life. He'd heard stories about ways to deal with that problem, but each of them ended with trouble, and since he'd never been exposed to any sort of maturation program, any action he would take would be purely trial and error. He had theories about what would happen, but like any intelligent child with a quizzical mind, he simply had to experiment and test his hypotheses.



He chose a nice spring day to test his theories out, when he would be at a large family gathering at his Aunts house in the country. Her rural spread of land always served as the site of the annual Singer family picnic and the weather was always so beautiful and perfect that no one ever spent time in her expansive house. Deep in the bowels of her rural paradise was a rarely used bathroom and that is where Alvin decided he would try out his fleshy ideas. The night before the picnic he resolved to carry out his plan that next day and he spent hours in bed trying to sleep and resisting the urge to even think about his condition. But will power is never as strong as biology and he spent his evening rubbing his entire midsection against a pillow, cuddling and caressing it, though he wasn't entirely sure why.



All of this was making him confused and crazy. Since no one talked about this at all, whether it was normal or disgusting or anything in between, he thought he was unique and broken.



Alvin woke up that morning feeling sheepish about his behaviour with the pillow the night before, not realizing that he no longer had the brain altering chemicals coursing through his body, forcing instinct and his proverbial second brain to take over completely. Nevertheless, he was steadfast in playing out the scientific methodology he'd chosen. In his mind, he was embarking on a great journey of discovery in the name of science as bold or daring as Louis Pasteur or Jonas Salk or Thomas Edison.



The drive out to the country with his parents was a tortuous forty-five minutes through the city and out into winding mountainous roads that burst out through the rock into the lush and fertile river valley that his relations had settled many, many years ago. He couldn't decide which was worse, the constant sniping between his mother and father, or the anticipation for his crime.



When they finally arrived, Alvin got out of the car, stretched his legs, and yawned. "Alvin," his mother shrieked, "Make sure you've got enough bug spray."



She said that as though she was going to leave it up to him to apply, but she surprised him, squirting him on the back of the neck three times fast with a pumped spray of the repellant.



"Ow, mom," he said as he clutched his neck with his hand, which she quickly sprayed also. "Quit it!"



"Oh, hush up and put it on."



"Listen to your mother, son."



He rubbed the bug spray deep into his arms until they were dry.



Alvin and his parents walked around the front of the palatial estate on a soft soil path that led to the spacious, tree-lined private park behind it that over looked the mountains river. The picturesque backyard contained no less than three gardens of flowers and as many more picnic tables, enough to seat most of the Singer clan. It was as idyllic as idyllic could be, but Alvin couldn't see the Shangri-La before him. All he could do was count the minutes until he could sneak away to the bathroom and vigorously scratch the itch boiling inside his confused, mid-pubescent body...or at least rub and massage it.



"Alvin," his Aunt yelled, excited to see him beyond all comprehension. Though she was at least a hundred pounds overweight and waddled everywhere she went, she seemed to teleport instantly in front of Alvin from across the yard to pinch his pimpled cheeks twice as hard as anyone should. So hard, in fact, that she didn't notice that she'd popped open one of his zits. It oozed puss onto her hand and if she did notice, she made no indication whatsoever. "How is my favorite nephew?"



"I'm good, Aunt Evelyn," Alvin squeaked.



"Oh my God, Joanie, he's growing up so fast, like a weed. And look at that big wide mouth, like a real teenager's. You're so grown up, Alvin."



"I'm working on it." But she didn't hear him. She waddled away with her sister, Alvin's mother, chattering like a school-yard gossip queen. Alvin's father retreated to a lawn chair overlooking the river with a few of the other Singer men to smoke cigars.



The younger children frolicked and laughed around the tire swing, playing tag and carrying on in a mood of general merriment. As the oldest of all of his cousins, Alvin had the option to join the children or keep to himself, but he wasn't at all sure how he should proceed in order to act as inconspicuously as possible. He wanted to fit in, but not attract too much attention. His conundrum forced him to stand there on the edge of the yard with his hands in his pockets. His indecision, without any rhyme or reason, stirred the fire in his loins and he knew at that moment that he could wait no longer.



"I need to go to the bathroom," he said out loud to no one in particular with a snap of his fingers. He pivoted on his heel and turned back toward the house, marching up to the sliding glass door at the back of the wide, redwood deck. That's where his Uncle Charlie, who spoke in a deep voice through his bristly, blonde moustache, promptly intercepted him. "Alvin, hello. How are you?"



"Good. Fine." Alvin tried rushing past him to no avail.



"Where's the fire, neph?"



"I have to go to the bathroom."



"Understood," Uncle Charlie chuckled and continued walking by, leaving Alvin to his intimate business.



There were no further obstacles en route to the guest bathroom, but Alvin was convinced that he was pegged already for what he was about to do.



The bathroom was as expansive and ornate as the house itself. The walls in the bathroom were a light, creamy brown that offset the golden oak cabinets and shelves. The shelves were filled with cherubic knick-knacks in various poses. One enterprising young angel wearing nothing but a quiver of arrows was holding himself as though he himself had to use the restroom and was at the same time bashfully blowing a kiss to a plump female angel across the shelf.



Alvin carefully closed the door behind him and locked the door. The click of the lock echoed in the room.



An experiment with this much riding on it needed to be as free as possible from distractions or outside irritants that could influence the results, which is why Alvin began to strip. Nude was the only state of being appropriate for an experiment of this magnitude. He neatly folded each item of clothing as it came off and placed it fastidiously in a pile on the bookshelf next to the toilet. Once he was completely naked, Alvin sighed wistfully and wondered where to start. He took a few steps back and forth on the furry black bath mat in front of the sink. The yarn felt good between his toes.



He decided the best course of action was to simply lay down on the floor and begin, which is exactly what he did.

Part Two

Alvin Singer stepped out onto the deck, closing the sliding door behind him. He felt nauseous, ready to throw up despite the fact that his experiment had been a rousing success. He even enjoyed the process up until the time he was finished, and then he was more confused than anything. He took slow, careful steps toward the riverbank, thinking the whole time about his feelings. He couldn't decide if his desire to vomit came as a side effect of his experiment, or because of the overwhelming guilt he felt.



If ever he dared to try it again, he'd have to try to maintain his objectivity on the matter.



Thinking he might play with his cousins, Alvin went over to them, but when he got there, all he could think about was how they might think of him if they knew what he'd just done. He couldn't get that thought out of his head, no matter who at the party he looked at. How about Aunt Evelyn. Would she find it repulsive? And Uncle Charlie? Would he find it vile and disgusting? Alvin thought that if his mother knew or found out that she might faint.



Soon, the guilt of what he'd done melted away and he found himself coming out of his morass and warming up to the other kids. They were still playing tag and one of them, a seven-year-old cousin of his named Cindy with stereotypical blonde hair and pigtails, rather boldly tagged him, "You're it!"



And instead of giving in to his urge to pout, he raced after her, almost completely forgetting the ordeal he'd just been through. "No tag backs! No tag backs!"



After thirty minutes or more of rigorous play he was back to normal, no longer obsessing over his experiment. He began to have a good time. So good a time, in fact, that he didn't notice Aunt Evelyn go into the house. She did catch his eye a few moments later when she reemerged in a panic. He couldn't hear her over the din of the river, but it was obvious she was calling Uncle Charlie over to her. As soon as he got near, she pulled him roughly down toward her so she could whisper excitedly into his ear. It didn't take her long to whip Uncle Charlie into a frenzy enough for action. Whatever the problem was, Uncle Charlie had to see it for himself, so he went through the sliding glass door. While he went in to investigate, Aunt Evelyn collapsed on the deck and wept. She was making such a big to do that it took no time at all for the rest of the adults to crowd around to comfort her. The commotion was so great that even the children took notice, but before they could come any closer, Uncle Charlie came back out of the house with a dire look about him. He nodded to Alvin's father, Kevin, and Kevin met the children in the yard. "Children, children," he said to all of them with his hands raised in a paternal shushing motion, "I need you all to stay very calm. Something terrible has happened and I need you all to be on your best behaviour until the police arrive."



"What happened in there?" Alvin asked, as he was the oldest of them, it only seemed natural.



Alvin's father cleared his throat and stated gravely, "There's been a murder."



Everyone was shocked, especially Alvin. He'd just been in the house and wondered to himself what would have happened if the murderer had crashed through the door, interrupting his experiment. It was too much for him to bear. He dwelled on it, feeling hollow inside until the police arrived.



Two cars came, one unmarked and one marked with flashing lights and a uniformed officer. The unmarked car brought a pair of detectives, dressed in shirts, ties, and fedoras. For every day of the rest of his life, he would remember the image of the first detective out of the car, staring coldly through him and spitting the toothpick in his mouth out across five feet of grass.



The uniformed officer met with the detectives as soon as they all got out of their cars. They nodded and whispered at each other. They'd come up with their plan and went their separate ways. The detectives went toward the adults and the house and the uniformed officer came down to calm the children and keep them from contaminating the investigation. The officer took off his dark sunglasses and put on a smile. The gaggle of children was in awe of the policeman and began shouting a chorus of questions all at once at him.



He laughed, "One at a time, one at a time."



"What happened?" said Susan, Alvin's cousin by way of his mother's brother, Jerry. She was the youngest in her family.



"Well, there's been a pretty heinous crime committed inside, and right now the detectives are inside trying to get to the bottom of things."



"Uncle Kevin said there was a murder," little Billy Singer commented. He was Alvin's cousin by way of his mother's other sister, Suzanne.



"That's what the detectives are going to find out. If there was a murder, they'll figure out who did it and why."



It wasn't long before one of the detectives came outside with Uncle Charlie. They spoke for a moment and Alvin almost thought, just for a second, that Uncle Charlie gave him a look. But for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what kind of look it was. The detective sent Uncle Charlie back into the house and came back toward the flock of minors.



"Kids," said the officer, "This is Detective Lantz."



As though they were in school, most of the children parroted back, "Hello, Detective Lantz."



"Hello, kids. I need to talk to Alvin. Which one of you is Alvin?"



All the feelings of guilt and nausea returned to Alvin as he sheepishly raised his hand and cracked his voice to say, "I'm Alvin."



"Why don't you come with me, son."



"Oh," he coughed, "okay."



Detective Lantz led Alvin across the yard, in the house, across the living room and into the kitchen. "Alvin, this is my partner, Detective Walters and we'd like to ask you a few questions. Why don't you take a seat?"



"Yes, sir."



Detective Walters had nothing to say, but sat and watched Alvin and Detective Lantz like a sharpshooter ready to fire. Alvin settled into his chair as Detective Lantz began, "Your...uncle? Right? Your Uncle Charlie said that you the last person he saw enter house before the incident. Did you come into the house?"



"Yes, sir..."



"And what did you come into the house for?"



"I, uh... I had to go to the bathroom."



"And did you go straight to the bathroom, or did you make any stops along the way?"



"I went straight there, sir."



"Which bathroom did you use and which way did you take to get there?"



"Well, I guess I used the one downstairs, I came in through the back door and came through here and went downstairs."



"I see. And did you see anyone or anything suspicious on your way?"



"No, sir. Oh, wait. I did see Uncle Charlie on my way in."



"You saw your Uncle Charlie?"



"Yeah. We said hello and I came into the bathroom."



"Straight into the bathroom?"



"Yes, sir."



"And what did you do in the bathroom?"



"I...uh...I went to the bathroom, sir."



"Okay."



Alvin sat there, nodding quietly until Detective Lantz asked another question after a measured pause. "And was there anyone outside the bathroom, waiting to go in?"



"Sir?"



"Outside the bathroom. After you were done. Was there anyone waiting to go in?"



"Not that I can recall, sir."



"So, as far as you know, you were the only one who used that bathroom from that time to this?"



"I guess so."



"I see," Lantz said, gravely.



His eyes shifted over to his partner, Walters. Walters took a deep, heavy breath. This was a man whose pervasive silence added gravitas to what little he did have to say. "We're obligated now to tell you that you're suspected of pre-conceptive murder in the first degree, Alvin. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. If you, or your parents, can't afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you."



Walters stood, withdrawing a pair of handcuffs from his belt from behind his suit jacket.



"Murder?" Alvin squeaked, "pre...what?"



Lantz raised a hand to Walters, delaying him for a moment. "Pre-conceptive murder. Ejaculation outside the womb. It's murder, Alvin. Didn't your parents ever tell you that? Didn't they ever tell you not to touch yourself?"



"Ummm..."



"This is a very grave crime. Every sperm deserves a chance at life and you tried flushing a million potential lives down the toilet. Fortunately, that toilet is having problems and we caught you in the nick of time to make sure this never happens again."



"But..." Anxiety was rising in Alvin. Any guilt he thought he felt before was minor in comparison to the alarm sirens going off in his brain and consuming his chest with the nervous flickering of fiery dread. "But I didn't know..."



"That you didn't know that murder was murder isn't an excuse that's going to work in the courts, Alvin. It's not an excuse for all the potential lives you ended. If you put a knife in somebody and they died, but you didn't know it was wrong doesn't make it any less so. And it doesn't make that person any less dead."



Meekly, not having any sort of answer or challenge to the authority of the detectives, Alvin quietly replied, "No, sir."



"And you killed a person that could have been."



A single, hot tear rolled down Alvin's cheek, and then another, and another, and then a dozen more. Shame leaked from his eyes as sure as each tear, each sob reinforced his sense of self hatred for what he'd done.



Lantz nodded to Walters, chiding him to continue. Walters lifted Alvin up from the chair by the scruff of his collar, roughly binding his hands behind his back with the clanking metal cuffs. Walters whispered something in Alvin's ear that broke him. Alvin collapsed with this news, crying and sobbing, but Walters held him up by his underarm. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, please just let me go. I'm so, so sorry."



But sorry didn't cut it for a murder, even a pre-conceptive murder, and Detective Lantz said so.



"Please," Alvin whimpered. "No one told me... I'm so sorry. I'll never do it again. I'm so, so sorry."



They led Alvin out through the back door for all of his family to see. It was like a final kick in the gut for Alvin. And he almost vomited when he registered the disgust in his mother's face. It was only a few more tears that had time to run down his face before his mother became so shamed and shocked that she fainted.



Alvin cried all the way to the squad car and for a long time after that. His whole way there he softly exclaimed his apologies between the hyperventilated breaths of an over-stimulated adolescent.



Walters stuffed Alvin into the car roughly and slammed the door shut behind him. Everyone could still hear Alvin crying behind the glass and metal of the car in all of his tortured agony.



Lantz and Walters stood next to the squad car, talking shop while they waited for the lab boys to arrive so they could fish the victims, the dead would-be Americans, out of the toilet bowl for the evidence lock up.



"I hate to see it in kids this young. It doesn't feel right sometimes, locking 'em up, but I suppose it's better we get 'em off the streets now before they move up to post-conceptive murder."



"Yup," Walters croaked.



"It's astounding that in this day and age though, that there are kids out there still who think they can get away with deviant behaviour like this."



"Yup," Walters croaked once again.



"If it hadn't been for that leaky toilet this kid would'a got away with it. Then who knows how many potentials he'd have killed?"



"Yup," Walters croaked a third time.



As the forensics van pulled up behind the squad car, Lantz turned to his partner to ask a question that had been on his mind for the last few minutes, "So... What was it that you said to the kid?"



Walters squinted in thought for a moment, almost unconsciously watching the lab team step out of their van and march neatly toward the house. "I told him that the only person who hated him more than me for what he did was God."



"Too true," Lantz agreed. "Too true."