Black Diaries

24. The One

New York has the best garbage disposal service in the entire world. Honestly, I mean it! They are punctual, charmingly impolite, and they don't ask a single question. Not even when the dumpster is a little heavier than usual, or there happens to be a little ketchup or similar red substance on the rim. And they don't just come by every week, but every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. So if there's something sensitive in the dumpster, it'll be taken away before it starts to smell, and you'll never see or hear of it again. That's what I call excellent service!

I stood at the door of my apartment building, melancholically humming the tune to Oops!... I Did It Again. The garbage truck was disappearing down the street while I gazed after it with the eyes of a world-weary philosopher. I had never considered it before, but the serial killer in the city really had enormous advantages over his rural-based colleague. Oh well, one never ceases to learn. I waited until the truck was out of sight, then I turned to go back in. As I turned, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass façade of the building.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" I told myself, trying to wipe my tears away. "You should be used to this by now!"

But I wasn't. I had loved Chuck. I should be strong. As a sensible serial killer I should simply see it as a step in my career, something necessary that had to be done. But I couldn't help it—there was something about dumping my beloved husband's naked body in the trash that simply touched a vulnerable part inside me. On the plus side, though, dumping her in the trash had been rather fun.

Her...

The image of her on top of him appeared in front of my inner eye, and rage pounded in my chest. Why? Why had he done it? Why had he betrayed me? And all for someone like that?

Suddenly decided what I needed to do, I marched back into my apartment, on the search for answers.

I managed to piece together the whole story from stuff I found on his computer and scattered entries in a diary I found under his pillow. Apparently, Chuck had been secretly attracted to more muscular ladies for some years. Horrified by his inclinations due to an ultra-conservative upbringing that had much to say about the proper looks of a lady, he had repressed his desires. Then, when he met me, he thought he could finally leave that part of him behind. But the old urges had resurfaced and proven too strong for him.

It was heart-breaking to read his secret journal. He had loved me. He really, truly had. It was there in his diary. And even if it hadn't been, I knew it in my heart. I remembered every single word he had ever told me, every part of himself he had confessed, and now that I could see them, even those parts he had concealed.

"I... I've never met anyone like you before, Cassy. I've never been drawn to a woman the way I'm drawn to you."

"Oh Chuck!" A tear trickled down my cheek.

"Nothing about you is usual. You're the first girl without..."

And he had fallen silent. My gaze drifted to the photos I had found in his desk. Now I knew what he had meant, of course. A girl without muscles like a bull.

"Chuck, do you take Cassy to be your wife? Do you promise to be true to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love her and honor her all the days of your life?"

"I do."

Another tear trickled down my cheek. Grasping the little locket in which I had placed a lock of Chuck's mahogany hair before throwing his body in the dumpster, I pressed a kiss on the precious keepsake.

"Don't worry, baby," I murmured. "I know you loved me. I did what was necessary." A small smile spread over my face. "And I won! Against you and her! That's quite something, isn't it? Wherever you are, I know you're proud of me."