I’ll admit, I made a mistake.
When I met Christa, I knew she was the one. It sounds cliche, but I’d never felt the flutter in my chest before I’d seen her brown eyes and sweet smile, I knew then and there that she would be my wife. We were married within the year, both giddy with excitement and the idea of a lifetime spent together.
Life wasn’t perfect but it was damn near close. Christa and I brought a house together, painting the white picket fence in old jeans, as we smiled with happiness at how well everything was going.
Soon I was working more, on my way to a promotion. I could tell it bugged Christa a bit, but she was always extra appreciative when I came home from work late with a bunch of flowers and her favourite wine.
And so life went, until it didn’t. Until I got home one night and instead of dinner warming in the oven, my wife curled up on the couch with a good book, Christa was instead sitting at the kitchen table, an empty bottle of red wine Infront of her and tears streaming down her face.
I remember being terrified in that moment, had something awful happened to her parents? I rushed to her side but she shoved me away and sobbed obscenities at me. I was confused, and hurt. My wife and I rarely fought and to see her so upset was devestating. I was still attempting to make sense of the situation when my wife stormed off, locking me out of the bedroom. I recall spending that night sleeping on the couch, none the wiser of what had happened.
The next morning my wife confronted me with a letter she received, saying I’d been having an affair. I was shocked. It was not true, and I as much told my wife how Ludacris it was. I had no clue who would’ve sent Christa a letter, I had no enemies and if it was a practical joke, it was possibly the worst in history.
I promised Christa I was faithful to her and eventually she seemed to believe me. But from that moment on, there was a rift between us, something had been damaged and was irreplaceable.
When Christa went missing, I was the one who reported it to the police. When they hauled me in for holding and questioning, I realised it was always the husband they looked at first. It irked me, they were wasting time with me, I had not seen my wife since breakfast that morning, but I understood the police had jobs to do so I answered their questions as well as I could.
They let me go, of course. I was innocent, I was a worried husband whose wife had not come home. I searched for Christa, dreamt of her every night, begged a god I didn’t believe in to send her back to me.
I was arrested for her ‘murder’ and placed in jail until my trial. I couldn’t afford a lawyer, since Christa disappeared I’d hardly been working, we were on the brink of losing the house. A lawyer was out of reach.
I was angry, but after three months on remand I had started to accept things a bit more. I didn’t do it, but I couldn’t change the preiciment I was in either. Not unless Christa just came home.
When the news broke that two bodies had been found in my neighbourhood, I watched the tv with interest. I didn’t want it to be Christa, let me get that straight. But if it was.. well, maybe there would be evidence to prove it wasn’t me and..
A month later I was a free man. The body was Christa, my beautiful wife, along with another man that I did not know. The police told me he had written a suicide note confessing to kidnapping and killing Christa, and had taken his own life because he couldn’t live with what he had done.
I was relieved to be out of jail, but I was heartbroken at the same time. I left lock up with the clothes on my back, no house to go home to, that had been foreclosed on. My friends had mostly ditched me when I was charged with murder, and even though they now knew I wasnt guilty, I didn’t feel like associating with them after the fact they had thought I could’ve been capable of it. I legally changed my name, and I moved town.
A year later and I wasn’t exactly happy, but I was doing better. I missed Christa like crazy, but I had gotten myself an apartment and a full time job, my bills were paid and I was starting to see a silver lining at the end of all the sadness.
I didn’t date, wasn’t interested, but I did spend a fair bit of time in the bar, drinking and watching sports games. It was a regular Tuesday night doing so, when a woman slid in the booth across from me. It had happened a few times before, usually on a Saturday night and usually after a few too many drinks, and I had directed the women away gently saying I was married. I was about to open my mouth and do the same when I realised I recognised the woman. The curly brown hair, green eyes. She was older, and so was I, but her smiled remained the same.
“Clair?” She grinned, nodded happily. I was shocked, and stumbled to think of what to say. It had been years since we’d seen each other, though as teens, we were best mates who did everything together. Two misfits, I guess you could say, our bond was unbreakable at the time.
It felt good to see Clair, who was in town for work. We really hit it off, and soon enough we were dating. She got approval to work remotely and moved in with me. I didn’t tell her about Christa. I didn’t know what to say, how to bring it up. It felt too soon, too real, I didn’t want to freak her out, any excuse under the sun I justified my decision with. Clair and I were doing well, and I was starting to think life was going to be okay after all, maybe even better than okay. It was coming up for our 30ths, and as they were so close, within a few weeks of each other, Clair wanted to do an elaborate joint birthday celebration. She planned it down to a t, and the night was magical. But as it wore on, I noticed Clair become increasingly upset and frustrated.
She kept looking at me, seeing what I was doing and frowning at me no matter if I was chatting to a friend or flipping burgers on the bbq. Her expression made me feel as I was always doing something wrong, and I couldn’t work out why. After the guests had left, Clair gave me the silent treatment. I was confused at what I had done, but the next morning she was back to her usual perky self. I forgot all about it.
Last week, I got home from work early to an empty house. Clair loved working out, so I mused that she must have been at the gym. I myself had plans to spend the afternoon on the couch with a nice scotch, and set about finding the bottle I had in mind. I remembered that I had given it to Clair to put up in the roof, where we stored all our excess bits and pieces. And because I was freaked out about small spaces I avoided going up there at all costs. I debated for a while, but I really wanted the scotch, so I made a mistake and went up the manhole.
The space was bigger than I expected, and I was able to stand. I saw boxes of old clothes, books stacked messily in piles. I saw a small desk that was covered in scrapbooks.
Must be a hobby for Clair, I mused, smiling to myself and the secret she’d been keeping. I never knew she had an artistic side, I was keen to see her work.
The pictures didn’t make sense. They weren’t cute holiday snaps, rather photos of my wife, my first wife, Christa. Photos of Christa alone, going about her daily routine. Photos of Christa parking her car in the drive of our old house. Photos of me and Christa eating lunch at a cafe.
I picked up another book randomly, and found more photos. This time it was photos of Christa’s dead body, my new Clair wife smiling proudly next to her, holding her dead body up by her hair. My fingers are trembling when I dial the police, and by the time officers arrive I am in a full blown panic attack. They take me to the hospital, and pump me full of drugs that help me sleep without dreaming.
Clair was charged with the murder of Christa. She was also charged with the murder of the stranger my first wife had been found with. A guy who, even though he was dead as well, had taken the rap for a murder he never committed. Apparently Clair had promised him drugs if he did a favour, he never expected that favour to be taking his life in a twisted attempt to frame him for murder.
Ive moved away, changed my name again. I don’t know how I’m going to move forward. Mentally, I know Clair is locked up and she cannot hurt me or anyone else again, it’s just hard to trust anyone or anything these days. And the blame on myself, i was the one who made the pact in the first place. I just thought… I never could have imagined the consequences.
Whe I was 15, I made a pact to marry my best friend if we were still single at 31. I didn’t realise how serious she would take it. It ruined my life.