Cheryl had been missing three months when Ben decided to stop grieving and travel. Besides, he had grown tired of trying to convince the insurance company he had nothing to do with her disappearance and that his claim was valid.
Even the police, who initially suspected him, removed Ben from their suspect list after grilling him numerous times. Thankfully, friends and neighbors corroborated Ben’s statements regarding Cheryl’s unhappiness in the relationship, and the police finally accepted that she left of her own volition.
However, the insurance company announced they would not settle the two hundred and fifty thousand dollar claim on the policy Ben took out on Cheryl after their wedding, until they were convinced she was legally dead.
That was fine with him, as he had enough money socked away, at least for a while. It was just that the policy would make for a tidy little nest egg.
Ben decided to clean the clutter in the house, and then pack. If Cheryl were here now, her barrage of criticism and nagging about picking up dirty underwear, washing the dirty dishes piled up in the kitchen, and leaving the toilet seat up would be unrelenting. However, since she was not there, it didn’t matter.
He started in his office, sorting through a 36 inch-high stack of papers on his desk. Midway down, Ben found an official looking unopened letter from Cheryl, neatly typed and dated a few days before she disappeared.
They had several tumultuous arguments around that time, and a few times Cheryl resorted to hurling coffee cups, ashtrays, and books. He still had a small bruise above his ear from War and Peace.
Ben removed the letter and read it.
“Dearest Ben,
After reading this, please enjoy a bottle of homemade wine I hid for you in the kitchen cupboard. I know we’ve had our differences, so consider this something of an olive leaf.
Cheryl.”
Well, at least she left him something to enjoy besides her absence. Ben however, admired her ability to craft a fine wine. Cheryl’s chemistry degree provided her the wherewithal to maximize its flavor and give it a good alcohol kick.
He retrieved the bottle along with another letter attached to it. As he opened the envelope, the faint aroma of her favorite perfume emanated from the faded pink letterhead.
He poured a glass, and admired its reddish-plum hue. Its thick, sweet taste, reminded him of a fine dessert wine.
“Not bad, Cheryl,” he said, “not bad.”
Then, he read her letter.
Ben,
By the time you read this, you will have already killed me. I suppose I should be angry with you, but I’m not.
I had not told you, but during my visit to Dr. Olds a month ago, I was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. I would have died a painful death anyway so, for that, I thank you.
But, you scheming, no good bastard; I knew you would kill me if you got the chance, and make a joke of what I’d once considered a sacred marriage.
Well, two can play that game buddy. Instead of divorcing, I wanted to ensure you never forgot me as long as you lived. I think I have done that, so at least enjoy the wine I originally made for our anniversary.
By the way, in the far corner of the basement by the hole you were digging for my wine cellar, I hid another bottle for you to share that one with whoever your new flavor of the week bitch might be.
Cheryl
Ben shook his head and smiled. Had she really been that stupid to think he dug the hole for a wine cellar?
His stomach gurgled and churned a little as he cantered down the stairs. He remembered he had not eaten all day, so after retrieving the next bottle, he would go and eat.
His nostrils flared from the cellar’s dank, musty odor. After rolling back the carpeting in front of the couch and end table, he kneeled and rapped on the concrete with his knuckles.
“Hello, anyone there?” he asked, smirking at the photo. “Guess not, but the color of the concrete covering the hole and your body almost matches the rest of the floor. You would be pleased, Cheryl.”
Ben kicked the carpet back in place, and found the third bottle and letter. He sat on the couch and removed the letter from its envelope.
Dear Ben,
You didn’t really think I would let you get away with murder, did you? I honestly was not the bimbo you made me out to be. As you read this, you probably are feeling a bit queasy, which is normal.
There is no easy way to put this, so I will give it to you straight. I laced all three bottles of wine with a heavy dose of strychnine. Therefore, if you haven’t already, you will soon convulse and lapse into a coma.
I know that as you read this, you are most likely in the basement alone; you always were a dumb ass, though not dumb enough to tell anyone you killed me.
However, you will not make it out of the cellar alive and will probably rot before anyone finds you. Therefore, my dear Benjamin, enjoy.
See you in Hell,
Cheryl
“You bitch!” he screamed, his smirk melting into a hateful stare.
Ben crumpled the letter, and jumped from the couch. As he did, his insides twisted violently, and the acidic taste of bile suddenly rose in his throat. He projectile vomited across the room and began convulsing.
As Ben collapsed onto the end table, he smashed it to the floor. He landed face first on Cheryl’s smiling photo, which lay beneath the shattered glass and frame.
As glass shards sliced into his paling face, Ben stared into Cheryl’s eyes. For a brief moment before losing consciousness, he thought he heard muffled laughter coming from beneath the floor.
________________
©2010 Hal Kempka
Hal Kempka is a former Marine and Vietnam veteran, and lives in Highland, California with his wife and son. His stories have been published in magazines and ezines such as Apollo’s Lyre, Fiction Flyer, Flashes in the Dark, Flashshot, House of Horror (UK), The New Flesh, Dark and Dreary, Twisted Dreams, Flashshot, Microhorror, Long Story Short, Shine Journal, and Black Petals. A number of flash fiction stories are scheduled for 2010 publication or are currently in publication in: Black Lantern, House of Horror, Night to Dawn, Twisted Dreams, Blood Moon Rising, and 52 Stitches.
Tags: Hal Kempka
April 1st, 2010 at 9:53 am
LOVED this story! Great job!
April 2nd, 2010 at 4:26 pm
What a nasty bit of work. Well played. I loved it!
April 3rd, 2010 at 10:41 am
Bloody brilliant! Great story. And by the way, thanks for serving dude!
October 20th, 2010 at 10:34 pm
my grandpa has a private wine cellar where he keeps a lot of those vintage wines*~.