‘Love thy neighbour'. I had taken this commandment quite seriously. It was barely two months since I rented a spare room in the Johnsons' apartment. I was single and mostly confined within the walls of my room. Being ‘neighbours' I often bumped into Fred, the husband, and exchanged pleasantries. He was good-natured and friendly.
But I had never seen anyone as angelic as Diana. The chestnut hair outlined her flawless face. And when she spoke I let her melodious voice tune the rhythm of my heartbeats. I'd never get a girl like her. Even if she were single, I stood no chance with my awkwardness and geeky nature.
Fred soon befriended me. I watched the game with him a couple of times when Diana wasn't home. She hadn't seen me yet.
Then I was invited for Thanksgiving when Fred learnt I was going to spend the holiday alone. But when I stepped out of my room for dinner, Fred was absent and it made Diana sad. She didn’t seem much enthusiastic about my presence but she played a gracious host. I wrote three poems on her appearance that afternoon.
Didn't I tell you I wrote poetry? I often scribbled odes to nature. However, Diana soon turned into my inspiration. She became my muse. I filled pages and pages as a tribute to her beauty. No, I didn't covet my neighbour's wife. I was merely smitten by her graceful perfection.
As the days passed, the imperfections became visible. First, it was a blackened eye. Then, there were bruises on her milky white arms. They were so slender and delicate…they would crumble in that monster's grip. I cried when I saw her cheeks imprinted with finger marks.
At times I could hear screams, merciful pleadings and sometimes even sobs. I wished to break down the wall or the door and rescue the damsel in distress. Unfortunately, I could never be her knight in shining armour. I stood no chance against the burly Fred.
Once, after a scuffle, Fred stormed into my room.
“Hey, Fred. Everything okay?” I tried to sound casual.
“Oh, Steve. What can I say?” He sounded disturbed and I was curious. He stared at his shoes for a minute. I waited for him to continue since I didn’t know what to say. Then he spoke, “Diana and I had a fight.”
I frowned to feign ignorance. I knew they had a major fight. Also, this was the first time he was going to share something personal with me.
“It’s normal for couples to squabble. I am single but am very aware of the fact.” Trying to trivialise it was my way to let him confide in me.
“No, Steve. This time I went too far. I…I kicked her…while she was on the floor.”
You scoundrel! I wanted to rip off his eyeballs right away. But I couldn't even slap him hard. I knew my shortcomings and so kept my emotions in check. I shook my head in pity. “Is she okay?” The concern was genuine.
“I don't know. She asked me to get lost and I left. I can't control myself. Business is a little slow and I'm frustrated. I accused her of being unfaithful to me. Maybe I am paranoid. I know I need to restrain myself but I cannot!”
You don't deserve her! I had to stop myself from speaking my mind. I took a deep breath and counselled him. “Fred, everyone faces problems in life. A mistake can always be rectified. And she's your wife. Apologise to her and set things right.”
“After today, I guess she will leave me.”
“No! Don't let that happen!” I betrayed my emotions. He too was surprised by my reaction. I gathered my wits and added, “See, I once let my girlfriend walk away from my life and I still regret it.” I lied and by his expression, it seemed he believed me. I couldn't let this fool chase away my muse.
I walked to my window and plucked a rose from my potted plant. Handing it to him I coaxed him, “Go, win her heart again.” Fred took the rose and returned to his wife. Later, that night I sat down to pour onto the pages with newfound gusto.
Trouble always brewed on the other side of the door. They had their fights every two days. And I, like a bartender, lent an ear to the guilty husband every single time only to send him back with some advice and a rose to gift his wife. My plant was soon barren so I'd give him a short poem. I didn’t mind the effort as it did boost my creativity. For, the sadder she got, my heart evoked unmatched emotions on just a glimpse of her face. Surprisingly, she never questioned ‘his’ poems nor did he feel embarrassed about taking the credit. Can you believe these guys!
One afternoon I had returned after buying some groceries and found Diana sitting on the couch. She appeared upset.
“Are you okay?”
She eyed me with disgust. A thought crossed her mind before she shook her head, “Never mind.”
Respecting her wishes, I stepped into my room. A minute later she followed. This was the first time she had entered my room. I was nervous and delighted. I offered her some cookies and began to unpack my utilities.
My book was lying open on the table and she read a couple of poems.
“When we first met I didn't know you wrote poems.”
I sheepishly nodded.
“These words are beautiful…and the emotions are so delicate.” Just like you. I wished to say. “Thanks,” was all I could utter.
“But can a poem and roses heal all the wounds?” She looked away and closed her eyes.
Not wanting to demotivate her, I mentioned, “It's a shame when someone doesn't know your worth. It really breaks my heart.”
She smiled at me and unexpectedly hugged me. The feel of her body against mine made my nerves tingle with excitement. Unsure of how to respond since the hug was longer than I expected, I smoothened her hair with my hand. She stepped back and gazed into my eyes.
“And you know my worth?” she sniggered.
“I can help you. I'll do whatever you say.”
“I wish I could believe you.” Her eyes were filled with tears and she kissed me on my cheek. The brush of her lips on my skin made my knees go weak.
Then again she leafed through my book and read a few pages. “I envy your muse. I wish someone could love me like that.” Her playful smile made my heart skip a beat.
A month had passed since then and I shared a romantic tryst with Diana whenever Fred was away. She would melt in my arms as she would pour out all the ordeal she suffered at the hands of her wicked husband. She said she found comfort in being next to me. She couldn’t bear to spend another day with Fred and she wanted me to help her out.
I calmed her by promising that I would be with her and things would get better. If only I could find a solution. This thought often left us quiet.
One afternoon the doorbell rang. Nobody answered it so I opened the door and found the cops standing.
“Hi I'm detective Henry and this is my partner Charles. We got a call about a murder in this house.”
“Murder? Here?” I was completely surprised.
“Can we come in and take a look around?” It wasn't a request. And since I didn't have anything to hide, I welcomed them inside.
They looked into my room while I sat on the couch in the living room with the detective questioning me.
“Where is Diana?”
“Has anything happened to her? You should speak to Fred.”
“Who is Fred?”
“Diana's husband. Please tell me who has been murdered?” I begged him for an answer.
“We received a call…”
“Sir, we found the woman.” A sergeant interrupted him. The detective rose to his feet instantly and gave me an accusatory look. I followed them confused about whom were they referring to.
The ground beneath my feet disappeared as I saw the gruesome sight in Fred's bathroom. A lifeless body of Diana lay on the bathroom floor, her head had been terribly bleeding. And there was some blood on the bathtub. I turned around to escape the vision before me but detective Charles stopped me.
“Do you know her?”
“She…she…is Diana.” I fell to my knees and began sobbing. Henry signalled Charles and the latter took me to the living room. As I was seated, Henry offered me a glass of water. I wasn't sure if I needed it but my throat sure felt parched. So I drank it.
After I put the glass back on the coffee table I found both the detectives staring at me. I cleared my throat and threw my hands in the air. “Diana’s dead.” Then I remembered Fred. “Where’s Fred? We need to find him and break the news to him.” My heart felt heavy as I thought about it. Fred was a great guy, except for how he abused Diana. I knew he loved her.
“Weren’t you aware of her body lying in the bathroom while you stay under the same roof?”
I weakly shook my head. But that did not convince them. “I was in my room the whole day. I didn't hear a thing.”
The sergeant once again appeared, handed a card and a file in Henry's hand and whispered into his ear. Henry read the card as well as the papers and his eyes darted towards me. He once again took a look at the card and passed them to Charles. His partner was unable to hide his facial expression. It was something between outrage and disbelief.
Henry stood up and signalled the sergeant. “Call that doctor, Charles.” Then he spoke to me, “You’ll have to accompany us to the police station.”
I couldn’t believe what I heard, but before I could react, the sergeant began handcuffing me.
“Hey, what are you guys doing? We must find Fred!” All my pleas were met with a frown.
Henry was patient since the moment he stepped into the house. But now his facial features changed. He seemed irritated and tired. He simply stormed out of my house. I was taken along in another car. After reaching the station, I was kept in a room for forty-five minutes. Then both the detectives walked in and sat opposite me.
“Have you been trying to fool us and mislead this investigation? Drop the charade.” This time it was Charles who did the talking.
Still clueless, I again requested for an explanation. He thrust in my face the card that the sergeant had handed them at Fred's home. It was a driver's license issued to Fred Johnson but it had a picture of me. My head began to reel and had I been not seated, I'd be lying flat on the floor. I rubbed my forehead, unable to decipher this puzzle in front of me.
“You are Fred Johnson.”
“No. I'm Steve Williams. I'm being framed. It must be Fred's doing. He must've found out about my relationship with Diana.”
The detectives looked perplexed. Henry looked at the mirrored window in the room and nodded. The door opened and a woman walked in. Charles offered his chair to her.
“Do you recognise her?”
“No. Who is she?”
“She is your therapist. Dr Roberts. You were under her care three months back. Doctor…”
“Fred, you were referred to me by a doctor for your sudden blackouts and loss of memory. I diagnosed you with dissociative identity disorder. You were doing well. But three months back you stopped coming. I tried to contact you but you had changed numbers.”
“I’m not Fred. I'm Steve. Steve Williams. And I don’t know what are you talking about!”
The doctor calmly explained, “Steve seems to be an identity Fred switches to when he sees abuse or suffering. Fred is not conscious of his other personalities.”
All the information appeared difficult to process. Were they playing some game with me? It was hard to fathom what is true. I began to weep. The doctor seemed distressed looking at my pitiful state. She whispered something to Henry but he shook his head and politely asked her to leave.
I put my head on the table and cried uninterruptedly for nearly five minutes. The detectives let me be.
I lifted my head up, and looked at them in confusion. Then reality dawned upon me.
“I killed her! Is she really dead?” I cried out. The two cops in front of me seemed to be taken aback.
“Fred?” the cop with a balding head asked.
“Yes? How did I get here? The last thing I remember was calling the police to report the murder. After that I blacked out again, right?” They nodded. “I shouldn't have left Diana on her own. Especially with her being pregnant.” They looked at me in stunned silence.
“What exactly happened?”
“We had a tiff over some petty issue and with a baby on the way, Diana got anxious. I stepped out of the house to cool my head. Lately, she'd have dizzy spells due to gestational diabetes. Maybe she had one while bathing. Had I reached earlier…I should have never left.”
“Where were you at that time?
“At Charlie's, the bar two blocks away. I was there for nearly four hours. Why didn’t I return home instead!”
The two of them stood and left the room without a word. I sat there staring blankly at the wall in front of me. The grief was immense. Guilt didn't let me mourn.
Three hours later, the cops returned. The senior guy spoke, “Fred, we checked out your alibi. Reports reveal that the time of death was after 1 pm. And you were already in the bar at 12.30 pm as we checked out the security camera outside the bar. Your wife hadn't eaten since morning so her sugar levels lowered making her lightheaded. She fell and hit her head on the bathtub. It was a fatal fall. An accident. An unfortunate one. You may go. But please continue with your treatment. We will notify you when we can hand over Diana'
s body.” I nodded and left.
There was a park outside the police station. I sat on a bench and looked at the world whizzing past my eyes. My Diana was gone. I knew she was starving since I had locked her in the bathroom since 10 in the morning, hoping she'd tell me the truth. I didn't expect her to die. But why did she keep lying to me? I knew that the baby wasn't mine.
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