EDWARD KEEBLER

 

With arms outstretched, clutching a wine bottle in one hand and a scribbled note in the other, Justin Manus taunts an oncoming pair of headlights passing on the highway below. Barefoot and dressed in tattered jeans and a faded T-shirt, he precariously leans over the bridge’s edge, standing on the slippery middle rung of an antiquated pedestrian fence. He sways in the darkness, aimlessly peering into the damp summer night; only the slick top rail pressing against his knees prevents him plummeting over the bridge’s edge. The structure is an older and seldom used two-lane overpass that diverts local traffic from the new highway that passes below. Southern California maps identify it as the Virgil Overpass. Locals simply refer to it as “The Virgil” or the “Old Bridge.”

 

In his mind Justin entertains himself with the comedic notion of being a matador, challenging the approaching automobile on the underpass as though it were a fearless beast. The oblivious driver disappears and passes beneath him, completely unaware of being animated as a raging bull. Turning quickly, Justin sees the red taillights reemerge under him on the other side of the bridge and speed away. The mere rotating motion is more than his inebriated equilibrium can bear. With his mind swirling, he staggers to a sitting position on the bridge’s narrow walkway. Slightly slumped over and backed against the railing, his legs extend the length of the sidewalk while his bare feet dangle over the edge. He is nearly content to sleep on the bridge. If it weren’t for the constant drizzle, which has now saturated his jeans and formed droplets on his face, he would likely be in a drunken slumber. His thoughts fade in and out of better times, a time when he felt loved and life made more sense.

 

 “Hello Mr. Toes!” Justin, in a conscious moment, feels almost surprised to see the appendages attached to his feet. In his current state of mind they have become a group of friends. With an additional degree of clarity, he may have been able to provide each with a name. For now, he refers to the collective entourage as simply, “Mr. Toes.”

 

“Do you remember the good ol’ days Mr. Toes? I had a good career, a beautiful wife who loved me and money in the bank.” Mr. Toes wiggles with enthusiasm, apparently eager to hear the story. “I guess I messed that up pretty good. Do you remember how we met in college? She was so pretty and I was so stupid. We were sitting in the school cafeteria with a bunch of my friends and it all started over a piece of apple pie.”

 

“Do you remember the pie Mr. Toes? Wiggle if you’re listening.” All of Justin’s digits wiggle with excitement and he celebrates by taking another swig from his bottle of bargain wine. “My roommate was going to toss away a perfectly good piece of pie but did he give it to me? No, I had to earn it, didn’t I?” Justin glances at his toes as they nod in agreement with him.

 

“On a dare, with all the guys at the table watching, I had to walk across the cafeteria to the table with all the pretty girls and whisper in her ear, ‘You’re so hot!’ and then kiss her. At first they wanted me to kiss her on the lips but I wouldn’t do it so they agreed that a kiss on the cheek would be okay. When I stood, they started drumming on the table, soft at first, then louder as I got nearer to her. By the time I got to where the girls were sitting, I think everyone in the place knew what was going on except for the pretty blonde and her friends. I paused once but when the guys started yelling at me, I knew it was either do or die. I turned toward them, gave them a quick salute and went into action. Do you remember what happened then, Mr. Toes? I put my hands on the pretty blonde’s shoulders and when she looked up, I bent down to whisper in her ear. She leaned her head into me but by the time I gave her the message, the whole room went silent. My whisper thundered like I was making an announcement over a loudspeaker.” Justin laughs at the memory.

 

“Everyone in the cafeteria heard the message! After I kissed her on the cheek, all the people started cheering and the pretty blonde turned several shades of red. A couple of the other girls responded with wide-eyed gasps and dropped jaws. Another one put her hands over her mouth. I was embarrassed at first, but when I realized everyone was rooting for me, I raised my hands over my head like a victorious boxer. What do you think of that Mr. Toes?” Justin holds up his bottle as a salute to his wiggly friends and slushes down another drink.

 

“I didn’t see the pretty blonde for a couple of weeks after that. I looked for her, but not for reasons you might think. I wasn’t so eager to see her again as I was to avoid seeing her at all. Then, just about the time I was beginning to feel at ease, the pretty blonde got me back. She waited until I was sitting in the cafeteria with a group of my friends and she snuck up on me from behind. Before I knew what was going on, she planted a big red kiss on my cheek. And while she was still leaning over and holding onto my shoulders, she announced to the table and onlookers, ‘You’re so pretty!’ I didn’t even have to look around to see who it was. I just nodded and smiled as everyone applauded her. It didn’t take long after that for us to start talking, which led to a first date and several dates after that. Within a few weeks we were a couple, and by the middle of the following year, we became engaged. What do you think of that Mr. Toes? It all started with a piece of forbidden fruit and a kiss on the cheek.”

 

Justin’s disposition suddenly becomes more somber as he continues to tell the story to his new group of friends. “Today would have been our twelfth anniversary, Mr. Toes. I miss her a lot. I shouldn’t have made work such a high priority, but I convinced myself I was doing it for her. Remember the cubical I began my career in? I practically lived in that drab, grey ‘office coffin’ for the first few years! But I was good at my job, worked hard and moved up the ranks… remember that? I was in an executive office after only a decade with the company. I think everybody liked me except for my wife. We had a nice house, drove nice cars–even had a good retirement account! She wanted kids but I wanted the financial security first. Then, when the economy tanked and I lost my job… it had all been for nothing. I’d made her put off having kids until we could afford it, and then we were broke. She resented me for that. I can’t give that back to her… I can’t fix it Mr. Toes.”

 

Oblivious to the car parked at the end of the bridge, Justin continues with his walk down memory lane until the driver of the older model Japanese car moves his vehicle onto the bridge and stops immediately in front of him. The driver rolls his tinted window down and calls out, “Hey, are you okay?”

 

Justin’s head takes a shaky path upward and after a brief attempt to focus he responds, “I’m a great matador!”

 

“You look wet. Can I give you a ride somewhere?” offers the voice from inside the car. After a brief silence and lack of response, the driver exits the vehicle, walks over to Justin and offers him his hand. “Do you need help?”

 

“Sure, why not? You can be my new best friend. I can even teach you to become a great matador.”

 

“I gave up wanting to be a great matador a long time ago,” Travis Kilborn explains as he helps lift and guide Justin into the front passenger seat. By all appearances, Kilborn is the collective image of the middle or high school math teacher everyone can visualize in their mind but can’t remember by name. He’s a dozen years older than Justin, wearing slim-fit khaki pants with a short sleeve dress shirt. His reddish brown hair is cut short to the scalp and his narrow head is accented with eyeglasses too large for his face. Justin is too drunk to notice the drops of blood on his new acquaintance’s shoes.

 

“Comfortable?” asks Kilborn while examining his new passenger who is now seated with his wine bottle between his legs and the car door still open. There’s no response as Justin Manus rests his head on the dashboard and seems to have faded from consciousness. Kilborn takes a lingering look at the slumbering man, and then surveys his immediate surroundings. It’s nearly 3:00 a.m. and there hasn’t been traffic on the old bridge since his arrival several minutes ago. Although an occasional car passes underneath on the highway below, their driver’s view is obscured from any activity on the murky overpass. It’s a damp, dark, and near soundless night.

 

Kilborn opens the rear passenger door and reaches under a blanket to grab a pair of handcuffs and cable ties that are hidden from view. He cautiously approaches the open passenger door where the younger and stronger Justin Manus remains in a drunken stupor. Kilborn leans in, wraps one loop of the handcuff around his left wrist, and then gently squeezes it tight without alerting his victim. Realizing he can’t overpower Justin, Kilborn nudges him, “Hey buddy, this old car doesn’t have an airbag on that side so let me make sure you’re safe.”

 

“Safe? Okay, I’ll be safe. Sure, safe is good,” his nearly incoherent passenger mumbles.

With Justin’s cooperation, Kilborn pulls his left arm into position behind him and joins it with the other wrist, successfully securing both of his hands behind his back. As the cuffs click into place, Kilborn asks with false compassion, “You doing okay? Comfortable?”

 

“’M’ okay,” slurs Justin.

 

“Let me get your feet and we’ll be ready to go.”

 

There’s no resistance as Kilborn slips the thick plastic cable ties around his ankles and knees, completing the bondage of his athletically built passenger. With his victim secure, Kilborn gropes Justin’s muscular physique in search of a weapon and his wallet. Finding no weapons, he removes his wallet, dumps the few remaining drops of wine from his bottle and tosses the empty container in the back seat. After closing the passenger door, he carefully scans his surroundings before entering the car and beginning his trek back toward a barn located in a more rural part of the county.

 

A different Kilborn emerges as he takes his place behind the wheel and drives away from the old bridge. His look is more intense. He seems invigorated by the successful capture of Justin Manus. His steely blue eyes display a surge of life, not as one experiencing joy but satisfying a hunger. Reaching across the front seat, Kilborn roughly pushes his drunken passenger’s limp head away from the glove box as he gains possession of a voice recorder. Looking down at it, he carefully sets it to saved position five and leaves the device on pause until he needs it.

 

Kilborn drives in silence for a moment then violently shakes his hapless victim, “Wake up, dumb ass!”

 

“What! What? What are we doing?” Justin partially emerges from the fog of his intoxication.

 

“I’m going to introduce you to my pets.” Kilborn’s voice holds menace.

 

“You have pets? Cool. I like pets.”

 

“You may not like these as much as you may think.” Kilborn smirks. “What you’re going to get is chopped up into pieces and eaten by three hogs and my dog, Stink.”

 

“You named your dog ‘Stink’?” Justin lets out a robust laugh. “How cool is that? I wanted a dog with a cool name… a dog named Stink, but my wife has a little foo-foo dog named Princh—Princh—Princess.”

 

An increasingly agitated Kilborn pulls out a knife and places the tip near the end of Justin’s nose. “Do you think this is a big joke? Do you have any idea how many people I’ve killed and how I killed them? I gutted one and another was—”

 

“No sir… no sir,” Justin interrupts. He shakes his head in a wide and exaggerated side-to-side motion, “I don’t want to appear ungrateful.”

 

“Ungrateful? Ungrateful?” Astonished, Kilborn slams on the breaks and skids to a halt on the side of the isolated rural road. “You do understand that I plan on cutting your body up into small pieces, don’t you?”

 

“You keep saying that… but I’m starting to think you’re not that sincere.” Justin attempts to refrain from laughing. A moment of silence ensues as Kilborn studies his passenger. Justin is slightly more coherent but his eyes are closed and he’s resting his head on the side window.

 

Clearly agitated, Kilborn inquires, “What exactly were you doing on the bridge tonight?”

 

With a slight slur to his speech and a languid smile, Justin explains, “I wash gonna get drunk n’ hang myself… but I couldn’t find any rope. I was already drunk so I thought I’d jump off the bridge.”

 

“You know that bridge is only fifteen feet high and has a grassy median below it, right?”

 

“I forgot… I didn’t remember about it until I got there.”

 

“If you jumped, you’d be lucky to break a leg. I suppose after the failed attempt you may manage to hobble onto the road and get in front of a car to finish yourself off. With broken bones, you wouldn’t be very nimble so you probably wouldn’t have succeeded at that either. As drunk as you are, you’d have a better chance of dying of exposure. Let me guess,” Kilborn continues in a sarcastic tone. “Your life is like the lyrics to a country song; the wife left you and your dog died so you have to kill yourself to end your miserable existence.”

 

“Yeah, something like that,” responds Justin with a smile and low volume chuckle. “We were married for ten years… she left me for a wannabe rock star who still lived with his mother.”

 

“Why is that funny?”

 

“A friend told me that a week after my ex and the wannabe rock star were married, my ex walked into the bathroom while her new hubby was in the shower. His long, rock-star hair was draped across the chair! He was just a little bald guy who dressed up like a rock star! But… just sayin’… that makes me pretty pathetic if she chose him over me.”

 

“I agree you’re pathetic but it has nothing to do with your wife. Chances are she left you because of her issues as much as your own. What did you do to him for sleeping with your wife, or to her for betraying you?”

 

“What did I do? What could I do? I left.”

 

Enraged, Kilborn screams, “You just left? Don’t you have any fight in you?”

 

“I had nothing left to fight for. She didn’t love me. I lost my job. Our house was in foreclosure and I couldn’t find work... ”

 

Justin drifts into a semiconscious swirl of flashbacks as his mind skims over the recent years of his life. He was a faithful and loving husband but after six years and three promotions, he seemed to stop listening. She consistently complained that he always had time for work related causes. Justin seemed to have an extra minute for practically anyone at the office but not for her. The final straw was when their social circles became dominated by company events and activities with other employees…

 

“Hey! Dumb ass… wake up! People get divorced every day.”

 

“Is not… it’s not just the divorce.” Justin slurs as he attempts to regain his thought process. “It’s the betrayal… I was betrayed by my wife, my employer, my friends… even the legal system failed me.”

 

In a surprisingly calm reversal of his rage, Kilborn cocks his head to the side, nudging his helpless passenger. “Go on. I want to hear this.”

 

“I was never perfect… no, no, no… but I was a good provider and I was really good at my job. Maybe I worked too many hours and left her alone too much, but I did it with her in mind.”

 

Kilborn’s voice is filled with accusation and doubt. “Is that when you started sleeping with the boss’s secretary, or got caught skimming company funds?”

 

Justin, with his chin touching his chest and head swaying, says, “You’re not paying attention, Mr. Three Pigs. I said I was a good husband and I was really good at my job. I was one of the youngest persons… youngest people… earliest guy, ever to be promoted… to an executive position. Companies all over the country tried to recruit me but I stayed loyal… I was committed to those who hired me. I was fired after the economy slumped… the CEO’s son wanted my job. The company was losing money so they wanted me to go bye-bye. I tried to fight back but without income, my only option was to file a complaint with a perfunctory government agency… I like the word perfunctory. You should say it with me… perfunctory. Say it in a deep voice… perfunctory. You feel your tongue bounce around in your mouth? Cool, huh?”

 

Kilborn studies his victim for a moment, then nudges him, “As an executive, you must have had some type of severance package and unemployment—”

 

“No, no, no… ” Justin interrupts. “During the good times they agreed to a really nice benefit package so they could keep good people. But during the downsizing, they intimidated most into resigning or accepting a settlement. Those who refused were eliminated for manufactured causes... totally made up. I stood my ground on principle but lost my severance package and unemployment benefits in the process. Many of us did.”

 

With a scowl on his face and eyebrows tightly perched over the bridge of his nose, Kilborn speaks in a tone of disgust. “Did you fight it? Did you do anything to retaliate… anything?”

 

“I stood loyal to my convictions… I did what I thought was right. I was naïve. I was great at my job but once I was targeted everything… everything became subject to criticism, formal review, disciplinary actions and eventual dismissal. I didn’t realize… afterwards the company saved tens of millions of dollars and only had to fight off a handful of complaints and lawsuits in the process. The worst part… ” Justin slumps.

 

“The worst part is what, you idiot? Wake up!” Kilborn demands.

 

“Oh, yeah… yeah… the worst part was trying to find another job. After you’re terminated, the longer you’re unemployed, the worse it is. Even the companies that had once tried to recruit me didn’t want me. My credit bombed. Everyone turned me down. I couldn’t even get a low paying job unless I lied. They said my credit was bad and that I was overqualified. I was losing my house and willing to do anything, yet I was too much of a risk.”

 

“Is that when your wife left you?” Kilborn sounds more curious and less condemning.

 

“Our savings were gone and credit card balances started climbing. We were in a financial death spiral… being without money was something she had never experienced before. After a year of unemployment, she met some guy on a girl’s night out. He presented himself as a rock star but he was just some guy who lived at home with his mother and played in a minimally talented garage band.”

 

“So, she left you and moved in with him?”

 

“No, that’s the hard part. She had money stashed away from an inheritance so she kept the house and he moved in with her. I didn’t even know she was having an affair until I came home from a job interview in Florida. She’d had the locks on the house changed, and served me with a copy of a Restraining Order. I tried to get into the house to get some clothes. She called the police and had me arrested for domestic violence. Today would have been our twelfth anniversary.”

 

“And you did what?” Kilborn yelled in renewed rage. “You did nothing!”

 

Slightly more coherent but with eyes dripping of exhaustion, Justin turns, looking into the soulless eyes of his captor, “It wasn’t all her fault. I know now, how much she resented me for not paying attention to her needs. I built the life I wanted. I convinced her it was the life we both needed… and it all fell apart. She invested nearly all of her healthy child-bearing years with me and I took that away from her. I feel like I deserve the hell I’ve created for myself. I wrote a poem. That’s what I did… I wrote a poem.”

 

“You wrote a poem?” Kilborn sneers. “Is that what you have crumpled up in your hand?”

 

With little resistance, Kilborn retrieves the moist and wadded paper from Justin’s loose grasp. Without asking for approval, he unfolds and straightens the document, pulling it over the edge of the steering wheel to smooth out the wrinkles. He glances at Justin with a snide expression, then, nearly annoyed with himself for making the effort, he reads it aloud with surprising skill.

 

“Sing to me.

Let your voice drape my tormented soul

and quench the fire that smolders in my wounded heart.

Play me a melody that entices my upward glance;

tempt me to look up from my place of desolation.

Fill my mind with intrigue; bait me with a promise of hope.

Sing to me.

I will succumb to the delusion of peace

grasping the air for each fading note.

Hope, even false hope, is a distraction from my despair.

 

I can no longer tell day from night.

Time swirls around my head,

a confusing rhyme and offbeat melody.

I want to end the confusion,

bury myself in the comforting arms of solitude and quiet.

But there is none.

My unrested mind is captured in a whirlpool of despair,

dragging me deeper and deeper into its grasp.

In the distance I hear the alluring note of sweet death,

no longer a fearsome, gruesome adversary but an ally and liberator.

Come to me sweet song of death.

Sit in my lap, rest your head on my shoulder and sing your song to me.

Bring me peace.

 

Her dance is slow and deliberately seductive;

her embrace has captured the essence of my will.

I am snared in a rhythmic motion I know will be my last.

As I release my hand from the edge of despair,

I feel myself falling.

All the voices of confusion

and the myriad notes of distractions fade

as I firmly hold to her.

She is beautiful.

Her succulent red lips grow closer,

enticing me to make the final surge and meet my lips with hers.

This is my final kiss, the final act of my will.

She is death; beautiful death.”

 

“That’s it?” Irritated,  Kilborn scans the final lines of the poem for a second time. “You want to give up and die? All I have is an eighty-one-year-old grandmother who lives in an apartment in Torrance. Her neighbors are all Koreans and because of the onset of Alzheimer’s, half the time she can’t tell me apart from them. I lost my wife, kids, retirement and my career. But I fought back and made the bastards pay for what they did. I didn’t sit around drinking, writing poetry and feeling sorry for myself.”

 

“I’m not like you,” Justin murmurs in a soft voice.

 

“You’re damn right, you’re not like me you spineless bitch! I’ve killed four people in three years and have never even been a suspect. I correct myself, you’ll increase the total to five.”

 

“So, if you’ve already killed everyone who wronged you, why do you want to kill again?”

 

Kilborn pauses for a reflective moment. “Because I’ve found I like it now.” He exits the vehicle and hurries to the passenger side. Opening the door he grabs Justin by the legs and yanks his limp body from the seat. As Justin lies shoulder down in the damp soil, Kilborn reaches into the car to retrieve his voice recorder and sets it on the edge of the seat of the opened passenger door. Activating the play button, Kilborn kneels beside his helpless victim and harshly slaps him across the face. “Let me see your eyes!” he orders.

 

“I’m too tired now, dude. Can’t you do this while I sleep?”

 

“Beg for your life!” Kilborn demands as he places his knife at Justin’s throat.

 

“Beg for what? Dude, what is that smell? Are we in Chino?”

 

Furious, Kilborn screams into Justin’s face, “Haven’t you listened to a thing I’ve told you? Do you not have a thread of intelligence and pride?”

 

Kilborn continues his lecture for another minute and at the end of his tirade, he looks for terror in the eyes of his new victim but hears only his light snoring. He rolls Justin onto his stomach, raises his knife, and then plunges it into the hardened plastic cable ties, freeing his legs. In another quick motion he removes the handcuffs, darts back to the car and drives away. Kilborn watches the motionless man from his rearview mirror as he speeds into the darkness, muttering to himself, “We’re a lot more alike than you know, my drunken friend.”

 

The cold and discomfort of the muddy soil causes Justin to stir. A few hours have passed and the first signs of dawn are beginning to appear on the horizon. Still very groggy, he attempts to sit up but decides in favor of staying on his back a few more minutes. The light mist has stopped but the ground remains wet.

 

“Oh my god, where am I? Damn! Did I jump off that bridge?” Justin asks himself as he pats himself down, checking for broken bones. Cautiously, he opens one eye to survey his surroundings and seeing no bridge, he sits up and opens both eyes. There’s a rural road, fences, and looking behind him, he sees two eyes staring back at him. “Moo!” is the cow’s response to being discovered. Justin jerks a little in surprise at the volume of the cow’s low. “I’m in Chino? How the hell did I get to Chino?”

 

 

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