Good-bye Sammy (standard:drama, 1623 words)
Author: Walt	Added: Apr 14 2013	Views/Reads: 5731/2197	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The final resolution of an unhappy relationship

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

will be over to visit you tomorrow.” 

“Oh yes, I remember now. You said you we going to Mexico, didn't you?” 

Mom was having a good day. “Yes, Mom. I'll send you some postcards. Is
there anything you need that Sam can get for you?” 

“Tell him to get me two pieces of pepperoni and mushroom pizza from
Italo's. I don't like the stuff they serve here.” 

“Okay, Mom, I'll leave him a note on the fridge.” I already had the
pizza note stuck under the magnet that looks like a snowmobile. “Love 
you, Mom,” I said and closed my cell. 

Next I called Dr Johnston at the University to tell him that Sammy was
under the weather and would be in tomorrow. They could get one of the 
students to feed the rats today. Yes, I said, it was a touch of flu but 
my husband was improving. He did not want to bring the flu bug into the 
lab in case the rats got sick. Everyone knows they can track cell 
calls. 

The great thing about living in Northern Ontario is the changing of the
seasons. I always enjoyed winter, the time of cold and snow, skiing, 
ice fishing and snowmobiling. However at 68 years, my cross-country 
skiing days were coming to a close. Sitting over a round hole cut in 
the ice still was invigorating on sunny days, and I did enjoy riding on 
the snowmobile. I knew how to run the new machine we owned, could 
maneuver it as well as Sam, and knew of a perfect place to run it off 
the trail into a swampy area. Which is exactly what I did last night. 
Sammy was sleeping in the swamp as I called Deluxe Taxi to take me to 
the airport. 

Sammy, it turned out in our fifth year of marriage, was a drug user. He
was, he assured me, not an addict, just a weekend warrior. My former 
occupation as a nurse gave me all the experience I needed with needles. 
The trick would not be to hide the needle mark since Sammy had his own 
set, but to administer a killing dose that would not show up during an 
autopsy. My plan was simplicity itself: kill Sam; transport his body on 
the snowmobile into the swamp where it would not be found for several 
days or perhaps even three weeks; go on vacation to Mexico. 

Sometimes the weather is perfect and January 2nd was one of those days.
It snowed and snowed. The snow would end early next morning, the storm 
would pass but be followed with a really heavy snow storm on January 
4th. The perfect storm for the perfect murder. 

I am strong for a woman of my age and keep myself in good condition,
however moving Sammy was not going to be easy. So I talked him into 
going for a snowmobile ride last night after dinner. Sammy drank his 
usual three scotches plus a glass of wine so he was quite relaxed and 
compliant with my suggestion. Once on the machine, I said let's go down 
to swamp where we might see a deer or a fox in the bright headlights of 
the machine. We stopped to stretch our legs, and as was his habit, he 
removed his helmet. I took it from him and feigning to place it on the 
seat, swung it with all my might at the back of his head. He went down 
like a stunned ox or perhaps a toppled sumo wrestler. I put the helmet 
back on his head before any swelling could start, took the syringe from 
my backpack, pulled up his sleeve to expose his left arm, inserted the 
tip and pumped air into his vein. He never regained consciousness. I 
started the machine, and reaching around Sammy, steered the machine 
into a tree. I was going almost too fast as I slammed into my air-bag 
ex-husband on impact. An autopsy would show head trauma, alcohol in his 
blood and a trace of heroin. Only a really inquisitive coroner would 
find the real reason for Sam's death. Our local coroner was not that 
curious. 

I swept my tracks full of snow using one of the branches broken from a
balsam tree, hoping that no one would notice a missing limb. I covered 
my tracks all the way back to the house, but the falling snow would 
mostly likely have done the job for me. I burned the branch in the 
fireplace, making sure there we no telltale remains other than 
anonymous grey ash. 

In the taxi, I pretended to wave to my husband, telling the driver he
was under the weather with the flu. From the airport, I phoned home, 
leaving a date and time-stamped message on our answering machine for 
Sammy, telling him not to forget to take Mother her pizza tomorrow. I 
said I would see him in three weeks, and like a dutiful wife, said I 
loved him. The frozen bastard. 

Hola, Mexico. 


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