Duncan's Diary (20 page)

His group makeup was an oddity in the FBI; but with his and their success, nobody questioned it. They allowed him to run as he saw fit. He often acknowledged his supervisor for forward thinking and navigating the red tape to allow him to focus on his job of catching criminals—the only thing in life that he was currently any good at.

After I had properly disposed of the pieces that used to be Hannah, I now had a small pile of leftovers—what I deemed my three trophies or the skulls from my recent harem. This was not my total set of prizes, since I could not have the heads of the individuals I had shot in the alley. Nevertheless, I decided to build a shelf in my room and display them as one would his football or baseball accolades from decades ago.

I had never been much of an active sports enthusiast although I did enjoy the spectator sport of watching others play. It was not that I lacked athletic ability; but I had never developed much as a youngster, having to work most days after school instead. My father never fully understood the need for extracurricular development when there was a calling for a drywall job or repairing a sewer. The generous quarter an hour he paid me made up for the loss in childhood, though. (That was sarcasm by the way for all of you dimwitted people out there reading my diary.)

We had a leftover label maker from some art project the girls had used. After the shelf was properly installed and the trophies were in place, I labeled each one appropriately. I could only call the second one “Blonde Woman,” as I never knew her actual name. I would have to remember to look online and see if I could discover this at some point. It seemed impersonal not even to know the name of somebody who had played such a pivotal role in the historical life and times of Duncan.

I left two open spots and labeled them “Man 1” and “Man 2” for the men in the alley. This reminded me of Thing 1 and Thing 2 from Dr. Seuss, and I suddenly felt connected to a kid’s short story. The men had no lasting effect on my psyche, but again they are now part of the story and played their intended role. From this point on, I would have to really focus on knowing the names in order to finish the display. It looked tacky otherwise. And who wants to display their accomplishments in a tacky way?

I wondered in the grand scheme of taking lives how my five stood up against the great villains of all time. This was no Hiroshima, and that would never be compared to what I was doing; but in the end it had the same result and finality for everyone involved. I wondered how warped our history books truly are; and if we went to Japan, would it be labeled an atrocity versus a key event that brought the conclusion to a needless war. We vilified Germany and Japan, as well we should, for their gross disregard for lives; but were we any different, really?

The men and women of that great city were not the cause of the aggression. In most cases they were simply following the misguided direction of the men in power who were forming public opinion and manipulating the masses in order to get what they needed. Germany as a nation was not bad and held many strong upstanding level-headed individuals. Sadly, in the end the majority had allowed unspeakable hatred to be leveled against people just for who they were and what ethnicity they called their own.

I could never hate a group of people as a whole. En masse is meaningless as individuality keeps the world moving. People do horrible, unspeakable things; and, yes, individuals can sway groups to do the same. But in the end, judging somebody for their beliefs can never be viewed upon as right. I realize fully that my actions are wrong, and what I am doing is one of the worst things possible against my fellow man. Does it matter that I am doing it without prejudice? That has to give me something right.

Anyway, I am losing myself in thought again. I closed up shop so to speak and prepared the area for my imminent departure. Once on the road, I planned and rehearsed my answers for the questions that would come about Hannah and where she was. I felt most comfortable with simply stating I had not seen her this weekend; and although we had started dating, we had only been out a few times. I, by no means, knew her whereabouts on a daily basis.

If she had told anyone where she was headed for the weekend, I would have to live with my story and say they must be mistaken. My only real loose end was my neighbor, Don, whom I had introduced to Hannah. If, by some chance, anyone ever questioned my story and followed up by talking to him, I would be in a corner. I didn’t really know how to get beyond this.

I contemplated driving back to Twain Harte that night and, unfortunate as it would be, shooting Don as he walked his dog then head back home. I think the odds of a killing in Twain Harte of that nature would bring more attention than I needed. In the end, I decided to live with the first story and deny knowledge and hope that it ended there.

I had disposed of Hannah’s cell phone and all of her clothes. After cleaning out the fireplace, I felt that, at a minimum, the remnants of my actions were safely tucked away in the trashcan outside. While Don did have a tendency to go through my discarded refuge, I doubt even he would sift through the ash and remains of a burnt-out fire. The likelihood of something valuable being left in there had to be slim.

I made it home uneventfully and played with Delilah in the back yard for a while in utter awe of the dog’s ability to fetch a ball with such chaotic energy. How the dog ever managed to sleep was beyond me, as she never seemed to tire.

I was surprised by my calmness and reflected on my first triumph with Jill a few months ago and how emotionally drained I had been. I no longer felt any remorse and had fully accepted what I had become. I had embraced my new outlook on life. I guess you might be able to say that the true definition of what I was now about was death.

Instead of jumping in the shower and wasting time lamenting over spilled blood, I put on a pot of boiling water to make some tea and prepared pasta for a nice spaghetti meal. Tonight was Sunday, and I had two more episodes of
Californication
in the queue. I was dying with excitement to see them. I had now decided my true idol was Hank; and if I could pick a single person to be, it would be that character.

What better way to flitter through life than to do whatever you wanted and not care at all about the outcome or results of anything or anyone around you. Be true to yourself, and live for the moment. He did mix in the relationship with his daughter and, in only the character’s fashion, loved her and wanted something good for her. He, in his own way, attempted to be a good father. Who can ask for anything more?

If you did a study on the fatherly attributes of American men, I think you would be amazed at how inconsistent we truly are--not only our thinking of right and wrong, but also in our actions and how we approach things. One of my two sayings that I repeatedly emphasize to my three daughters is, “I only promise to do the best I can. Parents are never perfect, and all we can do is love you and try our best.” The other one is to promise to love them always, no matter what.

The last part has grown exceedingly difficult with my oldest daughter. She is definitely pushing the “no matter what” phrase. While I felt and still feel she is going through an extraordinarily difficult time, I also now feel she is manipulating both her mother and me to maximize her desires to the fullest. I would never question how hard this has been on her, but I do now see that she is using the situation as much as she can to further her own personal goals, as well. The sad thing is she doesn’t know what her goals are. She is a lost girl, as are most of us, and I hope she can find her way. She has a good heart, and in the end she will be an incredible woman--if only she can make it through these difficult times whole and complete.

I can’t blame her, really. She is a teenager, after all, and adding the hormonal upheaval they all go through with changing high schools and, then, throwing in the divorce is more than anyone should ever have to take. In retrospect, I still do not know how I could have done things differently to make it any better.

Her mother’s bitterness and attacking approach in the beginning would never change under any scenario. The hatred she still portrayed has left her bitter and sad. She denies this, of course, but pure anger oozes out of her pores every time we meet. Until she stops being so angry, she will never be happy.

Maybe I should tell her of my outlet. We could share a common theme, and they would call us the “Bonnie and Clyde” of our generation. The only difference is Bonnie and Clyde actually loved each other. I would be in constant danger of lashing out against my wife if she were ever in a situation where I was performing one of my conquests.

After dinner I dutifully completed my menial tasks of cleaning up the dishes and putting everything away. I, then, poured a nice glass of scotch and turned on the TV. I excitedly watched my idyllic character go through his endless array of sexual encounters. He continually drank with an aimless approach toward everything imaginable. I wish there were a way to be paid for actions such as this—oh wait, he is being paid for this.

The next couple of days were uneventful. Going to work, adding, subtracting, adding again – once I finished, I redid the entire calculation. We are endlessly making sure that numbers matched anything that was presented previously. I failed to see the point of my job, at times. I felt I was constantly presenting data that was so obvious that anyone could see the trended outcome of where the company was going and what needed to be done.

Our CEO felt the accounting function was a useless tool, as well. Sadly that was reflected in the overall viewpoint directed at our department. We were the bastard stepchildren of the world and operated under those parameters. The only saving grace was that our CFO was one of the smartest guys with whom I’d ever worked. He impressively knew details down to a surprising level and easily maintained them. He could continually regurgitate facts at countless meetings like he had just read the details minutes before.

My memory is just not that good. I find nothing more impressive than somebody who can be presented with data and actively use that data at any point in time as needed. He easily rebuked our CEO on several occasions, pointing out inaccuracies that were stated with factual data. In the end, nobody can really argue with facts.

I liked the boardroom drama that occurred when opinions were far out of alignment. It was easy to admire the political navigation where everyone felt the need to state an opinion and, at the same time, not state it in any way that truly offended anyone. After all the CEO is the CEO, and it is his company to run as he chooses. He should have smart people on staff. Disagreement condones debate, which leads to better decisions; but once something is decided, everyone needs to rally and be part of the same team.

I learned this from my army days. Once the debate is over, you don’t question the decision anymore. You definitely don’t question it in an inappropriate, hierarchal standing. Loyalty is a must, and true loyalty comes from being able to disagree and still follow directives.

It was not until Wednesday that I received the call from Sarah. She inquired about Hannah and asked me if I had heard from her. She was supposed to return on Sunday from a weekend trip and had left the girls with her. Sarah had now been on the phone with all the area hospitals and the police. She was beside herself with worry.

As expected, this would be stressful to navigate.

Sudhir was unsure of his plan. He had talked to several friends, and they had agreed to meet for Monday night football. There would be four to six going, and it would be nice to get out for a while with no strings or complaining in the background. The peripheral moaning was nonstop, and he was still unsure how to change the direction he and his wife were heading.

The dinner that he had in his mind thoughtfully prepared for his wife was a non-event. She hastily stated she ate on the plane and was in no mood to sit and listen to him belch at the table if she were not even hungry. This had not been the desired reaction, and his goal seemed unattainable. He had seen worse odds watching the Sharks game last night, and they had come back from being three goals down to start the third period. Somehow, they had squeaked out a one-goal win.

He, as always, enjoyed the dinner with the kids, but he was aware that stress was eating away at them all. Maybe a planned trip to the wine country for the weekend with just the two of them would be a good idea. Time away might push them back in the positive direction he so desperately wanted.

Throughout the course of the weekend his continual failed attempts at anything thoughtful were hastily rebuked. Breakfast in bed was the only thing that brought a slight smile to her frowning demeanor, and he made a note to try this more often.

He pushed aside the ongoing investigation that was now becoming his obsession. He was a dad and husband again, albeit briefly, for the span of two days. He took the kids down for a movie rental and stopped at Baskin Robbins for a pick of one of the 31 flavors. Saturday had been pizza and movie night. With the family securely relaxed in front of the TV, they had watched the latest Disney episode of some little robot thing that couldn’t speak. Sudhir missed the point of this, but enjoyed the microwaved popcorn and soda with the family. The dawning realization of missed opportunities and the unappreciated blessings of life washed over him as he simply smiled for the hour and a half they enjoyed together.

As with all family activities, they quickly end and the participants hastily dissipate to their designated personal preferences. Janine headed off to read while the boys flicked on their video games.  His cute, beautiful daughter curled up in the chair with him, offering to snuggle as they watched a couple episodes of the latest
Hannah Montana
.

He actually didn’t mind the childish bantering that the show projected in the simplest form of TV entertainment possible. That is what TV is for. It was pure enjoyment of mindless stimulation to garner a laugh or make you jump in your seat. The shows produced “ooh’s” and “ahh’s” at the incredibly stupid things some people might attempt to win a $100,000 or $1 million or whatever prize was being touted on the latest reality craze.

He might still be in the minority, but he had and would always prefer a show about something. The shows that were forced upon this generation of “real” actionable items were a sickness that hopefully would soon be purged. Like all things, he was sure it was a phase and would be coming to a conclusion. He didn’t hate them all, just to be clear, but by far the majority could be eliminated, and he would not even be aware.

After enduring a couple of episodes, his daughter gave in to the night and offered up going to bed. He tucked her in, and told the boys they had only 30 minutes left. He went back to his familiar chair, poured the comfort of his much-needed glass of scotch, and began the random cycle of flipping in the hopes of finding something tolerable. Sudhir was not sure how much exercise the population would receive if you didn’t count the hand movement it takes to push the remote frequently through the hundreds of offered channels. It was good practice for him, as he used the same hand to provide the only sexual pleasure he held in this house.

True to his nightly custom, he found himself waking up around 2:30 a.m. still sitting in his chair. The TV was talking about some magical chopping machine that could basically do anything you ever wanted in life with the push of a button – all of this for only three monthly payments of $29.99. He was sure that people buy these things. Otherwise, why would the commercials remain on TV? But, who would spend the money? He just wanted to know who.

He made his way to the dimly lit bedroom with the nightlight as his guiding beacon. After a quick bathroom break, he quietly slipped in under the sheets and snuggled up by himself as he prepared to doze back into the land of dreams. He liked waking up just at the edge of something good, trying to remember what fantasy his body had been partaking in that was not possible in the land of the living.

Monday mornings, as always, were a little chaotic. Nobody really wanted to get moving. The kids did not want to get up from their cozy pillows and blankets. By attempt No. 3, the threats were unboxed, and very quickly the covers were thrown back and the morning ritual began anew. Sudhir actually even enjoyed this process. The bickering was minimal, so it didn’t reach the level of annoying.

After he dropped the kids off, he headed to the office. He had stuffed his attempted chronological mapping in the trunk with the thought he would make use of it in his tasks for the day. He actually ended up not even removing it from the coffin where it lay stranded. He, instead, preferred to muddle through work doing very little as he anticipated the nightly activities.

He had no agenda and did not even know if he would broach the subject in a subtle way. He tried to weed out any facts that might slip through that would either help eliminate, or at a minimum, clarify assumptions. He doubted more and more the very plausibility of his hypothesis. His years of friendship were undermining the weekend’s farfetched ideas.

They had planned on meeting up at a little Irish bar on Third Street in San Mateo, which was a frequented gathering place for male-bonding activities.  Jeff and a couple of guys would also tag along.  He couldn’t even remember who was playing at this point, but was excited about not having to face Janine. She was becoming increasingly more annoying and difficult to live with.

Sudhir thought of asking the group for advice. It seemed like a good idea to him; and if the opportunity arose, he would do just that. The guys know Janine very well (one very well, indeed), and it would be odd to try and talk to about his marital problems, to say the least.

Sudhir arrived at the bar early and was the first one of the designated Monday night gang to show up. He ordered a single beer waiting for everyone else before starting in with the pitchers. Not very many places seem to serve a nice large pitcher of beer anymore. With the hundreds of microbrews and choices abounding most people nowadays steered toward individuality, beer connoisseurs were now as prevalent as wine snobs. Sudhir was fine with Coors Light, as his beer of choice. The crowd arrived in tandem. The table Sudhir had secured worked fine, and everyone all settled in for a night of cursing, drinking, and manly talk about the many annoying habits of everyone’s wives.

If you were able to listen in on the same circle of friends only supplanting the male figures with their counterpart female figures, the conversation would be similar in nature. Women most likely don’t understand men much better. How do we as a species cohabitate at all with our visible differences and strikingly annoying habits?

The group of gangly men meandered through halftime in a low-scoring, poorly played game and spent more effort on conversation than watching the event. There was a brief moment when Twain Harte popped up as a peripheral topic, but it was only used as a reference point and led to nothing conclusive. Sudhir did notice that one friend seemed preoccupied, and the best description he could come up with was nervous.

As the game ended, the crowd dispersed quickly. As Sudhir was reviewing the evening, he noticed that they drank very little. Everyone seemed guarded.

Sudhir did mention the desire to talk about Janine; and although the response was subdued, he did agree to go to marriage counseling. Who could say for sure if Sudhir was imposing his own delusional manifestations or if anything he was picking up was actually real? The mind plays so many tricks on you. You can convince or talk yourself out of things that are perfectly rational or absolutely crazy if given enough time. Thankfully, he did not know the answer as of yet.

Sudhir managed to drive home easily enough. Since everyone normally stopped the alcohol flow at the end of the third quarter, he felt like he was following his civic duty by not driving while inebriated. He was a law enforcement official after all; and if he didn’t obey the law, then who would?

The odd thing about the West Coast was on Sundays and Mondays when football was in full swing, the games are all played at times not normally associated with drinking, beer, and cursing. Starting Monday night football at 5:30 p.m. is such a quick rush from work to wherever you might be going. Sunday morning at 10 a.m. was quite early to have people over if there were a specific game of interest being played on the East Coast.

It was still early when he arrived home. He took 15 minutes to tuck the kids in; and as the nightly ritual required, he got them both a glass of water and told them a quick bedtime story that he made up on the fly. As long as there was a once upon a time and a princess in it, you couldn’t really go wrong.

Janine was surprisingly quiet that evening and made it very clear when he approached her that her preference was to keep it that way. Sudhir took the subtle direction and headed off to the family room to watch some TV in his well-worn favorite chair. If this kept up much longer, you might have to start defining his chair as a bed with his sleeping in it more hours than settled in next to his wife.

He perused through random channels and with his customary glass of scotch he, for once, didn’t feel like watching anything. He bided his time until the bedroom light was extinguished. Giving Janine ample time to fall asleep, he quietly moved into the bedroom and was annoyed at her having again taken his pillow. Not wanting to rouse her, he made do with one of the less appealing alternatives.

It didn’t take him long to move into the darkened fantasyland. He rustled through the night with troubled dreams, as his once peaceful world was having trouble staying calm.