approximately
2,500 words
Guardian of the Innocent ©
by Mercedes Pecunia
July 3, 1984
Chief Editor
The
1200 Avenue of the
I
am quite certain you may have already heard about me. Tomorrow my trial is set to begin - 1 count
of kidnapping and 1 count of murder in the first degree among others. Let me begin by stating I AM NOT SORRY FOR
WHAT I DID! There you have it in case you were wondering. That seems to be the question of the hour
these days. I am not certain what will
happen to me in the future, but I can tell you that sorry son of a bitch got
what he deserved. And yes, I admit it…I
killed my husband and if I was in the same situation at a different time in
life, I would do it again.
John
and I were happily married for over 5 years in fact. I wanted a family. We had tried many times over the years to
conceive, but we were never blessed. The
doctor said my uterus would not sustain a pregnancy because it lay in an
awkwardly irreversible position and I guess he was right because it never
happened. At first, I spent more money
than we had on fertility clinics, pregnancy tests, and conception therapy. None of it worked. John and I were arguing more often, over
money and over the baby. Well, the baby
I so badly wanted. The counselor advised
us to take a break, let things settle, and then go back to the drawing board,
but that was easy for her to say.
Pictures of her 3 beautiful children hung on her wall. John suggested trying a surrogate mother, but
I wanted it to be “our” baby and not have to be disappointed if this woman had
a change of heart at the last minute.
Too many variables could go awry with that scenario. Looking back on it now, maybe things would
have turned out differently if only I had consented.
John
had some business to take care of in PA.
He had to travel there and stay for a few days. He was gone for a full week and I felt very
alone. I tried to keep myself busy with
hobbies, but I just kept mulling over the fact that I was well on my way to
forty and still remained childless. I
was depressed and it seemed no one understood what I was going through. I did not even feel like a woman anymore.
There
was a knock at the door. I opened it and
found John standing in the entrance with a huge gleaming smile. He seemed about to explode. He said, “I have a big surprise for you,
honey.” I then felt happiness for the
first time in a long time. He stepped to
the side and behind him had been standing a little girl. She was about 4 years old. “Surprise, Carla! She’s ours now.” he
continued. I cannot even begin to find
the words to express the utter joy I felt when I saw this little angel. She was wearing a pair of pink overalls and
her curly blond hair cascaded over the straps.
Her cheeks were rosy and she looked at me with those big sad brown
eyes. She was the cutest thing I had
ever seen. I was overjoyed and I
embraced John like I used to when we first got married. I picked up the little one, held her up high,
drew her close to me, and spun around in circles until my vision became
blurry. She began to giggle. It was a dream come true. I finally had my opportunity; I was a mother!
John
recounted that during his trip a hooker had propositioned him about giving him
the child in exchange for some cash. I
was amazed. She was trying to sell her
own child. He was hesitant at first, but
she insisted. She said she could no
longer take care of her. I always knew
John liked to indulge in the occasional prostitute when he was away from home
and in time, had learned to not discuss that aspect of our relationship. He explained that the woman was badly strung
out on drugs and the child had become an unnecessary burden to her. He gave her $500 and the woman gave him the
child along with her birth certificate.
I wanted to see the document myself.
John began fumbling, searching for it among his bags. Of course, he did not find it. “Maybe, it fell out of my briefcase at the
hotel” he reasoned. He picked up the receiver
of the telephone to inquire, but they had not found it. We knew if he had lost it at the airport, it
was hopeless. It was of no consequence
however; it was not very difficult to bribe a lawyer friend to falsify a
document or two in case of emergency.
I
decided to name her Grace. She had come
to us through the grace of God. I bathed
her and made up a bed for her using the mattress from the crib inside the
nursery I had spent years decorating.
She was too grown to fit inside the crib itself so I lay the mattress on
the rug. The next day, I took her
shopping for a twin bed and clothing in addition to other essentials. She looked adorable in her blue and white
checkerboard dress and her little white socks with the patent leather
shoes. I had styled her hair in pigtails
and bought her many pretty ribbons matching all her new outfits. I even purchased a car booster seat for her
to be safe on our trip back.
A few weeks passed and Grace
began to call me ‘Momma’. I would lose
myself looking into those naively wholehearted eyes of hers. I was completely under her spell. All I wanted was to be near her always, but
my sabbatical was coming to an end. I
would have to return to work and I needed a sitter for Grace. I wanted to hire a nanny, but John said we
could not afford it and that he did not want a total stranger having free reign
of our house. I was forced to
concede. Eventually, we compromised for
a daycare center. I chose the best I
could find.
A
few more months passed and work lost all meaning. Well, not work itself, but doting on other
people’s children. It did not take long
for the school year to end. I was now
back home full-time with Grace. She had
grown so quickly and her reading was coming along nicely. She breezed through every age appropriate
book I brought home and had mastered phonics with relative ease. Everything was perfect and I had finally
found the glee that had eluded me for so long.
John even began volunteering to stay home with Grace more often. He was hesitant at first; Grace had not
entirely warmed up to him yet. I began
going out with friends more often, but my heart always remained with Grace.
I
returned from the movies one evening. I
had gone out with and old friend who was in town visiting. I had lost contact with her over the
years. It was good to see her, but I
hurried back. I wanted to be there to
say ‘good night’ to my baby. I went inside
the house and called out to John. I then
called out Grace’s name. No one
answered. I looked about, but they were
nowhere in sight. I heard a noise coming
from the backyard and the sound that the door leading from the garage into the
basement made when it shut closed. I
turned the knob of the door inside the house leading to the basement. It was locked. “John, are you down there? Where is Grace?” I
frantically called out. I instinctively
knew something was terribly wrong!
I
had to go around the house and into the basement through the garage. I found John hanging the shovel on the hook
on the wall, but he had not noticed I had entered the room. He was a mess. His clothes were dirty. Sweat was running down his face and his hair
was all disheveled. He saw me then and
gazed at me. I could tell by the
expression on his face…something WAS wrong.
“What is it, John?” He explained he had fallen asleep on the couch and
left the door unlocked. Somehow Grace
had gone outside. He said he searched
the entire neighborhood for her for many hours, but there was no trace of
her. “What?” I was incredulous. “How could this happen?” I exclaimed as the
tears welled in my eyes and that choking feeling of grief commenced. “Don’t worry, honey, we’ll find her.” This statement gave me no solace. “I am calling the police,” I announced. He blocked my path. “Carla, you know very well we can’t do
that. They are gonna be asking lots of
questions about how Grace came to live with us.
Don’t be foolish you could ruin both of us. Carla, think about it.” He locked the door of the garage and ran
upstairs. I stood there for a few more
minutes. How could this have happened? I
longed for it to be just a terrible dream.
I
hoped. I prayed every night, “Please let
Grace find her way home.” Every time I
heard the doorbell and ran to open the door, I was disappointed to find someone
else standing there. I felt as if I was
becoming unhinged. I just did not know
if I was strong enough to make it through THIS! More often, I found myself
cleaning everything in the house neurotically.
It took my mind off of things for a few moments, but once the
purification episode was over, it was back to reality and the loss of my
baby. I stepped into John’s closet. He was quite messy at times and this closet
was just plain disgusting. I organized
everything in sight and saw the sneakers he had worn that fateful night. I picked one up. It was horrible. Everything came rushing back. Absentmindedly, I dropped the running shoe on
its side. I needed a drink and
unsteadily hurried downstairs and poured myself some scotch. I gulped it down, but I needed another one,
or maybe two. I filled the glass and
began making my way upstairs again. I
was about to shut the closet door when I noticed the stains on the bottom of
the shoe that had fallen. I am no
forensics expert, but even I knew what it was…it was dried blood. It was painfully obvious John had done
something to make Grace disappear.
I
kept drinking heavily that night. I was
glad John would not return home. I
contemplated ending my own life, but I was too intoxicated to make my way to
the kitchen and select a knife to carry out the deed. I attempted to remain logical. I began thinking back to when John was being
investigated in the disappearance of a classmate in college when we first got
married. They could never prove he was
involved and they never found her body.
I should have known. He was so
smug every time he spoke to the cops. He
assured me he would not spend a single day in prison and he was right. I am sure they knew he was guilty and now, it
had been confirmed for me, too. Bastard!
How could I be so stupid? I blamed myself for Grace’s death, but I had to make
this right.
John
would be home the next evening so I had to act quickly. I visited my brother, the pharmacist, who
lived a few miles away. He had a
collection of toxic herbs and other deadly preparations. This was his one obsession. My brother had spent many years adding
various poisons and toxins to his medley from all different parts of the
world. I managed to distract him long
enough to borrow some dried Aconite root.
I thought I was caught when a stack of magazines collapsed from one of
the shelves, but I was fortunate, he did not hear the commotion from the next
room. I continued placing the toxin
inside one of the empty glass vials, which were stacked nearby. I was careful to grasp them gently with the
tongues. My brother had schooled me well
about the effects of mostly everything in the jars. I carefully crushed this root once I got home
and poured the powder in moderate amounts with a small scoop inside the bourbon
bottle until all the powder was now diluted.
This was John’s beverage of choice.
I knew the bourbon would mask the taste of the herb. From what I remembered, this drug produced
sleep and eventually stopped the heart even in small dosages. It was that lethal. It was perfect!
I
packed my bags and as I chose which personal effects I would take with me, I
had no second thought. There was no
revelation and no remorse. I just kept
pondering all the horrific deeds he must have performed on poor innocent little
Grace. It infuriated me, but I tried to
remain cool-headed. It was the only way
to avoid making costly mistakes. I was
almost there! I could not fail, not now.
I placed the luggage in the trunk of the car. I was planning to drive to some obscure small
town somewhere in the
It
took several months for the police to track me down. They found me when I began to run out of paper
currency and had no choice, but to use a credit card at an airport. I was so close! I knew that was a grave
error, but as I stated before, I really did not care to run forever or to claim
the glory of escaping after committing the perfect crime. I had already accomplished what I had set out
to do and that made me whole.
I hope my story will prove quite lucrative for you, Sir. I just wanted the opportunity to clear my name and I am hoping you will help me in this respect. I really do not think the defense attorney will allow me the same courtesy.
Truthfully,
Carla Sherman
Guardian
of the Innocent
P.S: Oh,
and one more thing: I can assure you with the utmost certainty that the police
will never find Grace’s body…just like before!