A Second Shot by Joe Giordano
A drunk driver kills a man with his car, but the man comes back to life.
Navigating through a mental fog created by a surfeit of bourbon, I tore around a winding Texas wooded road and triggered my worst nightmare. A guy suddenly appeared on a blind curve. Although I swerved, slamming on my brakes, I heard the thud of my bumper smacking into him.
"Oh, shit."
My eyes riveted on the rearview mirror and revealed the crumpled heap of a man lying on the asphalt beyond the car's skid marks. He didn't move, and my angst spiked. Swallowing, my mouth suddenly dry, I reluctantly left the car, approaching the body on shaky legs. Standing over him, I almost retched. I prayed even for a groan of pain, some indication that he was still alive, but no. Fear chilled my heart.
What was I going to do?
Blond, likely in his forties, the guy's bloodstained body was folded at the waist like a jackknife. I crouched down and placed my fingers on his neck, desperately feeling for a pulse. Nothing.
Damn.
He was dead. I rose and looked around. No witnesses. I thought to jump back into my car and take off but shook that off. This was an accident. If I ran from the scene, I'd be committing a crime. Traces of the man's DNA might be found on my dented bumper. I'd be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life, waiting for some detective's knock.
I blew out a breath.
Although I was certain he was dead, I had to get him to a doctor. 9-1-1 would take forever. I swung open the passenger-side door, then dragged the man to the car and crammed him inside. Back in the driver's seat, my hands were sweating as I clutched the steering wheel. The realization that I'd killed a human being made me want to weep. I headed for the nearest town and a clinic or hospital. My mind whirred through what likely came next. The police, probably a small-town sheriff with God knows what level of competence, would be involved. I'd probably be arrested. I'd need a lawyer, someone to bail me out, but who?
Suddenly, the guy sat up beside me and asked in a female voice, "Can't this goddamn car go any faster?"
My mouth dropped open as my head swiveled repeatedly between my passenger's bloody face and the road. "You're alive? Thank God."
The female voice spoke again. "I gave this body a boost, but if we don't get to a hospital, the heart will stop again. Shit. Watch the road."
My tires had slid off the black tar into the dirt and I momentarily lost control, but luckily steered back onto the pavement.
"You ass," she said, "killing this guy once wasn't enough for you?"
Shocked, I asked, "You're a woman?"
"Jesus Christ," she said sardonically, "I've been picked up by the village idiot." He turned sharply toward me. "Obviously, I'm a woman inside the body of this male."
I was having trouble processing as I drove. "How the hell...?"
"Just drive." He pointed. "Make a right turn."
I took the corner and said, "I don't understand what happened."
She spoke slowly, like I wore a dunce cap. "The guy was dead. I jumped in and kick-started his heart."
"You're a female ghost?"
"Bingo."
"How is that possible?"
"What, are you some sort of misogynist? You think a female spirit can't occupy a male body?"
I sputtered. "I didn't mean..."
"You've been drinking?" she said snidely. "I can smell it on your breath."
"I didn't have that much."
"You boozed enough to kill the guy. You won't pass a breathalyzer. Vehicular homicide in Texas carries a twenty-year sentence. If I keep this body alive, you owe me. Big time."
I gulped. "Yeah. Okay."
My mind spun. Was I dreaming? Could the accident have scrambled the guy's brain and given him a female voice? Sounded crazy, but a woman's ghost possessing his body? Hoping to find some rational explanation, I began with a question. "What's your name?"
"Marlena." She fumbled through the guy's pocket and opened his wallet. "His name is Charles Barnes. Married to a chunky redhead. Three kids. Two boys and a girl." She gazed up at me. "Once we hit town, the hospital is on the right."
"You're from around here?"
"Why are you chatting me up? You want my phone number?"
"I just..."
"What's your name?"
"Roger Moran."
"I'm Texas born and bred, Roger."
"How did you die?" I asked.
She hesitated before responding. "Suicide. I'd shot my cheating-bastard boyfriend and the cops had me cornered. The prospect of prison petrified me."
"Wow."
She said in a remorseful tone, "The moment I triggered the bullet to my brain, I regretted my decision."
"How the hell do you decide to just hang around rather than go to wherever the afterlife takes you?"
"Hell is right. Suicides don't get to sit on a cloud and listen to harp music." She continued in an exasperated tone. "Look, Roger. I don't have time to give you a metaphysical lecture."
"You shot yourself on that road?"
She blew out a breath. "In town. I spent a year trying to happen upon a freshly deceased woman's corpse I could occupy. I got to the point that I was sending mental telepathy signals to girls that they should stick their fingers into a socket, so I could grab an electrocuted body."
My eyes widened. "You're pretty desperate."
"You try hanging out as a ghost. Boring. I was on my way to the next burg, hoping my luck would change, when you smacked Barnes with your car. I made an executive decision, figuring I'd have a better chance of securing a female body if I could walk among the living."
"You'll abandon Barnes?"
Marlena deflected my question. "After you get me to the hospital, don't run off. I'll need you after I'm patched up." She pointed. "See it?"
I pulled into the parking lot and up to the "Emergency" sign above sliding double doors. Running inside, I got a couple of guys in blue scrubs to wheel a gurney up to my car and watched as they rolled Barnes inside. I followed until a doctor asked, "You family?"
"I hit him with my car."
"You need to wait outside."
The shock of the accident had given me a deep chill, and I couldn't get warm. Inside the waiting room, a nurse saw me hugging myself and gave me a blanket.
Marlena's revelations roiled my brain, but the thought of the cops showing up got me to the gift shop to purchase mints to mask my alcohol-smelling breath.
About an hour later, the doctor appeared, informing me that Mr. Barnes was in stable, yet critical condition.
"Most people in his shape die before they can get to a hospital," he said. "He was lucky, and your quick action saved his life."
I nodded, clearly not wishing to tell him about Marlena.
After some time, a white Stetson with a gray mustache and heavy jowls, dressed in a light gray uniform, appeared in the waiting room door. He introduced himself as Sheriff Parker.
He asked in a down-home accent, "What happened?"
I described my car hitting Barnes.
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You'd been drinking?"
I lied. "No."
"The odor of breath mints tells me different."
The excitement of what had happened and the hours passing cleared my head. I expected to come under the legal limit, so I submitted to a breathalyzer test, which fortunately I passed.
Parker said, "We can back calculate to the time of the accident to determine if you were legally drunk. As Mr. Barnes survived, I'll wait to hear his testimony before deciding what to do with you."
I dreaded his next step but breathed with relief that I wasn't put immediately under arrest.
"You haven't spoken to Mr. Barnes?" I asked.
"For some reason, he lost his voice. The doctor said it's probably temporary."
Marlena wasn't talking for obvious reasons.
During the next few hours, Barnes's wife and three kids visited him. She was tearful when she left. Afterward, I approached the doctor. He hesitated, then allowed me to see him.
The hospital room smelled of disinfectant. Barnes had a stitched gash on his forehead and his neck was in a brace, but the nurses had cleaned away the blood and he looked good, particularly for a dead guy.
Marlena motioned for me to close the door so she couldn't be heard.
"I'm getting out of here."
Surprised, I asked, "You're well enough?"
"Serviceable for what comes next," she said throwing off the sheet. "I'm not enduring another visit from that redhead wife. She slobbered me with kisses like a faithful dog. I couldn't even protest, not wanting her to hear my voice."
"Where are we going?"
"To procure me a female body."
"Look," I said, suspecting what Marlena had in mind, "I'm not helping you do something illegal."
"Mr. Outstanding Citizen," she said in a mocking tone, "you want me to tell Parker how drunk you were when you hit Barnes?"
I grimaced, keeping silent.
She continued. "Like I said, let's go."
Marlena dressed in Barnes's clothes, then threw a blanket around his head like a shawl obscuring his face, and I smuggled him out of the hospital.
Inside my car, I said, "When Parker discovers us both gone, he'll be suspicious."
"I'm hoping he'll decide we're a gay couple and have taken off."
"You expect him to believe that Barnes is gay? With a wife and three kids?"
Marlena spoke sarcastically. "Were you born under a toadstool? Happens all the time."
"And Barnes's wife?"
"She'll move on with less grief than if her husband had died."
"She'll be bitter that he ran off with another guy."
"Life is tough," Marlena said breezily, "but let's talk practical. You need to give me a financial stake to start a new life."
"How much?" I asked with some trepidation.
"Ten thousand. To start."
I began to protest, but Marlena raised Barnes's palm and said, "Give me money, or I'll write Parker a damning letter about you. Anyway, you owe me. Remember?"
"All I can raise is three thousand."
Barnes's eyes narrowed and Marlena said, "If you're holding out on me, you won't like the consequences."
I blew out a frustrated breath and changed the subject. "What's your plan to procure a woman's body?"
"We'll drive around until I spot a suitable candidate and you'll hit her with your car. You're good at that."
I sputtered. "No way I'm committing murder for you."
Barnes smiled. Marlena said, "Just kidding. You'd probably wreck the body. Get me the money, and you can take off. I'll be back in touch when I need more dough."
"Can't you have some sort of sex change procedure and remain Barnes?"
"Look at this face," she said in an incredulous tone, "you think you could turn this guy into an attractive woman? If I get a second shot at life, I'm not living it ugly."
She had a point, but I worried what she was capable of doing.
She chuckled. "Besides, I like having a penis. I never would have thought, but you learn something new every day."
I blurted out my suspicion. "You intend to kill a woman and possess her body?"
"None of your business."
"If you leave Barnes's body, can you bring his soul back?"
"After you killed him, Barnes's spirit disappeared like a fart on a griddle. That redhead must have been a terror to live with. He ain't coming back."
"What happens to him when you leave his body?"
"He'll be dead, and the doctors will likely conclude that he expired from injuries sustained during the car accident. Vehicular homicide comes back on the table, particularly if I write that letter to Parker revealing you were drunk."
I clenched my fists in frustration, but, like it or not, I had to comply with Marlena's demands.
She insisted we check into a sleazy motel. I observed a couple of female sex workers hanging around.
The next day, we went to a branch of my bank and I closed out my savings account, giving Marlena the cash.
After she counted the three thousand dollars, she said, "Okay. Get lost. I'll contact you when I need more money. In the meantime, remember how I can hurt you."
I frowned at the threat but dropped her back at the motel and drove away. I had to get out from under Marlena's blackmail, but how? I decided to spy on her, perhaps gaining leverage by catching her in an illegal act.
I didn't need to wait long. That evening, Barnes solicited an attractive brunette, bringing her back to his motel room.
As soon as they closed the door, I sneaked up to the window and peeked inside. I couldn't hear what was said, but I deduced a negotiation was taking place. The brunette nodded and undressed. Barnes produced a clear plastic bag and put it over her head as he mounted her from the rear.
What the hell?
If I didn't know Marlena's desire to procure a freshly deceased woman's corpse, I could've imagined the brunette had agreed to participate in some sort of erotic asphyxiation trick. I grabbed my head in frustration at what to do. Through the glass, I could see that the woman was suffocating. She struggled to get out of Barnes's grasp.
I had to save her. Kicking in a door looks easy on TV, but I nearly broke my foot before the lock finally gave way. I made enough noise that the motel manager left his office and yelled at me to stop. The woman was limp, the bag still covering her face, with Barnes on top of her. I grabbed a lamp and smacked him in the head. He fell sideways off the bed and crumpled to the floor.
The brunette revived and tore off the plastic bag. She shouted at me. "What the hell did you do? He was going to pay me five hundred bucks. He showed me the money."
I protested. "He was killing you."
"Bullshit. You dumbass."
Barnes hadn't moved. The motel manager entered and seeing him on the floor said, "I'm calling the police," before fleeing back to his office.
The brunette said, "I'm not sticking around." She dressed quickly, then before I could stop her, she rifled Barnes's pocket, grabbed his wad of cash, and took off.
Barnes remained still, and I bent to him. I felt for a pulse. Nothing.
I heard an approaching police siren.
Holy shit.
"Marlena," I called out, "stop fooling around. Revive Barnes before the police get here."
Barnes didn't stir.
"Marlena, what are you doing?"
I was yelling like a madman when the cops arrived. I was arrested, cuffed, and transported to the police station.
"I want a lawyer," I said.
As I had no funds and knew nobody in town, a public defender was sitting next to me when Sheriff Parker confronted me inside a foul-smelling interrogation room.
My lawyer had advised me to listen, so Parker began.
"Mr. Moran, you'll be charged with murder. You first struck Charles Barnes with your car, and when that didn't kill him, you smuggled him out of the hospital before striking him with a lamp, finishing the job."
"I had no motive. I'd never even met Barnes."
"When we learn your reason for killing him, we may bump up the charges to premeditated murder." Parker had an evil grin. "You know, Mr. Moran, Texas has the death penalty."
My lawyer tried to dissuade me from speaking, but the unfairness of my predicament caused me to blurt. "I hit Barnes by accident, then took him to the hospital. How could you construe my saving him as a desire to murder him?"
Parker said, "I admit, not all the pieces fit together perfectly, but you hit him with your car, then finished him off with the lamp."
"He was attempting to murder a woman."
"She hasn't come forward to support your allegation."
"She's a sex worker and probably doesn't want to get into trouble."
"Barnes had a wife and three kids. Why would he want to kill a prostitute?"
I took a deep breath before spilling. My story was the truth, even if it sounded crazy, and I had to get it off my chest.
"After my car hit Barnes, he was possessed by a female ghost. She wanted to leave him for a woman's body, so she needed a fresh corpse. She intended to use Barnes's strength to kill a sex worker. When I saw the woman suffocating, I broke into the motel room and hit him. I didn't expect the blow to kill him, only to save the woman."
Parker and my lawyer exchanged glances before the Sheriff said, "Mr. Moran, if you think a Texas jury is going to let you off due to an insanity plea, I'm here to tell you that this ghost story you've concocted smells like bullshit to me."
Parker abruptly ended his questioning and left. I was arraigned. Without money for bail, I was remanded, jailed to await my trial.
After a month stewing in my cell, I was informed that I had a visitor. The brunette woman from the motel room sat across from me behind a pane of Plexiglas. We each grabbed a phone to speak.
I asked, "Marlena?"
She smiled. "Roger, prison has smartened you up."
I puffed out a long breath. "I've had time to think. What's your game?"
"I need money. If you can arrange to get me ten thousand dollars, I'll come forward and support your allegation that Barnes was trying to kill me."
"I'm sitting in jail because I can't make bail. I don't have any money."
She frowned. "Bad answer, Roger." She placed a thoughtful finger to her lips and said, "You know, perhaps you haven't been in prison long enough for your innovative juices to flow. I suggest you reflect on your future and see if you can't come up with a better solution." Before she hung up the phone, she said, "I'll be back."
The guard who returned me to my cell had a buzz cut. Before he walked away, I said, "I have a request."
"Really? What's that?"
"If I'm found guilty of murder and condemned to a lethal injection, I'd ask a favor."
"We no longer give condemned men the choice of a last meal."
"Not that," I said. "If after the first injection, I wake up, and my voice sounds like a woman, give me a second shot."
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| Image generated with OpenAI |
"Oh, shit."
My eyes riveted on the rearview mirror and revealed the crumpled heap of a man lying on the asphalt beyond the car's skid marks. He didn't move, and my angst spiked. Swallowing, my mouth suddenly dry, I reluctantly left the car, approaching the body on shaky legs. Standing over him, I almost retched. I prayed even for a groan of pain, some indication that he was still alive, but no. Fear chilled my heart.
What was I going to do?
Blond, likely in his forties, the guy's bloodstained body was folded at the waist like a jackknife. I crouched down and placed my fingers on his neck, desperately feeling for a pulse. Nothing.
Damn.
He was dead. I rose and looked around. No witnesses. I thought to jump back into my car and take off but shook that off. This was an accident. If I ran from the scene, I'd be committing a crime. Traces of the man's DNA might be found on my dented bumper. I'd be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life, waiting for some detective's knock.
I blew out a breath.
Although I was certain he was dead, I had to get him to a doctor. 9-1-1 would take forever. I swung open the passenger-side door, then dragged the man to the car and crammed him inside. Back in the driver's seat, my hands were sweating as I clutched the steering wheel. The realization that I'd killed a human being made me want to weep. I headed for the nearest town and a clinic or hospital. My mind whirred through what likely came next. The police, probably a small-town sheriff with God knows what level of competence, would be involved. I'd probably be arrested. I'd need a lawyer, someone to bail me out, but who?
Suddenly, the guy sat up beside me and asked in a female voice, "Can't this goddamn car go any faster?"
My mouth dropped open as my head swiveled repeatedly between my passenger's bloody face and the road. "You're alive? Thank God."
The female voice spoke again. "I gave this body a boost, but if we don't get to a hospital, the heart will stop again. Shit. Watch the road."
My tires had slid off the black tar into the dirt and I momentarily lost control, but luckily steered back onto the pavement.
"You ass," she said, "killing this guy once wasn't enough for you?"
Shocked, I asked, "You're a woman?"
"Jesus Christ," she said sardonically, "I've been picked up by the village idiot." He turned sharply toward me. "Obviously, I'm a woman inside the body of this male."
I was having trouble processing as I drove. "How the hell...?"
"Just drive." He pointed. "Make a right turn."
I took the corner and said, "I don't understand what happened."
She spoke slowly, like I wore a dunce cap. "The guy was dead. I jumped in and kick-started his heart."
"You're a female ghost?"
"Bingo."
"How is that possible?"
"What, are you some sort of misogynist? You think a female spirit can't occupy a male body?"
I sputtered. "I didn't mean..."
"You've been drinking?" she said snidely. "I can smell it on your breath."
"I didn't have that much."
"You boozed enough to kill the guy. You won't pass a breathalyzer. Vehicular homicide in Texas carries a twenty-year sentence. If I keep this body alive, you owe me. Big time."
I gulped. "Yeah. Okay."
My mind spun. Was I dreaming? Could the accident have scrambled the guy's brain and given him a female voice? Sounded crazy, but a woman's ghost possessing his body? Hoping to find some rational explanation, I began with a question. "What's your name?"
"Marlena." She fumbled through the guy's pocket and opened his wallet. "His name is Charles Barnes. Married to a chunky redhead. Three kids. Two boys and a girl." She gazed up at me. "Once we hit town, the hospital is on the right."
"You're from around here?"
"Why are you chatting me up? You want my phone number?"
"I just..."
"What's your name?"
"Roger Moran."
"I'm Texas born and bred, Roger."
"How did you die?" I asked.
She hesitated before responding. "Suicide. I'd shot my cheating-bastard boyfriend and the cops had me cornered. The prospect of prison petrified me."
"Wow."
She said in a remorseful tone, "The moment I triggered the bullet to my brain, I regretted my decision."
"How the hell do you decide to just hang around rather than go to wherever the afterlife takes you?"
"Hell is right. Suicides don't get to sit on a cloud and listen to harp music." She continued in an exasperated tone. "Look, Roger. I don't have time to give you a metaphysical lecture."
"You shot yourself on that road?"
She blew out a breath. "In town. I spent a year trying to happen upon a freshly deceased woman's corpse I could occupy. I got to the point that I was sending mental telepathy signals to girls that they should stick their fingers into a socket, so I could grab an electrocuted body."
My eyes widened. "You're pretty desperate."
"You try hanging out as a ghost. Boring. I was on my way to the next burg, hoping my luck would change, when you smacked Barnes with your car. I made an executive decision, figuring I'd have a better chance of securing a female body if I could walk among the living."
"You'll abandon Barnes?"
Marlena deflected my question. "After you get me to the hospital, don't run off. I'll need you after I'm patched up." She pointed. "See it?"
I pulled into the parking lot and up to the "Emergency" sign above sliding double doors. Running inside, I got a couple of guys in blue scrubs to wheel a gurney up to my car and watched as they rolled Barnes inside. I followed until a doctor asked, "You family?"
"I hit him with my car."
"You need to wait outside."
The shock of the accident had given me a deep chill, and I couldn't get warm. Inside the waiting room, a nurse saw me hugging myself and gave me a blanket.
Marlena's revelations roiled my brain, but the thought of the cops showing up got me to the gift shop to purchase mints to mask my alcohol-smelling breath.
About an hour later, the doctor appeared, informing me that Mr. Barnes was in stable, yet critical condition.
"Most people in his shape die before they can get to a hospital," he said. "He was lucky, and your quick action saved his life."
I nodded, clearly not wishing to tell him about Marlena.
After some time, a white Stetson with a gray mustache and heavy jowls, dressed in a light gray uniform, appeared in the waiting room door. He introduced himself as Sheriff Parker.
He asked in a down-home accent, "What happened?"
I described my car hitting Barnes.
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You'd been drinking?"
I lied. "No."
"The odor of breath mints tells me different."
The excitement of what had happened and the hours passing cleared my head. I expected to come under the legal limit, so I submitted to a breathalyzer test, which fortunately I passed.
Parker said, "We can back calculate to the time of the accident to determine if you were legally drunk. As Mr. Barnes survived, I'll wait to hear his testimony before deciding what to do with you."
I dreaded his next step but breathed with relief that I wasn't put immediately under arrest.
"You haven't spoken to Mr. Barnes?" I asked.
"For some reason, he lost his voice. The doctor said it's probably temporary."
Marlena wasn't talking for obvious reasons.
During the next few hours, Barnes's wife and three kids visited him. She was tearful when she left. Afterward, I approached the doctor. He hesitated, then allowed me to see him.
The hospital room smelled of disinfectant. Barnes had a stitched gash on his forehead and his neck was in a brace, but the nurses had cleaned away the blood and he looked good, particularly for a dead guy.
Marlena motioned for me to close the door so she couldn't be heard.
"I'm getting out of here."
Surprised, I asked, "You're well enough?"
"Serviceable for what comes next," she said throwing off the sheet. "I'm not enduring another visit from that redhead wife. She slobbered me with kisses like a faithful dog. I couldn't even protest, not wanting her to hear my voice."
"Where are we going?"
"To procure me a female body."
"Look," I said, suspecting what Marlena had in mind, "I'm not helping you do something illegal."
"Mr. Outstanding Citizen," she said in a mocking tone, "you want me to tell Parker how drunk you were when you hit Barnes?"
I grimaced, keeping silent.
She continued. "Like I said, let's go."
Marlena dressed in Barnes's clothes, then threw a blanket around his head like a shawl obscuring his face, and I smuggled him out of the hospital.
Inside my car, I said, "When Parker discovers us both gone, he'll be suspicious."
"I'm hoping he'll decide we're a gay couple and have taken off."
"You expect him to believe that Barnes is gay? With a wife and three kids?"
Marlena spoke sarcastically. "Were you born under a toadstool? Happens all the time."
"And Barnes's wife?"
"She'll move on with less grief than if her husband had died."
"She'll be bitter that he ran off with another guy."
"Life is tough," Marlena said breezily, "but let's talk practical. You need to give me a financial stake to start a new life."
"How much?" I asked with some trepidation.
"Ten thousand. To start."
I began to protest, but Marlena raised Barnes's palm and said, "Give me money, or I'll write Parker a damning letter about you. Anyway, you owe me. Remember?"
"All I can raise is three thousand."
Barnes's eyes narrowed and Marlena said, "If you're holding out on me, you won't like the consequences."
I blew out a frustrated breath and changed the subject. "What's your plan to procure a woman's body?"
"We'll drive around until I spot a suitable candidate and you'll hit her with your car. You're good at that."
I sputtered. "No way I'm committing murder for you."
Barnes smiled. Marlena said, "Just kidding. You'd probably wreck the body. Get me the money, and you can take off. I'll be back in touch when I need more dough."
"Can't you have some sort of sex change procedure and remain Barnes?"
"Look at this face," she said in an incredulous tone, "you think you could turn this guy into an attractive woman? If I get a second shot at life, I'm not living it ugly."
She had a point, but I worried what she was capable of doing.
She chuckled. "Besides, I like having a penis. I never would have thought, but you learn something new every day."
I blurted out my suspicion. "You intend to kill a woman and possess her body?"
"None of your business."
"If you leave Barnes's body, can you bring his soul back?"
"After you killed him, Barnes's spirit disappeared like a fart on a griddle. That redhead must have been a terror to live with. He ain't coming back."
"What happens to him when you leave his body?"
"He'll be dead, and the doctors will likely conclude that he expired from injuries sustained during the car accident. Vehicular homicide comes back on the table, particularly if I write that letter to Parker revealing you were drunk."
I clenched my fists in frustration, but, like it or not, I had to comply with Marlena's demands.
She insisted we check into a sleazy motel. I observed a couple of female sex workers hanging around.
The next day, we went to a branch of my bank and I closed out my savings account, giving Marlena the cash.
After she counted the three thousand dollars, she said, "Okay. Get lost. I'll contact you when I need more money. In the meantime, remember how I can hurt you."
I frowned at the threat but dropped her back at the motel and drove away. I had to get out from under Marlena's blackmail, but how? I decided to spy on her, perhaps gaining leverage by catching her in an illegal act.
I didn't need to wait long. That evening, Barnes solicited an attractive brunette, bringing her back to his motel room.
As soon as they closed the door, I sneaked up to the window and peeked inside. I couldn't hear what was said, but I deduced a negotiation was taking place. The brunette nodded and undressed. Barnes produced a clear plastic bag and put it over her head as he mounted her from the rear.
What the hell?
If I didn't know Marlena's desire to procure a freshly deceased woman's corpse, I could've imagined the brunette had agreed to participate in some sort of erotic asphyxiation trick. I grabbed my head in frustration at what to do. Through the glass, I could see that the woman was suffocating. She struggled to get out of Barnes's grasp.
I had to save her. Kicking in a door looks easy on TV, but I nearly broke my foot before the lock finally gave way. I made enough noise that the motel manager left his office and yelled at me to stop. The woman was limp, the bag still covering her face, with Barnes on top of her. I grabbed a lamp and smacked him in the head. He fell sideways off the bed and crumpled to the floor.
The brunette revived and tore off the plastic bag. She shouted at me. "What the hell did you do? He was going to pay me five hundred bucks. He showed me the money."
I protested. "He was killing you."
"Bullshit. You dumbass."
Barnes hadn't moved. The motel manager entered and seeing him on the floor said, "I'm calling the police," before fleeing back to his office.
The brunette said, "I'm not sticking around." She dressed quickly, then before I could stop her, she rifled Barnes's pocket, grabbed his wad of cash, and took off.
Barnes remained still, and I bent to him. I felt for a pulse. Nothing.
I heard an approaching police siren.
Holy shit.
"Marlena," I called out, "stop fooling around. Revive Barnes before the police get here."
Barnes didn't stir.
"Marlena, what are you doing?"
I was yelling like a madman when the cops arrived. I was arrested, cuffed, and transported to the police station.
"I want a lawyer," I said.
As I had no funds and knew nobody in town, a public defender was sitting next to me when Sheriff Parker confronted me inside a foul-smelling interrogation room.
My lawyer had advised me to listen, so Parker began.
"Mr. Moran, you'll be charged with murder. You first struck Charles Barnes with your car, and when that didn't kill him, you smuggled him out of the hospital before striking him with a lamp, finishing the job."
"I had no motive. I'd never even met Barnes."
"When we learn your reason for killing him, we may bump up the charges to premeditated murder." Parker had an evil grin. "You know, Mr. Moran, Texas has the death penalty."
My lawyer tried to dissuade me from speaking, but the unfairness of my predicament caused me to blurt. "I hit Barnes by accident, then took him to the hospital. How could you construe my saving him as a desire to murder him?"
Parker said, "I admit, not all the pieces fit together perfectly, but you hit him with your car, then finished him off with the lamp."
"He was attempting to murder a woman."
"She hasn't come forward to support your allegation."
"She's a sex worker and probably doesn't want to get into trouble."
"Barnes had a wife and three kids. Why would he want to kill a prostitute?"
I took a deep breath before spilling. My story was the truth, even if it sounded crazy, and I had to get it off my chest.
"After my car hit Barnes, he was possessed by a female ghost. She wanted to leave him for a woman's body, so she needed a fresh corpse. She intended to use Barnes's strength to kill a sex worker. When I saw the woman suffocating, I broke into the motel room and hit him. I didn't expect the blow to kill him, only to save the woman."
Parker and my lawyer exchanged glances before the Sheriff said, "Mr. Moran, if you think a Texas jury is going to let you off due to an insanity plea, I'm here to tell you that this ghost story you've concocted smells like bullshit to me."
Parker abruptly ended his questioning and left. I was arraigned. Without money for bail, I was remanded, jailed to await my trial.
After a month stewing in my cell, I was informed that I had a visitor. The brunette woman from the motel room sat across from me behind a pane of Plexiglas. We each grabbed a phone to speak.
I asked, "Marlena?"
She smiled. "Roger, prison has smartened you up."
I puffed out a long breath. "I've had time to think. What's your game?"
"I need money. If you can arrange to get me ten thousand dollars, I'll come forward and support your allegation that Barnes was trying to kill me."
"I'm sitting in jail because I can't make bail. I don't have any money."
She frowned. "Bad answer, Roger." She placed a thoughtful finger to her lips and said, "You know, perhaps you haven't been in prison long enough for your innovative juices to flow. I suggest you reflect on your future and see if you can't come up with a better solution." Before she hung up the phone, she said, "I'll be back."
The guard who returned me to my cell had a buzz cut. Before he walked away, I said, "I have a request."
"Really? What's that?"
"If I'm found guilty of murder and condemned to a lethal injection, I'd ask a favor."
"We no longer give condemned men the choice of a last meal."
"Not that," I said. "If after the first injection, I wake up, and my voice sounds like a woman, give me a second shot."
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