Sex and Murder Magazine

By BJ Bourg

“Why are you drawing more blood?”

The nurse didn't look up from the bamboo-size needle in her gloved hands. “Doctor's orders.”

“But, I don't understand. You took my blood three weeks ago. I'm supposed to be coming in for my results.” I winced when the nurse stabbed the syringe into my vein.

“The doctor will be in with your results momentarily.”

“Why couldn't y'all give them to me over the phone?”

“A tiny thing called the law.” When she had taken enough blood to keep a family of vampires quenched for a week, the nurse capped the vials and rushed out of the room.

I glanced at my watch and shook my head. I had a meeting with my boss at three o'clock and it was already two-thirty—no way I could make it. This would really set him off. To start with, he didn't like the idea that I fought, because he said the busted lips and swollen eyes were a negative reflection on the department. Add to that the checkups every six months that were required by the Boxing Commission and the fact that I always took a vacation day on the Fridays before my fights—I was about to become an ex-cop who had better start getting some big money fights to support my wife and me.

The door swished open and Doctor McGee walked in. He pulled up a stool and sat directly in front of me.

“You coming to the fight?” I asked.

Doctor McGee just stared. After an eternal moment of silence he said, “Jerry, you're positive.”

I smiled. “Yeah, right.”

“This is deadly serious.” Doctor McGee's face was stone. He handed me a lab result form. I read it in horror.

“This is impossible!”

“Try to remain calm.” Doctor McGee placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “I'll need a list of your sexual partners.”

I lurched to my feet and moved around the room. I felt like I was on a carousel. “I haven't been with anyone other than my wife.”

“We'll need to test her, as well.”

“She's out of town on a business trip. Won't be back until next Monday.” I sank to the floor in a corner of the room.

Images of Heidi's porcelain face leaning to kiss me good-bye with her ruby lips flashed through my mind. This was her third business trip in the past four months. She never called—the classes were too long or she was too tired. Always something. I squeezed my eyes shut and buried my face in my hands. I had only been intimate with my wife, but…what about her?

Doctor McGee continued to talk, but I heard none of it. When I could move again, I rose and stumbled out of his office.

The ride home was a blur. When I walked in my house, my eyes locked on the phone like a sniper’s crosshairs. With fingers that trembled, I dialed Heidi’s cell phone number. My heart pounded in my ears like a gorilla beating a bass drum and I held my breath. “Answer, answer…”

It went directly to her voicemail. I redialed the number. Voicemail again. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Where is she? Who is she with? What is she doing?

I don’t know how long I lay there, but the sudden ringing of the phone caused me to jerk up. I pulled it to my ear without looking at the Caller ID. “Heidi? I’ve been trying to—”

“Whoa, there, Jerry,” came my boxing promoter’s coarse voice. “It’s Dub. Did you get your test results?”

The fight! I’d forgotten all about it. “Uh, not yet. They said it wasn’t ready. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Great. I’ll see you at the gym tonight.”

My mouth was dry. I’d have to cancel the fight. Everyone would ask why. The word would get out about my condition. I would lose my job…my friends…my life. I squeezed my eyes shut and bit away the burning in my jaw.

Images of Heidi being infected by another man’s poison flashed inside my head. I pounded my skull to dislodge the mental slide show, but it was no use. Heidi’s playful laughter echoed like thunder…her pale face a ghostly image against the backdrop of betrayal. How could she do this to me?

I lunged forward and threw a straight right punch to the living room wall, burying my fist to the wrist. I had to jerk hard to release my hand from the jaws of sheetrock that closed around it like a bear trap.

Blood oozed from the torn flesh on my burning knuckles. I brought my hand to my lips to suck away the burn, but froze midway. This blood is tainted!

I rushed to the sink and washed away the deadly liquid that leaked from my skin. My chest ached. My head spun. I reached above the sink and removed one of the several bottles of Taaka vodka that had been there since last year’s Christmas party. I gulped the clear liquid until I couldn’t hold my breath any longer and then stared out the window at the fading sun. My throat burned. My eyes watered.

“It’s over,” I said. “I’m dying…and my wife killed me!” I pulled the bottle to my lips until it was dry, stopping only to call Heidi’s cell phone. More voicemail.

I was into my second bottle when the phone began to ring. I staggered to the end table and lifted the Caller ID box to my face. The tiny numbers were blurred, but I recognized them…it was Dub. I dropped the box and sank to the sofa. I mumbled something I couldn’t comprehend and somewhere in the middle of it I faded off to sleep.

*****

My head ached. I pried my eyes apart and winced when my door shook from a loud knock. I rolled to the floor and crawled to the window. Peering through a crack in the shade, I saw my Lieutenant standing on the front steps. I turned to look at the clock…noon. I stared at the bottles of vodka on the floor. What the—

As suddenly as Antonio Tarver’s left hook had knocked out Roy Jones, Jr, realization hit me…I had AIDS! I clutched my stomach and doubled over. Liquid sprayed from my mouth and splashed to the floor. I tried to stop the flow with my hand, but it was no use. I heaved until my stomach turned inside out and I lay gasping on the floor.

The door rattled from more knocking. I ignored it. I didn’t know what to say…how to explain it…what to do. When I heard the car drive away, I dragged myself to the kitchen and pulled out another bottle of vodka. I slid the garbage can to the sofa and collapsed with my new best friend.

The minutes dragged by like a snail pulling a tractor tire. The phone rang on and off throughout the day, but I ignored it. First, my boss, and then Dub. And they both called again…several times each. The minutes turned into hours. Someone knocked on the door, but I didn’t even get up to look. I didn’t care. I didn’t eat. Didn't bathe.

Into the night came more phone calls, more knocks at the door. Dub left messages on my machine begging me to pick up, to go to the gym. My boss left messages saying that I’d better be deathly sick, or I’d be in trouble for not calling in. I laughed at that. What could he do to me that was worse than what Heidi had already done?

I lost count of the days. Lost count of the bottles. My beard grew like weeds during the rainy season. I began seeing things in the house…people even. Sometimes they talked to me. And sometimes, I talked back. I slept often. The floor was my friend. I'd embrace it with open limbs and the pain would gradually give way to a numb and restless slumber. I’d wake up to the pain of a broken heart that made burning in hell seem like a privilege. I’d sooth the pain with more alcohol and drift off again.

It had to be close to the end of the week when I gave up on Heidi’s cell phone. That night, I fell asleep with an empty bottle in one hand, and my pistol in the other. I dreamed about killing myself…just to make the pain go away.

*****

I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. Sunlight stabbed through the crack in the shade. I heard the sound again—keys jangling. I snatched up my pistol and peeled myself off the floor. I crawled for several feet before pushing myself to a staggering walk. When I appeared in the doorway to the living room, Heidi gasped, her eyes wide and mouth agape. "Jesus, Jerry! What happened to you?"

“Why, Heidi? How could you do this to me?”

“Do what? Baby, what's going on?”

“Don’t play stupid!”

Heidi slowly looked around the room. Bottles of vodka were strewn everywhere. The floors were stained with vomit. “What happened while I was gone?”

“What were you doing? Why wouldn’t you answer your phone?”

“My battery died. I forgot my charger.” She waved her hand around. “What the hell happened?”

“You gave me AIDS! That’s what happened! I want to know who you got it from and I want to know now!” I emphasized the last word with a gunshot to the television.

Heidi recoiled in horror as smoke and glass exploded into the air. Moving in slow motion, I kicked the television off the stand. Heidi yelped. I flipped the coffee table that stood between us. I screamed like a man possessed, but the words were muffled in my ears. Everything was a blur--my actions, my words. I fired my gun again, and again. The explosions sounded like pops.

The room began to spin...faster and faster. I cursed and kicked and smashed the furniture. I became dizzy. I leaned over to steady myself and the room screeched to a stop. I stood hunched over, staring at my wife. “How could you do this to me?” I wailed. “How could you do—”

Sirens screamed outside. They drew ever closer. Shit! The neighbors must have called 911. I glared at Heidi. “I guess I have some explaining to do, don’t I?” I walked toward the door and my heart jumped when the phone rang. I nearly shot it.

Without thinking, I snatched it up and cleared my throat. “Hello, everything’s fine over here, Officer.”

“Jerry Taylor? Doctor McGee here. I've got great news. You're clean. We won't need to test your wife.”

I stared at the ransacked living room as his words seeped through the alcoholic daze in which I’d been living. I stared at my wife. “What did you say?”

“As I explained to you in my office last week, we ran an ELISA test initially, which is a very sensitive test. We went ahead and used the Western Blot assay as a confirmation test and, just as I expected, the results came back negative.”

“How can that be? You told me I was positive! How can that test say I was positive if I wasn't?" I walked to my wife. I wanted to hold her, to tell her everything would be okay.

“I explained that to you. Don’t you remember? I told you not to worry, that I thought it was a bad reading. It's what we in the profession call a false positive. It can happen for a number of reasons. Some factors that could cause a false positive are if you've had the flu vaccination, or if you've been sick with a cold. I explained everything to you last week. I thought you understood—”

The phone fell from my hand and splashed in the blood that had pooled around Heidi's head.