ELEPHANTS IN THE ROOM

by Charles West

            “Theresa?” Donna called out.

          “The door’s open. We’re in the kitchen.”

          Donna walked into the kitchen and stopped suddenly. The first thing she noticed was Edward, Theresa’s husband, lying dead on the marble floor in a pool of blood that almost matched the University of Alabama sweatshirt that he was wearing. There was a pistol next to his body.

          “Are you all right?” Donna asked nervously.

          “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Donna said, seemingly oblivious to her husband’s dead body less than six feet from where she sat at the kitchen table, a bottle of bourbon in front of her.

          “What?” Donna stammered, her eyes fixed on Edward and all the blood. “When you called . . .”

          “Where are my manners? Would you like a drink? I know it’s a bit early in the day, but I just needed one. You know what I mean?”

          “No, I don’t want a drink,” Donna answered, still looking at dead Edward.

          “I could make some coffee. How about some tea? You like tea, don’t you?”

          “What? Yes, I like tea, but I don’t want any right now.”

          “Let me know if you change your mind,” Theresa said, taking a sip from the bourbon bottle.

          “What happened here?”

          “What do you mean?”

          Donna pointed at the body. “Edward.”

          “Edward? Oh, yeah. He’s dead,” Theresa said, stating the obvious.

          “I can see that,” Donna said sharply, an element of irritation in her voice. “What happened?”

          “He killed himself.”

          “What?”

          “Yeah, I came home, and he was already here, and had the gun in his hand. At first, I thought he was going to kill me.”

          “But what. . .”

          “But he wasn’t going to kill me. He was going to kill himself. Are you sure you don’t want anything? It’s no trouble.”

          “You have to call the police.”       

          “Oh, I’ve already called them. They should be here soon.”

          “Why did he kill himself?”

          “It was because of the affair.”

          “Affair?”

          “Yeah, he admitted that he was having an affair. He said he felt really bad about it, so he killed himself.”

          “Oh, my God.”

          “Before I forget,” Theresa said, out of the blue. “Are these your gloves?” She held up a pair of leather gloves for Donna to see.

          “What? No, they’re not mine.”

          “I don’t know where they came from,” Theresa wondered out loud. “Try them on.”

          “No, I don’t want to.”

          “Please, just to see if they fit.”

          Donna finally gave up and put on the gloves.

          “They look good,” Theresa said. “How do they fit?”

          “What? They’re fine.”

          “You can keep them,” Theresa offered. “Oh, would you be a dear and pick up the gun? It’s starting to make me nervous.”

          Donna started to take off the gloves.

          “You might want to keep the gloves on, so you don’t get your fingerprints on it. We don’t want the police suggesting you shot him.”

          “I can’t believe he would kill himself,” Donna said as she picked up the weapon.

          “I guess the guilt over the affair was too much for him.” Theresa paused, then asked, “How about you? Do you feel guilty? About having an affair with my husband?”

          “I never. . .”

          “Oh, Donna, he admitted it,” Theresa told her. “Did I leave that part out?”

          “I . . .”

          “Don’t deny it. He didn’t.”

          “What else did he say?”

          “Oh, he got very talkative at the end there. He said he was sorry. He said it meant nothing to him. It won’t happen again. Blah, blah, blah. That’s the gist of it. Of course he mentioned you. And the others.”

          “Others?”

          “You didn’t think you were the only one, did you? Oh, you did. That is soo cute.”

          “Did he say anything else?”

          “Just stuff like don’t shoot me, don’t shoot me. I’m begging you.”

          “Oh, my God! Theresa! You shot him?”

          “Of course I shot him. He cheated on me.”

          “Oh, my God, are you out of your mind?”

          “I might be out of my mind, but I’m still alive and you two are dead,” Theresa said calmly as she produced a small pistol from her purse.

                                                          #

          “We could do this later if you’re not up to it,” the police detective offered.

          “No,” Theresa said bravely. “Let’s take care of this now while it’s still fresh in my mind.”

          “Okay, so you came home, then what?”

          “Yes, I came home and heard them arguing. Apparently, they were having an affair and Edward wanted to end it.”

          “Did you know about the affair?”

          “I had no clue. I was taken completely by surprise.”

          “Go on.”

          “Well, she didn’t want it to end. Edward said, ‘It’s over,’ That’s when I heard the gunshot. I ran in here, and Edward was on the floor, bleeding, and Donna had a gun in her hand.”

          “Then what happened?”

          “She was surprised to see me. I guess she realized what she had done, and she raised her gun and pointed it at me.” Theresa paused, then continued slowly. “Honestly, I don’t remember grabbing my own gun out of my purse, but there it was in my hand. . .” Theresa choked up, stifling a sob. She took a brave breath and said, “I shot her.” She couldn’t stifle the sobbing any longer and began to weep.

          When she was more receptive, the detective said, “I couldn’t help but notice you both have the same make and model handgun.”

          “Mine was a gift from Edward. Maybe he got her the same thing,” she stammered, then continued weeping.

          When the sobbing had subsided, the detective had another question. “I also noticed that both of the deceased are wearing matching sweatshirts.”

          Theresa rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that. They both went to the University of Alabama. A group of Alabama alums get together to watch the football games. I could never understand that level of fanaticism over a game. I went to Vanderbilt, and we were more concerned with our GPA and SAT scores than football scores.”

          Theresa paused for a moment, then veered off on a slightly different topic.

“Something I never understood is that Alabama is called the Crimson Tide, but their mascot is an elephant. Where does that come from?”

          “I couldn’t say,” the detective admitted. One of the police technicians handed him a note. “Forensics say that there was gunshot residue on her gloves.”

          “Gunshot residue?”

“When a gun is fired, the gunpowder from the bullet leaves a traceable residue on whoever fired the weapon.”

          “Then I would have the residue as well.”

          “Yes, but when we match the bullets with the wounds, it should prove your account is true.”

“Oh, my, was I a suspect?”

          “Everyone is a suspect at first,” the detective explained. “But unfortunately, this seems rather straightforward. Sadly, we see these kinds of things all too often.”

          “I never thought of that,” Theresa said. “It must be awfully depressing for you.”

          “You get sort of used to it, to a point,” he said, glancing at the two bloodstained elephants on the two Bama sweatshirts. “Not that it matters, Ma’am,” the detective said as he stood to go, “but Vanderbilt just beat Alabama today. It was the first time in over twenty-five years, or something, and Alabama is ranked number one in the country.”

          Theresa thought that if she had waited, Vandy beating Bama would have been enough to kill both Edward and Donna. She chose not to share that thought with the detective.