THE HOUSEWIFE

Chapter 1

PRESENT

HIS FACE WAS all over the papers.

Today was the anniversary of his execution. I couldn’t say exactly I was happy about it. Everyone in Portland knew about my ex-husband, or at least heard whispers of him and the hideous crimes he committed. The papers had nicknamed him Nathan the Ripper. Whenever I glimpsed it, I couldn’t stop laughing. It reminded me so much of Jack the Ripper.

Today was supposed to trigger forgotten memories—memories that were locked up in our minds but never got lost. They weren’t fond memories. I wondered what the relatives of the victims must be feeling. All of Nathan’s victims were married men, and till now I never understood that choice. Why he’d chosen to kill innocent men remained a mystery to me. Well, I couldn’t say they were innocent.

During our so many years of marriage, Nathan didn’t show extreme violence toward me. Although he had a very mean streak and occasionally abused me when he was drunk, I didn’t think he could kill, much less serialize it. He didn’t have a killer instincts. He wasn’t criminally smart. He wasn’t methodical. He couldn’t have killed even two men without being caught in the act. But the problem with people was that you couldn’t tell what they were capable of. Sometimes I wanted to believe Nathan didn’t kill all those men.

The Nathan I knew years ago was a family man. He couldn’t kill a fly. But maybe I might’ve been wrong about him. If he wasn’t so bad, I wouldn’t have left him, would I?

After an anonymous tip, the police found the wedding ring of all the eight murdered men, along with mangled hands belonging to the dead men in the basement that used to be ours. His current wife Myrna was shocked to the core.

According to what the police told me when I was interviewed, she didn’t know about the trophies her husband kept in their house. To be frank, she was utterly clueless about Nathan’s murderous trait. Poor Myrna! I tried to warn her when I heard about her marriage to Nathan years ago, but she ignored me, thinking I was another jealous ex-wife. Last I heard, she’d moved out of the house with her six-year-old daughter. I couldn’t blame her. I’d have taken the same course of action had I been her. I wouldn’t want my child to grow up in a house that had once been a crime scene. Talking about that house, what had become of it now?

When I woke up this morning, I didn’t turn on the TV. The papers were on my front porch as usual. His grim face was the first thing I saw when I picked it up. Above it screamed: IT’S BEEN FIVE YEARS SINCE NATHAN THE RIPPER WAS GIVEN LETHAL INJECTION....

I didn’t proceed to the page the newspaper directed me to. Instead, I retraced my steps to the living room and dumped it on the table. It wasn’t a coincidence the media was talking about him after five years. His notoriety wasn’t something I wanted to read.

He ruined my day just like he ruined our marriage. He deserved what he got. As I stood in the kitchen brewing coffee, I tried to push away the thoughts of Nathan, but I could hardly do it. The memories were so overwhelming I wanted to give in and let it drown me. I engaged in the breathing exercise my therapist taught me a while back. I waited one second, two, three ... It didn’t help. For the first time in a while, my breathing exercise had failed me. I thought I could handle this, but I was too full of myself.

My fingers trembled around the mug I nearly spilled the dark brown liquid. Steady girl. Steady. I repeated the mantra as I padded across the kitchen to the living room. I took a sip, then another till my nerves weren’t screaming anymore. My heartbeat gradually slowed down and I heaved a sigh.