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found completely clothed, lying on the floor beside the desk with her skull cracked open and blood all over the floor.
"Oh dear God!" I gasped. "It was a crime of passion, wasnt it?"
"Pretty much." Gerald replied.
He went on to say that as the police searched the scene, they discovered the surveillance camera monitoring the office; the same surveillance camera that had recorded my wild night with Michelle and Reagan last March. Anyway, they soon discovered that the whole incident had been recorded. So when the police viewed the tape, they observed Sherry bent over her desk, being penetrated in the vagina with a strap-on worn by what appeared to be a young Latino woman in her late teens to early twenties.
"Reagan!" I shouted.
"Yeah." Gerald said solemnly.
And besides fucking her with a strap-on, Reagan had also wrapped a belt around Sherrys neck, holding and pulling it tightly backward like the reigns on a horse. Apparently certain people had a fetish for wanting to be strangled during sex; the theory being that cutting off oxygen to the brain greatly intensified their orgasm. Now I was really feeling nauseas! I got up off the couch, opened the balcony door and stepped out into the crisp evening air. The breeze off Puget Sound was refreshing and the sky beyond the Olympic Mountains was purple and soft from what was left of the sunset. The lights of downtown Seattle twinkled like stars, the sky above was clear and the moon was bright. I took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths as I watched the elevators going up and down the Space Needle; all the while listening to Gerald as he continued the bone chilling tale. Apparently, from what the video showed; once Sherry collapsed and Reagan realized she was dead, she frantically made a telephone call from the phone on the desk as she hurriedly got dressed. Then about fifteen minutes later, a young Caucasian woman; also in her late teens or early twenties, with strawberry blonde hair arrived.
"Michelle." I said.
"Uh-huh." Gerald replied.
Reagan and Michelle began to argue, shouting at each other initially, but it quickly escalated into a physical altercation. They struggled with each other roughly all over the room, then suddenly they tripped; and as they fell, Michelles head violently struck a corner of Sherrys desk. My mind quickly flashed back to that wild night in March and I clearly remembered how thick, hard and unforgiving Sherrys desktop was. The coroner determined, Gerald went on, that most likely Michelle was killed instantly. After which, Reagan immediately jumped up and frantically fled the scene. I flopped down on my back on one of the reclining sun chairs on the balcony, laying my arm over my eyes. By now my mind was seizing with overload as it tried to process this horrible chain of events. But unfortunately, the chain hadnt run out of links yet.
"Whats happened to Reagan? I asked. "Has she been arrested?"
Gerald was silent for what seemed like an eternity.
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I could hear him clear his throat and take a few deep breaths. I could also hear Franks voice whispering something to him. Gerald, just like me, had known Michelle since the day she was born and known Reagan since Whitney first brought her home after school when she was in the fourth grade. He was always especially fond of Reagan because she loved sports so much, just like him.
"Reagans dead, too." He finally managed to spit out.
As his words passed from the phone into my ear, the whole world around me seemed to come to a halt; the ferries crossing the sound, the elevators going up the Space Needle, even the plane flying over my apartment building seemed to freeze in time. Suddenly I sprang up into a seated position as I felt my stomach convulse and my heart stop. I half expected to seem my stomach fly out of my mouth.
"What?" I gagged on my saliva.
Gerald again took another long moment to collect his thoughts, and his emotions, then proceeded to finish the story. Once the authorities identified Reagan, they immediately dispatched arresting officers to her house. However by the time they arrived, they found Reagan face down on her bedroom floor. The autopsy revealed that she had taken a massive amount of assorted prescription pills. By this time, I just couldnt take anymore. I told Gerald as much, and he said he would email me the newspaper story for me to look at when I felt up to it. I clicked off the cordless phone, threw it back into the living room, lay back on the sun chair, balled up in the fetal position and sobbed. I wanted Nanja. When I woke up it was still dark and I was shaking like a leaf in the freezing cold of the night. I went inside and saw the message light blinking on the answering machine. It was the pizza delivery kid telling me that he pounded on my door for nearly half an hour but nobody ever answered. I checked my watch and it was just after eleven oclock.
I took a long hot shower, all the while with images of Sherry, Michelle and Reagan racing through my memory. Then I began to wonder if it had all been a dream. I got out of the shower and put on my night shirt. I was just about to phone Gerald to confirm whether he actually called with such a story or if it all had just been a dream, when I suddenly realized that Detroit was three hours ahead of Seattle and that it was nearly two-thirty in the morning there. I turned on my laptop computer and logged in to check my email. An email from Gerald marked urgent, containing a large attachment sent just three hours ago confirmed that it wasnt a dream; Sherry, Michelle and Reagan were all dead and I had the front page of the Detroit Newspaper staring me in the face to
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