Filicide
Wanda Nesler's heart fluttered with excitement at hearing Weldon Troy's voice on the line. She imagined him lying shirtless on the bed with the telephone receiver pressed up against his ear, his curly dark hair tousled after a night's sleep. How she longed to wake up in that bed next to him.
Maybe someday, she thought.
"What do you want?" he asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice.
"Just to talk. How are you?"
"About the same as I was when you called me yesterday."
Wanda did not ask about his estranged wife or the progress he was making toward obtaining a divorce even though the subject was foremost in her mind. Instead, she stuck to "safe" subjects, topics that would not create any more friction in their already strained relationship.
"Do you have any plans for the day?" she inquired.
"I've got to mow the lawn. Then I'll kick back with a few beers and watch the ballgame. You?"
"I have a job interview today."
"On a Sunday?"
"Yeah. Dr. Menzies, a heart specialist with an office at the medical center, is looking for a receptionist, and Sunday is the only day he has free. So, he asked me to meet him for lunch downtown."
"Good luck. I hope you get the job."
There was an uncomfortable lull in the conversation. Wanda wanted to fill it with declarations of love and talk of a future life together. Weldon, on the other hand, was contemplating the best way to end the call. Before he had the opportunity to say goodbye, however, she began speaking again.
"Maybe after the interview I'll take the kids to the park. They love to feed the ducks in the pond. Then we can get ice cream and ...."
"That's nice. Look, I've got to go."
"Wait! Can't you talk just a little longer?"
Weldon did not immediately answer her question. It took him several moments to steel himself in anticipation of another argument.
"I thought we agreed to stop seeing each other for a while, to let things cool down. I need time to settle things with my wife, and you've got your kids to take care of."
"There's no reason we can't talk on the phone."
"Wanda ...."
"You should let your lawyer handle the divorce. And as for my kids, once you get to know them ...."
"No! I already told you I'm not looking for a family. I don't want the responsibility of taking care of children."
"You won't have to. I ...."
"I've gotta go. Good luck with your interview."
No goodbye. No I love you. Just the sound of the telephone receiver being returned to its cradle.
Although driven to tears by his continued refusal to take their relationship to the next level, she stubbornly remained optimistic.
Maybe someday.
* * *
Dana McMillan was standing at the stove making pancakes when her husband came down to breakfast. Out of habit, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
"Morning," he said before retrieving the Sunday paper off the front steps.
When Darnell sat down at the kitchen table with the sports section in hand, his wife placed his cup of coffee in front of him. In the four years that the couple had been married, the Sunday morning routine never varied—with the exception of the times when Dana had been in the hospital after giving birth to their two sons.
As she flipped the pancakes over with her plastic spatula, she did a quick mental calculation: Four years times fifty-two weeks a year equals two hundred eight Sundays. Minus the two I was in the hospital equals two hundred six Sundays I've stood at this stove cooking pancakes and making coffee. All adding up to my life sucks!
Once her husband's pancakes, syrup and butter were on the table, she sat down with her own cup of coffee.
"Thanks, honey," Darnell dutifully said, not bothering to look up from his newspaper.
"You're welcome."
It was a perfect picture of domesticity. A comfortable Cape Cod in the suburbs and a functional family unit consisting of a husband, wife and two children. But Dana McMillan wanted so much more.
As Darnell devoured his pancakes, his nose buried in the Sunday paper, his wife's thoughts turned to Lonnie Barrington. He was everything her husband was not: rich, handsome, exciting. He was the dashing Rhett Butler to Darnell's stodgy Ashley Wilkes. A brief smile lit up her otherwise plain face as she imagined Lonnie sweeping her up off her feet and carrying her up a red-carpeted staircase, just like in the iconic scene from Gone with the Wind.
"Any more pancakes?"
Her husband's question broke her pleasant reverie.
"No, but I'll make some."
"You don't have to."
"It's okay. The boys will be up soon anyway. They'll want some."
"I thought maybe I'd go fishing today," Darnell announced as he folded the newspaper and tossed it on the empty chair beside him.
"Today?" Dana echoed with surprise. "But I thought you were going to watch the boys for a few hours so I could go to my friend Skye's wedding shower."
"That's right. I forgot all about it. You go ahead and have a good time. I'll keep an eye on the kids. Maybe I'll take them fishing with me. They ought to like that."
"Just be careful if you do. One slip and they'll be in the water."
"Stop worrying, Mother Hen. I have no intention of drowning my sons."
* * *
Briana Keith pulled up in front of her parents' house and unbuckled her three-year-old daughter from her car seat. Although Muriel Keith was delighted to see her granddaughter, she cast a critical eye on her own child.
"Where on earth are you going this early on a Sunday morning? Certainly not to church, dressed like that."
The hem of the short skirt was mere inches from her crotch, and the tight, low-cut sequined top showed what little cleavage Briana's wonder bra was able to create.
"I've got a date—sort of."
"What's that mean?"
"It's a speed dating luncheon. You know, where you spend five minutes getting to know someone and then five minutes with someone else, and then five minutes with another person, and so on."
"How on earth can you get to know someone in five minutes?"
"I can usually tell in under two if a guy's a total loser or not."
"What about what's-his-name?"
Briana had a seemingly never-ending string of boyfriends—so many, in fact, that Muriel could not keep them straight.
"I don't know who you mean by what's-his-name."
"The one who took you to that rock concert last week."
"Oh, him! That was last week. This is this week. He's history now."
"When are you going to find a nice young man and settle down?"
It was not the first time Muriel asked that question. Far from it!
"You're a mother now," she continued. "You ought to be home taking care of your daughter, not out partying all the time."
The familiar look of a petulant, spoiled child hardened Briana's heavily made-up face.
"If you don't want to watch her, fine! I'll get another babysitter."
"That's not my point at all, and you know it! I love my granddaughter, but she needs you. You're her mother, after all."
"And what about me? Don't I deserve to have a life? Am I supposed to live in some social limbo because I got pregnant and decided against having an abortion?"
"Let's not argue again," Muriel said, fearful that the constant bickering would have an adverse effect on her three-year-old grandchild.
"Then stop trying to run my life!"
With a slam of the door, Briana left the house.
"Mommy," the little girl cried.
"Hush, sweetheart. Your mother will be home soon enough. Meanwhile, why don't I make you a cup of hot chocolate and then you and I can go watch cartoons in the family room?"
* * *
Hannah Schumacher sat in the living room reading the Bible as Everett, her husband, and his mother attempted to get five children fed and dressed. There was an occasional noisy outburst from the kitchen, quickly hushed by her mother-in-law.
"You have to be quiet!" Louella, the children's grandmother, cried. "You don't want to upset Mommy."
Hannah put down her book and headed toward the kitchen.
"Need any help with breakfast?" she asked.
"No," her mother-in-law quickly assured her. "We've got everything under control. Why don't you go sit down and relax?"
"I thought I'd make myself a cup of coffee."
"I'll get it for you," her husband offered, treating her like a helpless invalid.
"I do know how to make coffee," she protested.
"Don't get upset, darling."
"I'm not upset."
Six months earlier, shortly after the birth of her fifth child, Hannah suffered a nervous breakdown and twice attempted suicide. She was subsequently diagnosed with severe postpartum depression, postpartum psychosis and schizophrenia. After a brief period of hospitalization, she was sent home with the understanding that someone was to keep an eye on her at all times. Her widowed mother-in-law promptly sold her house and moved in, taking charge of the house and children.
"Did you remember to take your medication this morning, dear?" Everett asked as his eyes followed his wife's movements.
"There's no need to ask me that same question every day," she answered, clearly annoyed. "I'm well aware that you count the pills in the bottle in the evening."
Louella sensed the mounting tension between her son and daughter-in-law and wanted to remove the children from a potentially volatile situation.
"Hurry up, kids. Eat your breakfast so you can get ready for church."
"Is Mommy coming with us?" the oldest boy asked.
"You don't have to ask Grandma," Hannah told him. "I'm right here in the room. You can ask me."
"Go up to your room and get dressed," Everett told his son.
"Stop it!" Hannah suddenly screamed, throwing her coffee mug onto the floor and shattering it. "If you all think I'm crazy, why don't you just lock me up in the nuthouse again?"
"Shhh! Calm down," her husband said in a soothing voice as his mother hurried the children out of the kitchen. "No one wants to see you sent back to the hospital. Here, let me clean up this mess, and then I'll get you another cup of coffee."
Hot tears slid down the young mother's face as the anger faded, leaving melancholy in its wake.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," she sobbed. "I don't mean to be such a bitch."
"I know. Just keep taking your medication and give it some time. Trust in the lord. You'll get better."
"The lord. Yes, he'll make me well again."
During her time of mental anguish, her faith was her greatest comfort.
"Would you like to go to church?" Everett asked. "It might do you good to get out of the house for a while."
"I don't know."
Although Hannah had always felt closer to God at church, she hated the way the people in the congregation looked at her with pity and apprehension during the services. Even the pastor treated her as though she were a powder keg, fearful the wrong word might ignite an explosion.
"Maybe next week. But you go. You haven't gone in months."
Since his wife had been released from the hospital, Everett remained at home with her every week while his mother took the children to church and Sunday school.
"I don't want to leave you."
"I'll be fine. I promise I won't slit my wrists or burn the house down while you're gone."
Everett knew that if Hannah was to ever recover, she would need to regain a modicum of independence. Since Sunday services were only forty minutes long, he decided to take a chance and give her some time to herself.
"Are you sure you don't want to go with us?" Louella asked, holding the youngest child in her arms as the other four followed their father out the front door.
"No," her daughter-in-law replied, forcing a smile. "To be honest, I'm looking forward to some peace and quiet."
Once her husband's car pulled out of the driveway, Hannah closed her eyes and listened. The only sounds were the ticking of the mantel clock and the humming of the refrigerator. Within minutes, the solitude became oppressive. She found the remote control and turned on the television. The local cable channel ran down a list of community events scheduled for the upcoming week: a rummage sale at the VFW hall, a walkathon to support the American Cancer Society, a car wash to raise funds for the high school band and a cupcake contest to showcase the baking talents of local Girl Scout troops.
The last notice brought a smile to her face as she fondly recalled memories of being a Daisy, Brownie, Junior and finally a Cadette.
Those were the happiest days of my life, she thought wistfully, associating the Girl Scouts with her childhood, a time before marriage and motherhood had suffocated her spirit. Camping, selling cookies, visiting the Juliette Gordon Low house in Savannah ... Why, I should get my own children involved in scouting!
It was far too early for the three youngest, who were not yet in school, but the two older boys could join the Cub Scouts.
And with my years of experience, I ought to think about becoming a scout leader or perhaps an assistant. After all, Everett always tells me it will do me good to get out of the house.
Hannah reached for a pen and piece of paper and patiently waited for the announcements to repeat. When they did, she was surprised to discover that the cupcake contest was being held on Sunday at noon.
That's today!
She scribbled down the address of the restaurant where the competition was to be held despite the fact that Everett would not be home from church in time to drive her to the event. With no license or car, driving herself was not an option. However, there was a local bus that stopped at the end of her road every fifteen minutes. If she dressed quickly, she could easily make it to the restaurant in time for the contest.
* * *
"What's going on?" Briana Keith wondered as she drove up and down several streets, looking for a parking spot. "Why are there so many people in town on a Sunday?"
By the time she parked her Mustang and locked it, she forgot the address of the restaurant where the speed dating luncheon was to be held.
"I know it's around here somewhere," she said, wishing she had not worn such uncomfortable high heels.
As she walked along the pavement in her stocking feet, she saw another young woman approaching on the opposite side of the street.
"Excuse me," she called. "Do you know where Leto's Bistro is?"
"Oddly enough, that's where I'm heading," Dana McMillan replied. "But I can't recall the exact address."
Briana eyed the woman's plain appearance and conservative clothing and deduced she was a housewife.
"Are you going to Skye Dearborn's wedding shower?" the mousy woman inquired.
"No. I'm going there in the hope of meeting someone tall, dark, handsome and—above all—rich."
"Good luck," Dana laughed, recognizing a kindred spirit in the flashily dressed party girl.
Less than a block away, another young woman was slowly walking along the sidewalk, reading the names of the businesses on the signs above the buildings.
"Are you looking for Leto's Bistro?" Briana asked.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am," Wanda Nesler answered. "Are you going there, too?"
"If we ever find the place, we are."
"When I was told it was on this street, I never thought to ask for the full address," Wanda said. "I just assumed it would be easy to find."
A bus stopped at the corner, and Hannah Schumacher got off. She reached into her pocket for the scrap of paper on which she had written the address of the cupcake contest, but the paper was gone.
"Great!" she exclaimed. "Now what do I do?"
"Can we help you?" Dana asked, observing the woman's frazzled state.
"Are you all with the Girl Scouts?"
"Do I look it?" Briana laughed.
"I'm trying to find Leto's Bistro. They're having a cupcake contest there at noon."
"That explains all the cars," Briana concluded. "A wedding shower, a cupcake competition and a speed dating luncheon all scheduled at the same time. I'm surprised the streets aren't teeming with people."
After the four women searched for another ten minutes, they spotted two ladies heading down a side alley.
"You think they're going to the same place we are?" Dana asked.
"Let's find out," Wanda answered.
They turned the corner and saw the entrance crouched in darkness. Above the door was an understated sign that would easily be missed by passersby: Leto's Bistro.
"This isn't at all what I was expecting," Hannah declared, looking around nervously. "I'm not sure it's safe to go inside."
"Come on," Briana said impatiently. "What do you think is in there, a white slavery gang? A film crew making low-budget pornos? It's just a restaurant."
"Besides," Wanda pointed out, "there are four of us, and there's safety in numbers."
Despite the foreboding exterior, the inside of Leto's Bistro was bright and airy. There were dozens of tables with pale pink tablecloths and centerpieces made with fresh-cut flowers.
A stunningly beautiful hostess, dressed in a white Greek-style tunic with gold trim and sandals, met them at the door.
"Welcome to Leto's Bistro," she said. "Table for four? Right this way, please."
Wanda immediately set the woman straight.
"We're not together. I have a lunch appointment with Dr. Menzies."
"And I'm here for the speed dating," Briana said.
"Skye Dearborn's wedding shower," Dana added.
"This is the day of the Girl Scout's cupcake contest, isn't it?" Hannah asked, still wondering if the restaurant was a front for some nefarious activity.
"I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, ladies, but it's a madhouse in here today. It's our busiest day of the year, and we're still setting things up in the banquet rooms. Why don't you have a seat at one of the tables for now? Drinks and snacks will be provided while you wait—on the house, of course."
Briana scanned the room and noticed nearly all the tables were filled, yet there was not a man in sight.
Don't tell me this is speed dating for lesbians! she thought with a frown of disappointment.
Moments after the four women took their seats, another dark-haired beauty, dressed as though she were about to conduct a guided tour of the Acropolis, stopped at the table and presented them with menus.
"I'll have a rum and Coke," Wanda told her without bothering to read the bar list.
Briana ordered Jack Daniels, and Dana wanted a glass of white wine.
"Nothing for me," Hannah said. "I don't drink."
"Perhaps a glass of lemonade then?" the waitress prompted.
"All right, as long as it doesn't contain any alcohol."
Once the drinks arrived, the women introduced themselves and described the circumstances that brought each of them to Leto's Bistro.
"So, you're looking for a job?" Dana asked.
"Yes," Wanda replied. "I used to work as a secretary at an insurance company, but I was let go after my supervisor learned that I was having an affair with a married coworker." Shocked by her own admission, she added, "I don't know what made me say that."
"It's okay," the mousy-looking mother of two boys said. "The same thing happened to me. But in my case, the man I had an affair with wasn't married."
"Why did you lose your job then?"
"His father owned the company, and he didn't want his only son getting involved with a married woman."
"So, let me get this straight," Briana said after all four women had bared their souls. "Wanda is a divorced woman with three children who is in love with a married man who doesn't want to be a stepfather. Dana, a mom of two, is unhappily married and wants to rekindle her relationship with her rich bachelor boyfriend. And Hannah, you're married with five kids, ranging in age between six months and seven years. Your mother-in-law moved in with you and your husband because everyone is afraid you're going to try to kill yourself again."
The other three women slowly nodded their heads, indicating her facts were correct.
"Wow! I thought being an unwed mother was bad. I've got it easy compared to the rest of you."
Wanda glanced at her watch. Dr. Menzies ought to have met with her half an hour ago. Meanwhile, Dana looked at the other women in the room. Not one of them had brought a shower gift.
"Where's that waitress?" Briana wondered. "I could use another drink."
"The flowers are so beautiful," Hannah observed, apparently lost in her own world. "They remind me of the time when I was in Girl Scouts and we visited the Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens in Pittsburgh."
From the other tables in the restaurant there came the sound of impatient grumbling.
"This is ridiculous!" Wanda complained. "What's taking so long?"
Dana agreed with her.
"I know. How hard is it to put place settings on tables?"
Hannah continued to stare at the floral centerpiece, revisiting her past and wishing she could turn back time. Suddenly, as though shown in a series of images shot with time-lapse photography, the flowers withered and died, shedding their dry, shriveled petals onto the pink tablecloth. This caused the mentally unstable mother of five to let out a scream worthy of a B-grade horror movie queen.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" Briana demanded to know.
"The flowers ...."
"Yeah, we get it. They remind you of the Girl Scouts."
"No. Look at them."
No one else at the table saw what Hannah had seen. In their eyes, the flowers still looked the same as they had when they arrived at the restaurant.
"I've waited long enough," Dana announced, picking up her shower gift from beneath her chair. "I'm going to go home."
"Me, too," Briana agreed.
However, no sooner did the two women stand up than the lights went out, plunging the room in darkness.
"Look!" Wanda cried, seeing a flickering of light near the door to the kitchen.
The waitress rolled in a large, multi-tiered cake, covered in pale rose fondant and festooned with sugar flowers. At least a dozen candles glowed on the top tier.
"It must be someone's birthday," Dana deduced.
"Really?" Briana said sarcastically. "What gave you the first clue?"
The hostess then entered the dining room and blew out the candles. After a moment of total darkness, the waitress flicked a switch and turned the lights back on.
"In honor of this day," the hostess announced loudly so that everyone in the room could hear, "I want you all to have a piece of cake."
Confused and still visibly shaken by the dead flowers in the centerpiece, Hannah muttered, "I thought they were going to serve cupcakes."
A woman's voice rang out from the far corner of the room: "Aren't we going to sing 'Happy Birthday' to you?"
"Oh, it's not my birthday," the hostess replied. "Don't any of you know what day it is?"
Her question was met with blank stares from the faces of the women in the room.
"I can understand why you would all rather not remember. Well, let me enlighten you. Today is the second Sunday of May. Ring any bells?"
"Memorial Day is the last Monday," Dana pointed out. "Arbor Day and Earth Day are both in April, and Flag Day is in June."
The waitress crossed the room and opened the sliding doors that separated the dining room from the main banquet hall. More than a hundred children of varying ages piled into the room. Nine of them, three girls and six boys, made their way to the table where their four mothers sat. The youngest boy was being carried by his older brother.
"Happy Mother's Day," they cried in unison.
Leto, the Greek goddess of Motherhood, then raised her arms toward the heavens and proclaimed, "The time has come, ladies!"
Every one of the children—male or female, young or old and regardless of race—suddenly withered and died, just like the flowers in the table centerpiece. Their poor, innocent corpses lay at their mothers' feet, bearing silent witness to their horrible deaths at the hands of the same women who had given them life.
Hoping that if she were to get rid of her children, Weldon Troy would finally divorce his wife and commit to a relationship with her, Wanda Nesler had shot her seven-year-old daughter—and two other children who managed to survive the brutal attack. Likewise, Dana McMillan hoped that by eliminating her two sons, she would win back the affection of her rich boyfriend. She heartlessly strapped the boys in their car seats and sent her vehicle into a lake, drowning the precious cargo in the back seat. Preferring a carefree, swinging lifestyle to one of taking care of a three-year-old child, Briana Keith covered her daughter's mouth with duck tape and buried her alive. Of the four women seated at the table, the God-fearing, Bible-reading Hannah Schumacher had the most blood on her hands. She had taken all five of her children, one at a time, into the bathroom and drowned them in the bathtub.
Throughout the dining room were wails of sorrow, screams of horror and cries of regret. Even the waitress—Medea, daughter of King Aeëtes of Colchis and wife of Jason, heroic leader of the Argonauts—sobbed with grief as she was forced to view the bodies of the children she had slaughtered in an attempt to punish Jason for his infidelity.
One woman, who had strangled her two-year-old daughter while under the delusion that the girl was the child of the devil, began scratching at her own eyes to rid herself of the horrendous sight.
"God lord, have mercy!" she pleaded.
"You dare beg for mercy!" Leto cried. "All of you have gone against the most basic maternal instincts and committed heinous crimes against nature itself. You murdered your own young using weapons as diverse as knives, guns, fire, water, rocks, toy airplanes and even microwave ovens. Not a one of you deserves mercy!"
A trail of tears mixed with mascara and eye shadow dripping down her face, Briana turned to the woman sitting on her right and asked, "What do you think is going to happen to us now?"
"I have no idea," Dana answered, turning her eyes away from the sight of the bloated bodies of her two dead sons.
"We're all going to hell!" Hannah said, her monotone voice void of all emotion.
"Not yet you're not," Leto declared, suddenly appearing behind Briana. "No. Not yet."
* * *
Wanda Nesler impatiently drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair as she waited for Weldon Troy to answer his phone.
"Hello."
Again, she felt the spark of excitement at hearing his voice.
"Hi, it's me," she said.
"What do you want now?"
Weldon did not bother to hide his annoyance this time.
"Who pissed in your Cheerios?" Wanda laughed.
"You just phoned me this morning. I thought we agreed to ...."
"I know. I didn't call to pressure you. I just wanted someone to talk to."
There was a heavy sigh of resignation on the other end of the line.
"How did the job interview go?"
"Dr. Menzies never showed. I'll have to call his office tomorrow and reschedule."
"That's too bad. Look, I'm missing the ballgame."
"Okay. I'll let you go. Bye. I love you."
There was no response from Weldon.
Maybe someday, she thought as she hung up the receiver.
* * *
"Mommy! Mommy!" her three-year-old son cried when Dana McMillan returned to her home. "Daddy took us to the lake, and I caught a fish."
"Did you? Maybe I'll clean it and cook it for dinner."
"You can't. Daddy took it off the hook and threw it back in the water."
"I suppose we'll just have to order pizza then; won't we?"
Trying to tune out the boy's squeals of delight at the mention of pizza, she escaped to the living room and found Darnell sitting in front of the television.
"How was the shower?" he asked.
"Nothing special. Just your typical wedding shower."
"Was Skye surprised? Did she like her gift?"
"I suppose so."
Most women would be happy to have their husbands take an interest in their lives, but Dana found Darnell's questions annoying since they distracted her from her daydreams of Lonnie Barrington.
* * *
After enduring another of Muriel's third degrees on the responsibilities of motherhood, Briana Keith carried her sleeping daughter out of her parents' house and fastened her in the child safety seat in the back of her Mustang. Long before she arrived at her one-room studio apartment, the three-year-old woke up and began to whine.
God! I wish the little brat would shut up, the party-loving young woman thought.
* * *
"Where were you?" Everett cried when his wife returned home shortly after two in the afternoon. "We were worried sick! Mother was about to call the police."
"I went to a Girl Scout cupcake contest," Hannah Schumacher answered.
"Without telling anyone?" her mother-in-law asked.
"Nothing happened to me."
"But what if it had?"
"Wanda is right, Mother," Everett said, taking his wife's side in the argument. "Look at her. She's fine. Maybe this is a sign that she's getting better."
* * *
Thus, these women, and the other monstrous Lamias in Leto's Bistro that Mother's Day, put all memory of their atrocious crimes out of their minds. They would continue to live what Henry David Thoreau referred to as "lives of quiet desperation" for another year, until the second Sunday in May rolled around and they would once again be called to face Leto's wrath.
Although actual cases of maternal filicide inspired this story, the characters here are fictional.
Every Mother's Day Salem takes me out to dinner. Unfortunately, he usually eats my meal as well as his own!
