Denouement
We are taught in school that the plot of a novel or short story begins with the introduction of a conflict, also known as the exposition. A good writer then develops his plot with rising action, a climax and falling action. The fifth and final element of the fictional work is the denouement, the ending of the story at which point the conflict is resolved and usually the reader's questions are answered.
The crime of murder, too, can follow these same five divisions. The decision to commit a murder and the reasons behind it can be viewed as the exposition. Likewise, the planning and preparation for the deadly deed can be considered rising action. The climax, naturally, is the killing itself. The falling action corresponds to the ensuing police investigation, the arrest of the guilty party and the subsequent trial. Lastly, the verdict and sentence can be seen as the denouement.
There were two highly publicized crimes in the Nineties that clearly illustrate this argument. Both cases involved teenagers: one a boy who murdered his teacher's husband and the other a girl who attempted to murder her lover's wife.
In case one, Mike Saxon was a fifteen-year-old high school sophomore who was seduced by his attractive English teacher. Exposition: After engaging in an intimate relationship with her young student, twenty-three-year-old Marissa Harrow persuaded him to murder her husband. Rising action: Mike and his teacher planned the murder, hoping to make it look like a robbery gone awry. Climax: Boyd Harrow came home from work and was shot to death in the foyer of the couple's condo. Falling action: After an investigation, the police arrested both the student and his teacher, charging the former with murder and the latter with conspiracy to commit murder. Denouement: Saxon was sentenced to twenty-five years in prison while the wily Mrs. Harrow received life without the possibility of parole.
In case two, seventeen-year-old high school senior Kira Easton attempted to murder her lover's unsuspecting wife. Exposition: The girl met Butch Farentino, a thirty-five-year-old married electrician, and the two began having an affair. Rising action: When the adulterous electrician refused to leave his wife for her, the jealous teenager purchased a gun with the intent of killing her rival. Climax: The pistol-packing Lolita showed up on Farentino's doorstep one morning and shot his wife in the head. Falling action: Although Maria Farentino eventually recovered from the attack, police hunted down Kira and charged her with attempted murder. Denouement: Easton pled guilty to aggravated assault and was sentenced to fifteen years in prison.
If these two teenagers were fictional characters, their being taken out of the courtroom in handcuffs and dragged off to jail would be the end of their stories. In both cases, the denouement, the resolution of the conflict, was the wrongdoer having to pay for his or her crime. However, Mike Saxon and Kira Easton were actual people, not characters dreamed up in a writer's imagination. Their lives didn't come to an end after being sent to prison. On the contrary, both would one day walk out of jail and begin new and extraordinary lives.
* * *
After being released from prison, thirty-year-old parolee Mike Saxon returned to his parents' house, the only home he'd ever known. On the outside, the place looked the same as he remembered it; the only difference was that the wisteria tree and the forsythia bushes had grown during the fifteen years he'd been away. Inside, there were a number of changes, the most drastic being the remodeled kitchen. In the living room, the furniture had been replaced, the paneling removed and the walls painted a pale sage green. Additionally, the old, heavy television was gone and in its place was a sleek flat-screen model.
"It looks nice in here," he told his mother.
"We updated it a bit," she replied, choked up with emotion.
"It needed it," he said with a laugh. "I never did like that wood paneling."
"I thought you'd stay in your old room. Is that all right with you?"
"That's fine, Ma."
"We left it just as it was when you ...."
The tears that had threatened since her son walked through the front door could not be held back any longer.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed, wiping her eyes with a damp tissue. "I swore I wouldn't cry, but I can't help it."
"It's okay, Ma. Why don't you go make yourself a cup of tea while I put my things up in my room?"
Mrs. Saxon squeezed her son's hand and headed toward the kitchen.
Mike momentarily stood in the hall outside his bedroom door, his hand on the doorknob, wondering what he would feel when he opened the portal to his past. Finally, he steeled his nerves and turned the knob. Fifteen years and not a thing in the room had changed. The same Green Day poster hung above the twin bed, which was still covered with a navy blue comforter and matching sham. On his portable television was a Sega Genesis game system. He walked over to his desk, pushed the OPEN button on his Sony boom box and took out the CD that had been inside it for fifteen years. It was Nirvana's Nevermind.
While he was in prison, he learned about Kurt Cobain's suicide.
What a shame! Mike thought as he put the CD back in the tray. He was so young.
A familiar pang of guilt pierced his heart. Boyd Harrow was only twenty-four years old when Mike murdered him, three years younger than Cobain was when he took his own life.
Tears brimmed in Mike's eyes as he stood in the bedroom doorway. His room may not have changed, but he certainly had.
* * *
Barely a month had passed since the day he was released from prison when Mike came to the decision that he must leave and start a new life elsewhere.
"But where will you go?" his mother asked, on the verge of tears again. "This is your home."
"You don't know what it's been like since I've come back here. The people I knew fifteen years ago treat me like someone who's got a terminal disease, and those who moved in while I was away avoid me like the plague. Everyone knows who I am ... and what I've done."
"Give them a chance to get used to ...."
"To what? Having a murderer living in town? Mom, I have to pass the school where I met Marissa Harrow almost every day, and worse her condo is only four miles from here. I relive what happened that night every time I drive into town. Everything I see is a constant reminder that I killed an innocent man, that I shot him down in cold blood."
"But it was all her fault! Your teacher was the one who planned it; she even bought the gun. She took advantage of you."
"You can't lay all the blame on her. I was old enough to know better."
"I still don't think it's right that you have to leave your home. After all, the murder happened fifteen years ago, and you served your time."
"That doesn't make Boyd Harrow any less dead."
* * *
Mike Saxon unlocked the door to the run-down studio apartment where he had been living for the past two months. It was the fourth such place he had rented since leaving home. His post-prison life followed a pattern: a low-paying, dead-end job and a shabby one-room dwelling until such time as coworkers and neighbors realized amiable Mike was the scandalous youngster who had murdered the husband of his pretty, young teacher with whom he was having an affair. From that point, it was only a matter of time until he moved on to his next job and apartment.
Hungry, he took a frozen dinner out of his freezer and popped it into the microwave oven. While he was waiting for the ding to signal his Salisbury steak was done, he heard a knock on the door.
It's either Jehovah's Witnesses or some kid selling popcorn tins or candy for school, he thought.
Ignoring the unknown caller, he took his dinner out of the microwave and sat down to eat. The knock was repeated, much louder this time.
"Mr. Saxon? I now you're in there."
The voice was clearly feminine, and he estimated the caller was too old to be peddling Girl Scout cookies.
"If you're selling something," he yelled through the closed door, not bothering to get out of his seat, "I don't have any money."
"I just want to talk to you. Will you let me in?"
Mike ate his steak in two bites and gulped down the generic cola soda. Then he finally got up and answered the door. He instantly recognized the young woman's face.
"Kira Easton," he said with disbelief.
"That's me: the darling of the tabloids, the femme fatale of the Lifetime Movie Network. Can I come in?"
"Sure."
As Mike led his guest to the living room portion of the apartment, the two former convicts took a few moments to eye each other up. Both liked what they saw. Mike had matured from the long-haired teenager who looked like a poor man's Paul McCartney. With shorter hair and a few added pounds—muscle, not fat—he was quite handsome: sandy brown hair, pale blue eyes and a complexion nicely tanned from working outdoors the previous summer.
Kira's appearance, too, had improved with time. The wild, teased Eighties hair that had been died a brassy blonde was now a soft chestnut bob that enhanced her large, doe-like brown eyes.
"I'm surprised you're still going by your real name," Kira said as she claimed the easy chair in front of the portable television set and her host sat on the folding chair he'd brought from the kitchen.
"It never occurred to me to change it."
"Oh, come now! I know what it must be like for you. Much the same as it is for me, I imagine—and my victim lived."
"What do you want?" he asked as though his guest were keeping him from doing something important.
"Like I said before, I just want to talk to you. I live about ten miles from here, in a shitty little place very similar to this one."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you sell your story to the media?"
"Yes, and most of the money I got went to pay for my legal bills. Between my lawyers and Uncle Sam, I had only about ten thousand left. I spent the last of the money three months ago. Now I work as a cleaning woman at the Holiday Inn."
"If you've come to ask for a loan, I ...."
"I just want a friend!" she said earnestly. "I avoid ordinary people because I don't want them to learn who I am. I had to move from the last town I lived in because no one wanted to have anything to do with me. People actually crossed the street when they saw me coming so that they wouldn't have to say hello to me. I'm a social pariah. I had one date since I got out of prison, and all he wanted to do was talk about my love affair with Butch Farentino!"
Mike took pity on the girl since he knew all too well what she was going through.
"You want something to drink?"
"I'll take a Coke if you've got one."
"I don't. Will a no-name brand suffice?"
"As long as it's not diet."
Mike opened two cans of discount soda and handed one to Kira.
"I hope you don't mind drinking from a can. I can't afford the finer things in life—like paper cups or glassware."
"Here's some advice: the next time you're in McDonald's, help yourself to a few extra straws."
"Who can afford McDonald's?"
Although his remark was said only in jest, it was nonetheless true. Working for minimum wage, he lived on ramen noodles and frozen dinners.
* * *
Over the course of their friendship, Mike and Kira grew fond of one another and began dating—if eating frozen pizza and taking a walk in the public park could be considered a date. The two were sitting on swings in the playground one summer evening when Kira brought up a previously unmentioned topic: their crimes. Although the subject was not taboo, neither one ever cared to bring it up before.
"Do you still think about her?" she inquired.
"Who?" Mike asked, knowing full well whom she meant.
"Marissa Harrow, your teacher."
"Sometimes," he admitted. "What about you? Do you think about him?"
"It's hard not to. If it hadn't been for Butch, I would have graduated high school, gone on to college and had a normal life. Maybe I'd be a wife and mother by now. Oh, who am I kidding? I can't escape all the blame. I knew he was married, but I didn't care. What a fool I was! I honestly believed we had a future," Kira said with a bitter laugh.
"Don't be so hard on yourself. He was the adult; he should have known better."
"Yeah, but I was the one who bought a gun and then pulled the trigger."
There was an uncomfortable silence as they both remembered the feel of the gun in their hands, the explosive sound of the discharge and the sight of their victim's blood.
"Do you still love him?" Mike finally asked.
"Hell, no! Every time I see a picture of him, I wonder what I was thinking! I try to hate him, but I can't. To be honest, I kinda feel sorry for him. He had a wife and children that loved him, lived in a nice house and owned his own business, and he threw it all away to have a fling with a teenager."
"What about his wife?"
"If I could only go back and undo the harm I've done to her ...."
When Mike heard her gentle sobs, he wanted to comfort her, but he knew from personal experience that there was nothing he could say or do to erase the past.
"At least she's still alive," he finally said. "And she's leading a somewhat normal life, despite her injuries. I wish I could say the same thing about Boyd Harrow. I killed a man in cold blood, a young man with his whole life ahead of him. Hell, I never even met him before that night."
"You must have really loved Marissa to kill for her," Kira observed with a hint of jealousy.
"Love?" he repeated bitterly. "I suppose that's what I felt at the time. In retrospect, I think it was just raging teenage hormones. I was such a shy, geeky kid—a virgin. I'd never even had a steady girlfriend. And along comes this gorgeous, educated older woman, and she shows an interest in me. We seemed to have so much in common: we listened to the same music, we watched the same movies, we read the same books, we even liked the same cars. God! I thought she was perfect!"
"Except that she was married."
"Yes, but I didn't expect her to stay married long. She told me that Boyd was a violent man who used to beat her. When I asked why she didn't leave him, she told me she was afraid he'd come after her and kill her if she did."
"Didn't it ever occur to you that she might be lying?"
"Not at the time it didn't. I believed everything she told me. It was only after I killed Boyd that I realized she set me up, that she used me from day one."
"She got what she deserved: she'll never get out of jail."
"And poor Boyd. He never deserved what he got. The only thing in his short life he ever did wrong was marry the wrong woman. And I ... I killed him for it."
Mike's tears fell freely; he was unashamed of crying in front of Kira since, unlike everyone else he knew, she shared the same deep-rooted grief and guilt.
Kira got off the swing and took Mike in her arms; it was an embrace not of passion but of empathy.
* * *
"You'll never guess what someone just sent me," National Tattler reporter Burke Filley triumphantly told Taylor Norton, his editor.
"A winning ticket to the Powerball lottery?"
"Better than that," the reporter said, placing several photographs on his boss's desk.
"Is that who I think it is?" Taylor asked.
"Oh, yeah! It seems Mike Saxon and Kira Easton have become quite close now that he's out of prison."
"I wasn't aware they even knew each other."
"They look pretty chummy to me."
"Has there been anything about them in the Enquirer or the Globe?"
"Not a word. Someone saw these two together in the park, took a few photographs with his iPhone and sent them here to me."
"So we've got an exclusive on this?" Taylor asked, all the more delighted by the tip since she was up for a salary review. "Go ahead and print the photos before someone beats us to it. Then see what you can discover about their relationship. Oh, and tell Britney to start writing articles on the Boyd Harrow killing and the Maria Farentino shooting. We're going to milk this romance—whether one actually exists or not—for all it's worth!"
* * *
Unable to afford a car, Mike hitchhiked the ten miles to Kira's apartment. It was going to be a big night: a spaghetti dinner for two followed by a Redbox rental of a classic Jack Nicholson movie.
When Kira opened the door, however, Mike immediately knew something was wrong.
"What is it?"
"I was stupid to think we could live like normal people!" she cried and handed him a copy of the most recent edition of The National Tattler. "I saw this at ShopRite when I went to buy the sauce for tonight's meal."
There was one large photograph of the two of them walking arm in arm as they were leaving the playground. To each side were two round insets, one taken of Mike when he testified against Marissa Harrow and the other of Kira in handcuffs as she was being brought to the courthouse for arraignment.
"Did you see what they're calling us?" she screamed. "The Millennial Bonnie and Clyde."
Although he hated seeing his past splashed across the pages of a tabloid magazine, the article didn't bother Mike as much as it did Kira, but then he hadn't received as much national coverage as she had. In his case, it had been Marissa who received the majority of the media attention.
"You can count on being hounded by the paparazzi every time we go out the door," Kira cried.
"Don't worry. It won't last forever. A new scandal will break, and the press will forget about us again. Now, where's that dinner you promised me?"
"It'll be done in a minute. I'm heating the sauce now."
"Ragu?" Mike laughed when he saw the empty jar on the kitchen counter. "You could have saved yourself at least thirty cents by buying the store brand."
"Ah, but I had a fifty-cent coupon, so the Ragu was actually cheaper," she replied proudly.
"Speaking of making things cheaper," Mike said hesitantly.
When he failed to finish his sentence, Kira prompted him to continue.
"I was just thinking ... well ... it might be more economical for you and I ...."
"To do what? Rob a bank? Really become the Millennial Bonnie and Clyde?"
"No. I just thought if we moved in together, we would save money on rent and utilities and such."
It was a bittersweet smile that appeared on Kira's face as she looked at the blushing young man, completely lacking in self-confidence. This was what Marissa Harrow must have seen in him when she cruelly decided to seduce him and turn him into a weapon to rid herself of an unwanted husband.
"I think it's a great idea and not only for financial reasons. I really care about ...."
A loud knock on the door interrupted her midsentence.
"I wonder who that can be," she said, annoyed at the interruption of what promised to be one of the happiest nights in her life.
"Maybe we should just ignore it," Mike suggested. "Whoever it is will go away."
But the knocking was repeated, louder this time and more insistent. The studio apartment was small, so it was only a few steps from the kitchen table to the front door. Kira reluctantly put their conversation on hold and went to greet the caller.
The smile that appeared on the face of middle-aged man widened when his eyes went from Kira to Mike.
"You're both here!" he exclaimed, seemingly as happy as a small child at Disneyland. "Talk about luck!"
"If you're a reporter, we have nothing to say," Kira declared harshly.
The man's hand came up to prevent the door from closing in his face.
"I'm not a reporter," he quickly assured her. "My name is Carson Symonds. I'm a television producer. Perhaps you've heard of me?"
"Are you the one who made the reality show about the single mom with eight kids?"
"Yes. I wanted to talk to the both of you about an idea I have for a new series."
"Come on in," Kira told him. "We were just about to eat. Would you like some spaghetti?"
"No, thanks. My appetite is suffering from jetlag. But I don't want to interrupt your dinner. Why don't you two can go ahead, and I'll tell you about my idea while you eat."
Mike, who had remained silent since Kira opened the door to the producer, quietly began to spoon pasta onto his plate.
"I'd like to produce a series about the two of you," Carson announced. "You are involved romantically, I assume?"
"Mr. Symonds," Mike said, looking up from his dish, "Despite what The National Tattler may write about us, we're not about to go on a killing spree like Charles Starkweather and Caril Ann Fugate."
"You've got me all wrong," the producer quickly defended himself. "I don't want to portray you as criminals—not really. I want to show you as two people who have served their time for crimes they committed when they were kids who are obviously having a difficult time getting on with their lives now that they're free adults."
Mike and Kira looked at each other but said nothing.
Carson noticed the silent exchange and assured them, "Look, I know the two of you probably want to just forget about the past, but I promise you nothing will be said on the air that you find objectionable. I'm not trying to present a morality play here."
"It doesn't matter what your intentions are," Kira argued. "The minute either of us appears on television or in the tabloids the past is automatically brought to mind. Everyone who hears my name or sees my face remembers that I tried to murder Maria Farentino because I was sleeping with her husband."
"Precisely!" Carson agreed. "That's why, from your perspective, this project is important. Here's your chance to show the world that you're not the monster portrayed by the tabloids and the made-for-TV movies. Trust me, I want to portray you as two kids who were taken advantage of by unscrupulous adults, driven to commit horrible crimes by people you believed cared about you, were arrested, imprisoned and finally set free only to be hounded by reporters, having to leave your homes and seek out anonymity, and then—by the grace of God—finding each other and falling in love."
For the second time that evening Mike blushed. It was out in the open, and neither he nor Kira had been the one to say it: the two of them were in love.
"There's another reason you should consider my offer," Symonds continued, no longer seeming to be the idealistic social commentator but a bottom-line-conscious businessman. "I'm willing to pay you quite handsomely. You won't have to worry about working in a minimum wage job or living in a cheap apartment. No more spaghetti dinners or bargain store clothes."
"Isn't that contrary to the whole idea behind the series?" Mike asked. "Aren't we supposed to show that we're struggling to get along?"
"Yes," Carson confirmed. "We'll recreate your two apartments as film sets, and you'll both make a pretense of going to a job every day, but, of course, your employers, customers, etc., will be actors and extras. Then, at the end of the day, you'll drive off in your new Lexus to your five-bedroom house where your housekeeper has prepared a lobster dinner for you."
"Where does this fit under the category of a reality series?" Kira laughed.
"It's your reality right now, isn't it? Besides, you don't honestly think there's truth in reality TV, do you? It's entertainment, that's all."
Mike didn't quite agree with the producer on that subject. He didn't find shows about rednecks, families with too many children or more than one wife particularly entertaining, but he didn't want to offend his guest.
"Well?" Carson asked, looking from Mike to Kira, eager for a positive answer. "Are you both onboard?"
"You mind giving us some time to discuss it between ourselves?" Mike asked.
The producer was surprised; he had expected the two of them to jump at the opportunity of being rich celebrities.
"Sure," he replied, reaching into his pocket for a business card and writing a phone number on the back. "I have an early flight tomorrow, but you can reach me anytime on my cell phone."
The two were still undecided about Carson's offer when they went to work the following morning. Then Kira met the disapproving looks of her coworkers when she entered the employee's lounge. The women, most of whom were married with children, turned a cold shoulder to the home-wrecking attempted killer while the men looked at her as though she were a common streetwalker. She was saved from further humiliation when her supervisor fired her for giving false information when she applied for the job. Kira didn't bother to explain why she had used an assumed name; she was too eager to extricate herself from the uncomfortable situation.
Mike didn't have it any better. While he had been hired under his own name, it was a common one, and no one in the New Jersey grocery store connected it with the teenage killer from Massachusetts. Now that his picture was on the cover of the Tattler found in the magazine racks at the front of every checkout line, however, his secret was out: the new stock boy was a cold-blooded killer, a convicted murderer who ought not to be walking the streets with decent people. He, too, endured a visit from his supervisor.
"I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to let you go. Please understand my position. This is a family store," the assistant manager explained, fearful that the young convict might resent being fired and seek vengeance. "You're a good worker and I'd love to keep you on, but women would be afraid to shop here. They'd go to Pathmark or Wegmans where they'd feel safe."
That evening, when they would normally have been riding their respective buses home from work, Mike and Kira were flying first class on their way to Los Angeles.
* * *
The phenomenon of reality television had made celebrities out of the families of Victoria Gotti, Ozzie Osborne, Hulk Hogan, Gene Simmons and the Kardashians. Carson Symonds hoped to do the same for Mike and Kira.
When Life on the Outside premiered, people watched the show with a callous, preconceived notion: Mike Saxon should have gotten the death penalty for his crime, and Kira Easton should have been given a stronger sentence for hers. It took a year—all thirteen episodes of the first season—before that widely held opinion began to change.
"But for the grace of God, that might have been my son or daughter," was the last line of the season finale.
It was a trite expression delivered by an actress who was portraying a fictional character meant to be a woman who rented a small apartment to the two star-crossed lovebirds who had been kicked out of their respective dwellings after their photographs appeared on the cover of The National Tattler. No one who watched the show bothered to check on the authenticity of the plot. It was reality TV, after all; of course it was real!
Still, there were viewers who began to feel stirrings of sympathy for Mike and Kira perhaps because they secretly feared no divine being was smiling down on their own sons and daughters, making sure they didn't become killers.
During the second season, the scripts of the show became more reality-based. The main characters of the series were no longer living in poverty in New Jersey; they were adjusting to life as wealthy celebrities with criminal pasts. Guest stars on the show included Paris Hilton, Snooki, Donald Trump and Dr. Phil. By the end of the season, Mike and Kira's crimes were all but forgotten. The two still appeared in the tabloids, but now they were photographed at Hollywood events, shopping on Rodeo Drive or relaxing on the beach in Miami.
Having come so far, however, neither Mike nor Kira knew which direction the show would head in season three.
"I think the answer to that is obvious," Carson Symonds told them when he met with the two during their annual contract talks. "You're in your mid-thirties, Kira. It's about time for you to hear the ticking of your biological clock."
The young woman's eyes widened with surprise.
"You want me to have a baby?"
"It's perfect for the show," the producer replied.
"Yeah, but it's not fair to bring a child into this world for the sake of ratings," Mike objected.
"Don't you want children?" his wife asked.
"Honestly, I never gave it any thought. What kind of life is a child going to have with us as parents?"
Kira was clearly hurt by his response. Her youthful criminal act aside, she considered herself a good person. She was a loving wife and believed she was capable of being a good mother.
"Of course, there's the possibility that you can't have children," Carson said, hoping to prevent a disagreement between Saxon and his wife. "In that case we have two options for season three: one, you could try to adopt a child. Given your past, it's fairly safe to say you won't succeed. Your being denied a child will create sympathy and endear you even more to your audience."
"What's the second option?" Kira asked.
"This will take some finagling on my part, but I want the two of you to confront some old faces from the past. I want you, Kira, to meet with Butch and Maria Farentino. And, if I can pull it off, I want you," he said in Mike's direction, "to visit Marissa Harrow in jail."
"No way!" Mike insisted angrily. "I don't want to have anything to do with her ever again!"
"Then I guess we're back to the parents scenario," his wife said. "Frankly, I'd love to have a baby! And I wouldn't worry about what kind of life he or she will have. We're no longer outcasts; we're celebrities, worth millions of dollars. Our child will have a better life than either of us ever had."
* * *
Just as Carson Symonds had predicted, season three of the show was a smash hit, with its ratings going through the roof. Kira became pregnant without any difficulties, and the birth of their son was accompanied by as much anticipation as that of Little Ricky to Lucy and Ricky Richardo and the animated Pebbles to Wilma and Fred Flintstone.
One night after putting their infant son to bed, Kira heard her husband crying outside on the deck.
"What's wrong?" she asked. "Are you sorry to be a father?"
"No, of course not," Mike replied, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I love him more than I ever thought possible. It's just ...."
"What? You can tell me," his wife said putting her arms around his neck.
"I can't help remembering Boyd Harrow's parents at Marissa's trial. They were devastated! I've always felt terrible because I killed a young man who had his whole life ahead of him, but I only now realize just how much I took from them."
"Stop torturing yourself. I know if you had it to do all over again, you would never kill him. But you can't change the past. No one can. All you can do is be the best father you can to our little boy."
Despite the guilt that was a constant companion, Mike embraced fatherhood. He adored both his wife and child, and was thankful for a good life, especially one he sincerely felt he didn't deserve.
The child's first birthday party was held at Disney World. The star-studded event was to be filmed and shown as the opening episode for the fifth year of Life on the Outside.
"All those presents for one little baby?" Mike asked when he saw a mountain of brightly wrapped gifts waiting to be opened.
"This isn't just any baby," Kira declared with pride. "He's America's newest star! Do you know, even though he's only a year old, he gets more fan mail than Honey Boo Boo!"
"Only in America!" her husband laughed and placed a Mickey Mouse beanie on his head.
The party went along as planned: pony rides, a magician and a special Disney themed cake by Cake Boss Buddy Valastro. Before the gifts were to be opened, a man dressed like Captain Jack Sparrow led the older children in a game of pin the tail on the donkey. It was at the point where Carson Symonds's five-year-old daughter pinned a tail four inches to the right of the donkey's backside that a blood-curdling scream echoed through the crowd.
Guests and employees alike turned in the parents' direction. The birthday boy began to wail, frightened by his mother's shriek, and the producer's daughter took off her blindfold and stared.
"What's the matter?" Carson asked his star.
Kira's eyes, wide with fear, were scanning the faces of the people in the crowd.
"I saw her. She's here, and she has a gun."
"Who are you talking about?" the producer asked.
"Maria Farentino. She's come here after me."
Carson urged Mike to take his wife out of the public eye as Captain Jack Sparrow quickly recaptured the children's attention.
"What the hell was that all about?" the producer demanded to know when he joined Mike and Kira in their dressing room trailer.
With his number one television series being threatened by a possible scandal, the producer's benevolent mask came off, revealing the hardnosed capitalist beneath.
"Leave her alone," Mike warned. "Can't you see she's upset?"
"She should be! If word of this incident gets out, it'll cause trouble for the show."
"Is that all you care about?" Mike asked angrily. "This isn't just a TV show; this is our lives!"
"What do you think your lives will be like without this series?" Carson countered. "Do you actually think you'll have a lasting career in Hollywood? Despite all this Brady Bunch bullshit, you're still a killer. You won't be getting your own talk show or asked to host a talent competition."
"We don't need Hollywood, and we don't need you. We can ...."
"Stop!" Kira cried. "Please stop fighting! I'm sure I'm just suffering from the stress of the party."
"Yes, that's it!" Symonds cried, his mood suddenly brightening. "We might make this work to our advantage. All mothers suffer from a great deal of stress. Your fans are bound to commiserate with you."
When the producer ran from the trailer in search of the show's public relations consultant, Mike shook his head in disgust.
* * *
At the conclusion of the birthday party, the Saxons and their son boarded a private plane and headed back to California. By the time the couple returned to their home, the news had already come out that the television mother had experienced a minor breakdown. The question was raised—no doubt inspired by the show's producer—whether she might be pregnant again.
The toddler, who had fallen asleep in the limo during the ride from the airport, was put to bed.
"Want something to eat?" Mike asked his wife after they left the nursery.
"No. It's been a rough day. I'm going to take a hot bubble bath and then go right to bed."
"I'll be up in a little while. I'm starving. I'll go get a sandwich in the kitchen."
After making himself a roast beef and Swiss on Russian rye, Mike opened a two-liter bottle of Coke and poured the cold beverage into a Waterford crystal tumbler. He smiled when he remembered the time when he had to drink no-name soda directly from the can.
Mike had just put the dirty dishes on the counter for the maid to wash the following morning when he heard the sound of breaking glass coming from the second floor. Taking the stairs two at a time, he ran to the nursery to check on his son. Thankfully, the boy was sleeping peacefully. He then went into the master bedroom where he found the mirror above the dresser had been shattered. Shards of broken glass were lying on the carpet.
"Kira?" he called as he crossed the threshold into the en suite. "Are you okay? Did you cut yourself?"
His wife was not alone in the bathroom. With her was Boyd Harrow, the young man Mike had murdered when he was fifteen years old.
"You don't deserve to be happy, either one of you!" cried Marissa Harrow's dead husband, who was bleeding from a mortal wound that had been inflicted more than two decades earlier.
"No. Please."
They were the only two words that came to Mike Saxon's mind, and they were the last two he ever spoke before Boyd raised a pistol and pulled the trigger.
Kira howled in horror as she cradled her husband's head in her lap. Helpless, she looked up at the woman holding the gun. She was unaware that Mike had seen Boyd Harrow in his final moments of life, for in her eyes the person who murdered her husband was Maria Farentino, the woman she'd shot years earlier.
Naturally, when the police found the reality TV star dead in his bathroom, suspicion fell on his wife even though Kira swore to police that it was Maria Farentino who had gunned him down.
"That's a little hard to believe," the investigating detective told her, "considering Mrs. Farentino has been in a New York extended care facility in an irreversible coma for more than two years."
* * *
Well, dear reader, that brings us back to the subject of the denouement. There is perhaps a greater form of justice in our world than is meted out by our legal system. There is perhaps an unforgiving fate that still demands an-eye-for-an-eye justice. Who or what was in the Saxons' bathroom the night of their son's first birthday party will always remain a mystery, but few people can deny the irony of the situation: Mike Saxon eventually paid for his crime with his life, and Kira Easton Saxon spent the rest of her days in prison after being convicted of the murder of her husband.
While this story was inspired by actual crimes taken from the pages of the tabloids, the main characters are purely fictional creations.
Salem began filming a pilot episode for his own reality show with George Clooney as the guest star. Sadly, Mr. Clooney discovered just what a pain in the neck Salem is and backed out of the project.
