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Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology The Final Frontier the Down in the Dirt May-August 2022 issues collection book		get the 420 page May-August 2022 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

The Wrecker

Mike Rader

    What makes a man a killer? I wouldn’t know. I took 56 lives, but I’m not a killer.
    If I had to, I’d say Luella Hunnicutt was the one at fault.
    She just wouldn’t listen.
    We’d started our affair a year ago. We’d covered our tracks well. No one in the office knew about us, or even suspected. Everyone believed she had a boyfriend out of town.
    But everything changed that Thursday night.
    Lu was driving me in her convertible. I was going to spend the night at her place. Not once had my wife ever questioned my reasons for not coming home; she accepted all my excuses such as sales conferences in the next state, stuff like that.
    The night was dense with soupy mist. My wife’s face floated into my vision. It had been doing that recently. Guilt pricked at my mind. And to make maters worse, Luella kept taunting me.
    “Paul, have you told your wife yet? Does she know you want a divorce?”
    “I keep telling you, Lu, the timing isn’t right. Trust me. I’ll tell her when it is.”
    “No, not good enough!” Lu shouted back. “I want you to marry me. You’ve got to tell her you want your freedom.”
    “We’ve talked about it before,” I pleaded. “You don’t know Joan like I do.”
    We kept arguing.
    Suddenly Lu turned and said, “If you don’t tell her, I will!”
    I could see my life caving in around me. Joan would take the house, everything. I’d be wiped out. A headache roared in my brain. I imagined I could hear a loud bell ringing through the fog.
    Lu was slowing down as her rage grew, her fist hammering the steering wheel. “I’ll tell her if you haven’t got the guts — ”
    The bell was louder than Lu. I darted my gaze around. We were on the railroad crossing, the boom gates had started descending, they’d be closed in seconds.
    “You can’t stop here!” I shouted.
    “I can and I will!”
    We were on the crossing, dead center, the gates closing.
    Framed behind Lu’s head I could see the single eye of a monster rushing toward us.
    I made an instant decision.
    I gripped the handbrake in fury and pulled hard on it. I snatched the keys from the ignition. In the same instant I was opening my door and leaping clear.
    “Come back, coward!” Lu was screaming. “Don’t turn your back on me!”
    The night exploded behind me.
    A rush of light
—
    Showers of sparks on the rails —
    Brakes squealing —
    The clash of steel on steel —
    Lu’s car flipped over and the loco peeled off the tracks, taking the first passenger coaches with it. Grinding steel, smashing glass, screams like I’d never heard before. Lu’s car burst into flames. Running figures chased in turmoil. Death, chaos, hell on earth.
    Then I wasn’t alone. People were rushing toward me from houses alongside the track. Men, women, kids. A man grabbed my shoulder. “Did you see what happened? Where are you going?”
    “To see if I can help,” I lied, and ran off, the gloom swallowing me. I tossed Lu’s keys into the bushes. Then I sprinted back for them. I couldn’t leave damning evidence lying around!
    I was winded but I had to keep running now. I was a coward to two women — my wife and the woman I loved. I was weak, I was despicable. I glanced back once, saw the wounded train, the first carriages crumpled, shapes of people milling around in panic, in horror.
    I thought I heard Lu calling my name but there was no way she could have survived.
    I plunged through the growth by the track, seeing the lights of houses over to my right. My street was about two blocks away. I fell once, but staggered on. I had to get home. I had to see my wife. I’d say the conference was cancelled. And then I’d be safe. Safe from what I’d done!

#

    I slipped my key into the lock, burst inside. The house was silent. Where was Joan? Then I remembered. She’d said she was going to her sister’s while I was away. I tossed my bag on the couch, headed for the bar, dumped my keys and Lu’s on the bar, heard a wild shout and froze.
    Another sound curdled my brain. A loud longing cry.
    My feet were soft on the stairs. I flung open our bedroom door. Don, my neighbor, was in bed with Joan!
    I gripped his naked shoulders, tossed him aside. Joan howled with terror, burst into tears. Disgusted, I went downstairs and poured a drink.
    What kind of night was this?
    Betrayed by my wife and my nearest neighbor. My own guilt turned into outrage, turned into a wild animalistic hysterical scream.
    Footsteps were beating down the stairs. Don, pulling on a shirt, left without a word. Then Joan appeared. Her eyes glossy with tears.
    “I can explain,” she said.
    She didn’t need to. I knew what illicit sex looked like. I’d had plenty of it myself.
    Her sobs distorted her words. “You said you were at a conference — ”
    “Change of plan,” I snapped, finding another glass. Pouring another drink. “It was canceled.”
    I turned my back, I had nothing to say. I flicked on the television. The news coverage was graphic. I was a mass murderer. My action had taken 56 innocent lives. I wondered whether — no, I hoped — Lu was one of them.
    I drank too much. I didn’t want to talk to Joan. I had nothing to say.
    Not even when the doorbell sounded three hours later.

#

    Two men were outside, flashing their badges. One of them said, “Mr. Armstrong, we’d like to ask you about the train crash tonight.”
    I nodded. They stepped inside.
    Joan, working her hands together nervously, told them, “We’re so lucky. My husband often takes a train home.”
    “Mr. Armstrong, we have a witness who says you were near the scene of the crash.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” my wife said. “He was home.” Her voice had an edge. “I know he was.”
    “Nevertheless, we have a witness who said she saw your husband run from the car that blocked the tracks and caused the derailment.”
    I shrugged, thinking fast. “If that’d been me, officer, I’d be dead by now.”
    “Who’s this witness?” Joan demanded. “You said it was a woman?”
    “A Miss Luella Hunnicutt.”
    Liquid slopped from my glass.
    “We don’t know anyone by that name, do we, Paul?”
    Before I could answer, the cop said, “She seems to know your husband, Mrs. Armstrong. Said she was going with him,” he paused, consulting his notebook, “to the end of the line.”
    “She’s lying, she must be.” Confused, Joan swung around and demanded, “Paul, wy aren’t you saying anything?”
    There was nothing I could say. Impossible! How could Lu have survived?
    “Let Mr. Armstrong speak for himself,” the other cop said.
    My words burst out. “It was dark out there,” I said. “How could anyone recognize me?”
    “So you admit you were there?” the leading cop demanded. “You admit you were travelling with Miss Hunnicutt? That you left her car on the rail crossing? That you caused the whole disaster?”

    “That’s not what I said.” I needed another drink. I turned toward the bar.
    “Don’t have anymore,” Joan cautioned me.
    “No, it’s okay,” I said. “You see, officers, it’s been a night of infidelity. I came home tonight to find my wife committing adultery in my own home.” I reached the bar. One of the cops followed me.
    “Mr. Armstrong, you need to answer our questions.”
    “Questions,” I echoed. I picked up my bottle. Saw the two sets of keys on the bar top at the same moment the cop did. His hand brushed across mine and seized Lu’s keyring.
    “I need you to explain what these keys are doing in your possession, sir.”
    I concentrated on pouring my drink. “I have no idea. I must have picked them up by accident somewhere. Maybe at the office.”
    The cop held the keys aloft, examining them as though they were diamonds. The car maker’s logo caught the light. “It’s quite clear that these are keys to the same make of car Miss Hunnicutt owned.” He shot me a hooded look. “Care to explain that, sir?”
    Anger and fear swirled in my brain. “I wish I could, but right now I have problems of my own.”
    Joan stepped forward, clutching my wrist. “I don’t think my husband is up to any more questions tonight, officer. It’s been a — a difficult evening for him.”
    Her loyalty was pathetic. Playing the dutiful wife — the guilty wife —
    A knock sounded from the front door. A moment later a police officer clad in a white forensics uniform entered. He was carrying a twisted piece of metal in gloved hands. My gaze narrowed on it.
    “Yes, Mr. Armstrong,” said the leading cop, “I’m sure you know what this is. The handbrake from Miss Hunnicutt’s car.”
    I heard my voice rise in pitch. “What’s that got to do with me?”
    “We discovered that the handbrake had been engaged before the train hit Miss Hunnicutt’s car.” The cop locked eyes with me. “Do you think we might find your fingerprints on it, sir?”
    Silence came crashing down on the room.
    Slowly, very slowly, I set down my drink.
    I made my voice as calm and matter-of-fact as I could. “I borrowed Miss Hunnicutt’s car last week at the office. I’d left my own car at home and I needed to visit clients. Miss Hunnicutt was generous enough to lend me hers. You will no doubt find my fingerprints on the handbrake, door handles, steering wheel, wherever.” I swerved my gaze at the three cops. “Does that answer your question, officer?”
    The cop’s features hardened. I knew I’d outsmarted him.
    He gave me a stiff nod. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Armstrong.” He turned on his heel to leave. His companions followed. He opened the front door and turned unexpectedly. “By the way, sir, I’m sure you will be pleased to know that Miss Hunnicutt managed to escape death.”
    Lu entered, her right arm bandaged, her eyes accusing.
    Joan’s face was a picture.
    A moment later, handcuffs snapped around my wrists.

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