Total Destruction

"Myra, are you alright?" I asked; she whirled on me.

"You bastard Bartholomew, two hundred thousand dollars of fraud, how could you, I trusted you, and you lost me my job," the upset and devastated woman screamed at me.

"Myra, it wasn't me." I pleaded.

"Wasn't you?" she paused, a snarl coming over her face. "Before they shoved me out the door, Roger showed me the signed requisition requests. I saw your signature, and I know your signature. How could you?"

She looked at me again. I noticed the hate in her eyes directed solely at me. She didn't want to hear that I had nothing to do with it.

"And I suppose that sob story about Kelly was just a lie as well, telling me she's cheating on you. Seriously, you think I don't see the looks you give me when you think I'm not looking."

Again, the look of pure, unfiltered anger caught me off guard in the woman I had worked with for a decade.

"I hate you," she spat at me. "You have destroyed any chance I have at another job. I honestly can't believe I got sucked into feeling sorry for you. You lie, cheat and steal then dare to ask me how I'm feeling. Fuck off Bart!"

I had never heard her swear in all our years working together. Hearing her words again shocked me. But before I could say or do anything, she slapped me hard.

"You have ruined my career, I can't get a reference, and worse, I'm tainted with your fraud. I hope it was all worth it, you prick."

I stood there stunned, my cheek stinging from her quite powerful slap. Myra glared at me for another moment before she got in her car and drove off without another word.

I did not know anything else to do, so I drove home and parked in the driveway. Inside, Kelly was standing waiting for me.

"So the fraudulent husband comes home with his tail between his legs. Pathetic." She spat. At the time, I didn't notice, but in the days afterwards, I would reflect that Kelly sounded happy, not upset or concerned, happy. What the fuck?

"Kelly, I didn't do any of it. I don't know what's going on?" I said, depressed, confused and feeling like I was breaking.

She sneered at me. "Who cares, Bart? I'm telling you now that I am leaving your ass." I had never seen a look of contempt like that before; well, the look on Myra's face earlier came close.

There was a knock at the door.

"It's for you," she said, still snarling at me.

Without thinking, I opened the door to a guy in a suit. "Mr Bartholomew Other?" he asked. I nodded.

"You've been served." And he handed me a thick manilla envelope and walked away. I peered into the envelope and pulled out the divorce petition.

"Kelly, divorce?" feeling my world break just a little more, Kelly sensed the growing anguish in me, laughing excitedly at my pain.

"You're such a clueless putz, aren't you? But, of course, it's divorce. If you haven't noticed, I've been seeing someone for the past six months. He's going places you're not, he's exciting, and of course, he's got a decent amount of money." She regarded me like something you scrape off your boot. "As for you, you no longer have a job, a family or friends, and let's not forget that you will likely be in jail for fraud before the end of the month."

She eyed me briefly, a sadistic look of pleasure in her eyes. I had seen that look growing over the past few months. I didn't understand why I only saw it now. "You're pathetic Bart. Why, about the only thing you have going for you is that you know how to use your tongue and your cock is nice as a human dildo, my new man isn't as well-endowed and has no idea how to eat me. But he does things to me you never have."

"So that's it, you're admitting you're a slut, a cheating whore?" I said, a little anger creeping into my voice. "So yesterday and today were just you getting your fill, never giving a shit about me?"

Kelly laughed.

"Yes, it was all about me. I deserve it all. Haven't you noticed that it's always been about me?" She looked at me, and for a moment, it looked like she had a hint of sorrow. "We did have a lot of good years together," the look passed, and the bitch came back. "But you're done Bart, so I am moving on."

Kelly leaned in close to me as my world continued to break.

"Look Bart, make it easy for me. I'm asking for the house and most of the assets because you're going to be in jail. So, sign the papers. I'm being generous to you, giving you one week to pack your shit and move out. But be out of this house by this time next week, or I'll add a restraining order to everything else."

"You're staying at your lover's then?" I asked, feeling the weight of everything, betrayal at my now-former work and now by my wife.

Again she laughed, "Of course, his place is a lot smaller, which is why we are going to get this place once you're in jail. But don't bother following me, or I'll call the police and have you arrested for stalking; you're already going to jail. Don't add to it."

I pulled out a chair and sat down, dejected and rejected. Kelly took a few strides towards me. Then she noticed the glowing red handprint that Myra left there earlier.

She looked at my red cheek and smiled. "Well, at least that slut got let go too. Go crawl in a hole and die, Bartholomew."

And with that, Kelly walked out. I did nothing for the rest of the day, not even drink. The next day I didn't know what to do either. I was expecting something. I tried to call Grace, but it kept going to voicemail.

After about the twentieth call, she picked up.

"What do you want?" my daughter's voice sounded terse.

"Grace, I..." I started to say

"Save it, father," Grace interrupted me. Her tone was terse, almost scathing. "Mum told me all about your fraud, the lies you told, the fact you were having an affair with your assistant. Seriously, cheating on mum and stealing two hundred thousand dollars. You have screwed up a lot of lives for that, and I can say I have never been more disappointed in anyone in my entire life."

I wasn't sure what to say. For a moment, nothing was said between either of us. But as I went to take a breath and defend myself, Grace again interrupted me.

"Look, I'll be blunt," Grace told me over the phone hotly. "John and I want nothing to do with you. Last night, you were on the news as being investigated by the police, then mum called and told me everything. Go to jail, dad. Do your time and stay away from us. I'm not proud of saying this, but if you are not in jail when we get married, don't come. I don't want someone who could destroy this family so utterly near me on my happiest day. I'll find someone else to walk me down the aisle."

I said nothing, tears falling from my face.

"Dad, are you listening? Are you getting how much you have fucked everything up?"

I said nothing, but she heard my sobbing.

"Goodbye, dad; from this moment on, you're dead to me. Don't ever try contacting me again, and I do mean ever!" Her tone final, she hung up without another word.

With that, I fell to the floor and cried.

Two days later, the Police showed up at my door, arrested me and took me in for questioning. The detectives that arrested me didn't bother to ask me if I did it. Instead, they just kept hammering me with question after question about where I stashed the money, who my partners were, how long I had been defrauding my former workplace.

In the end, they released me, sending me home but telling me not to leave town as I had to face court the following week. I walked into my house, looking around at everything, pictures on the walls of Kelly, Grace and me, artwork that we had bought, trophies Grace had brought home over the years for her school sporting achievements. So many memories and good times now appeared hollow and meaningless.

The past week had been a blur; deep inside me, I knew I was missing things about this entire situation. I knew I wasn't connecting the apparent dots, but other than knowing I was innocent, I just had no idea. My wife had left me, my daughter disowned me, fired from my job, my assistant blamed me, even a close friend had treated me like shit and never bothered to follow me up.

The few calls that I had picked up were now former friends extolling their disappointment in me. The scenario played out repeatedly as they told me never to contact them again. I was poison, just being near me was unacceptable.

I walked into the bedroom broken, having no idea what my next steps were. As an engineer, I solved problems, but I didn't know what problem I was solving right now.

I went downstairs after having a shower, ate a sandwich with stale bread and jam, the cardboard taste just adding to my now morose life. I guess I could have handled it all if it wasn't for Grace throwing me out of her life. I stared at the table in front of me. There was a bottle of sleeping pills that Kelly used and an unopened bottle of American Honey Whiskey. For the first time in my life, a dark thought entered my mind about what would happen if I drank and ate the pills. I shook my head. It wasn't the answer. I just needed a bit of time.

The following day, bright and early, I was served again. This time it was a restraining order against me to come within a hundred meters of Kelly, Grace, John or Roger and that I had to be out of the house the coming Monday. Despite the growing sense of helplessness, what caught my eye was that the restraining order included Roger, which was a strange one. Why Roger?

Something clicked.

"Mother fucking cum buckets!" I screamed out at no one in particular.

I sent him a text message, not thinking about anything, beset by rage and what felt like an open wound in my very soul.

[ You fucking bastard, this is all your fault. I am going to beat the living shit out of you, call yourself a friend, I am going to find you and destroy you ]

I didn't get anything back in response; however, a half-hour later, the same two detectives that arrested me again came and told me off for breaking the restraining order, contacting Roger. They weren't interested in my explanations. They didn't want to hear my story. They just wanted me in jail because I was the bad guy in their minds. They knew that I had to be out of the house by Sunday and told me that I would be arraigned on Monday.

They told me a car with a detective would be parked across the street watching me for the next twenty-four hours, and I was strongly advised not to leave the house, just to pack my belongings.

Walking back into the house after giving more than an upset farewell to the two asshole cops, I gave in to the temptation to open the bottle of whiskey. Three shots in ten minutes, and I was drowning my sorrows. I got out three pieces of paper deciding to write a note to Kelly, Grace, and Myra.

To Kelly, I wrote my disappointment in her. I wrote what a betraying whore she was and that I hoped that she burnt long and hard in the pits of hell for what she had done to me when she died. I cursed her with every spiteful word I could think of, then spat on the paper before folding it up and putting it in an envelope.

To Grace, I wrote my sorrow and disappointment that she never even asked if I did what I was accused of. I told her that I had never done anything I had been charged with. I never cheated on her mother, that she had cheated on me. I told her I never stole any money and that she could ever think I could do either thing showed that she needed to grow up and look at who was feeding her that bullshit. Then I softened my tone, telling her to love John with everything she had and think kindly of me when everything settled down. Finally, I asked her to make sure that Roger was not the one to walk her down the aisle in my place since he had betrayed me. This time, my tears stained the paper as I again put the letter in an envelope.

To Myra, I wrote and apologised. First, I told her that none of this situation was her fault. Then, I laid out a few things I thought I knew about how Roger had betrayed us both, and he was the person I believed was now sleeping with my wife. Next, I explained I was sorry if I ever made her uncomfortable with my stolen glances. I had meant nothing more than shyly appreciating working with such an attractive woman, but that I held her in the most profound respect and apologised if my looking at her had tarnished that. Lastly, I finished by saying that I felt I had no way out, asking if she could one day forgive me after her anger subsided.

I sealed each letter in their envelopes, writing their names on them. Then I grabbed both the bottle of whiskey and the bottle of sleeping pills walking up to the bedroom. I sighed as I placed each letter on the bedside table then, as an afterthought, threw a post-it note behind the letters telling the detectives to look at Roger's finances if they wanted the truth. I finished by writing that they should do their jobs next time rather than driving an innocent man to do what I was about to do.

I stepped into the bathroom and took my time having a luxurious hot shower. I took another couple of swigs of whiskey, followed by downing all of the sleeping pills with another drink. I dried myself looking in the mirror, wondering why I was doing this. I had never been like this, but I had a course of action, a way out of this mess. If the world no longer wanted me, I would remove myself from it. My razor was there on the bench. It was a straight razor as I loved a good close shave. I picked it up and took another large swallow of the whiskey, throwing the remaining whiskey on the bed with the empty pill bottle as I walked into the room. I don't know why, but I dressed nicely, dress pants, casual shoes, along with a nice shirt, then I collapsed down on the ground just outside the bathroom, the whiskey and pills starting to affect me.

I turned the razor over in my hand and looked at the sharp edge. Its blade glinted at me as I contemplated the edge. Afterwards, I noted it had hurt, but I knew it would ensure no one would have to put up with me anymore. They didn't want me, didn't want to listen to me, so I would ensure they never needed to see me again.

[:::: - ::::]

Later on, I was told that Detective David Roundlight saved my life. He was that one assigned to watch my house that evening from the unmarked car across the road. When Mrs Hawkins, one of our neighbours, and perhaps one of the few people who had no idea what was happening, came over to ask after us due to seeing lots of people coming and going this week, Detective Roundlight met her at my front door. When the two of them together got no response after knocking, the Detective opened the door and found it unlocked; he walked through the house until he found me bleeding out on the bedroom floor.

Within moments an ambulance was dispatched, the house becoming a crime scene. In hindsight, it was the first break that I had gotten all week. I was barely alive when they brought me out. Fortunately for me, I couldn't repress my gag reflex once I had passed out. They found me in a puddle of vomit, booze and blood.

Under Detective Roundlight's guidance, forensics were brought in. They bagged the whiskey, the pill bottle, the letters and, in going through the house, found three hidden cameras recording to a hard drive hidden in a laundry cupboard. I knew nothing about them.

I was unconscious for three days, and when I awoke, I was surprised to find I was alive.

"Uh, where am I?" I asked a pretty nurse in a croaky voice.

"You're in Hollywood Private Hospital." She said quietly. Then put a finger to her lips, "Shhhh," she said quietly. "Your friend here has been up all night and only just fell asleep."

"Friend?" I asked, raising an eyebrow weakly, "I don't have any friends they all left me?"

"Well, this one didn't," she said, turning my head to find a very dishevelled Myra napping uncomfortably in one of those big fake leather chairs you often find in a hospital.

"Myra," I said quietly, somehow relieved to see her. In speaking her name, she stirred from her slumber.

Despite everything, the moment she noticed my eyes open, she was beside me, her hand slipping into mine.

"Bart, what the hell do you think you're doing?" she barked. But her hand held mine very gently, and her eyes had tears threatening to break, even though her bloodshot eyes told me she had been crying a lot recently.

I looked away from her.

"I thought it was best..." I started, shame radiating outward from me in waves.

She snorted.

"You think ending your life was the only way to get away, Bartholomew Other. I have known you for over a decade. I have never known you to give up so easily. What were you thinking?" she repeated her question.

We said nothing for a few minutes; the only sound was the beep of the machines as she waited for my response.

"Myra, I'm sorry... everything, I mean everyone. When Kelly, then you then Grace... I couldn't take it. I never did any of it; no one even asked. I felt I was backed into a corner. My wife told me to go die, my daughter told me I was dead to her, my friend betrayed me, and I hurt and disappointed you. I wasn't thinking. I got drunk and in a weak moment did something that made sense to me at that instant. I am not supposed to be here." I said sadly.

She nodded then carefully sat on the end of the bed.

"I'm sorry too, Bart," she said quietly, her own tears threatening to start, "I was mad and upset, I never stopped for a minute to think that you were innocent. I was wrong."

"It's okay, Myra..." She shushed me.

"No, it's not Bart, that you're here and that you feel that I am one of the people that made you... I don't know that I can forgive myself." This time she started crying.

"It's alright, Myra, it's alright." I closed my eyes, tired. For the next few minutes, we said nothing. However, Myra would not let you go of my hand. Ultimately, we were disturbed by a doctor before either of us could figure out what to say.

He smiled, looking over my chart as I opened my eyes, "Well, Mr Other, it is good to see you awake. How do you feel?"

I shrugged, "Alive. I wasn't expecting that."

He frowned, Myra did as well.

"Well, let's see if we can keep you that way, shall we," he said, downplaying my morbid comment.

For the next few minutes, he checked me over. Myra stood back and watched as he unbandaged my wrists, checking the stitches. Myra gasped at the wounds. Then, he took my blood pressure and slightly adjusted the drip in my arm.

"We have you mainly on saline," the doctor explained. "You required two transfusions when you arrived as you had lost a lot of blood. The saline will help your body generate what it needs as well as keep you hydrated. You'll need to take it slow on food for a few days. I'm afraid we had to pump your stomach when you got here to make sure there were no more pills in there. It is not a pleasant experience. As a result, you will likely feel a sore itchiness that you can't scratch, but you will be alright.

"Lastly, there is a detective that has been wanting to meet with you when you woke up; he's been in here a couple of times. Ms Brown here has spoken with him," he finished, nodding to Myra.

I looked down at the bed as he finished, He repeated the warning to keep resting and not move. He redid the bandages on my wrists, leaving Myra and me alone. I couldn't look at her.

"So, I'm guessing you're here because of my letter?" I asked.

She shook her head, "I haven't seen the letter yet, though Detective Roundlight has told me about it," more tears threatening to escape. "My cousin works here in administration and found your name on the critical care list. He rang me and told me you had been brought in after trying to commit suicide..." Myra said, almost whispering the final word.

I still couldn't look at her, feeling nothing but shame.

Myra shuddered a breath but kept going. "I was already feeling low, Bart. After I drove away, I was still so angry, but I suspected that you had nothing to do with that fraud. I mean, I have been your assistant for years. If anyone knew you could do something like trying to steal money, it would be me, but I should have stopped for a moment as angry as I was. If I did, I would have realised that you were set up.