The Ann Dawson Case

PART 10- Ann

"I feel okay about my parent's divorce," Ann said, obviously lying, lighting a cigarette.

She looked at me expressionlessly: her red-rimmed eyes were glazed over, as if in a trance, and her once dewy skin was an unhealthy pale. She looked lifeless and miserable. Ann Dawson was long dead before she was killed.

"You can't smoke in here," I told her in a condescending tone, trying to extrude my authority.

"I can," Ann quipped, smirking. Immediately, she looked less hollow; a smiled creeped its way onto her face. She was too cocky for her own good. I wasn't prepared for what came next.

Ann looked up at me, grinning. "I know about Nathaniel Templeton's affair with you," she said wildly, "and I'm going to tell everyone."

I started sweating. We were so careful. No one could find out. He'd lose his job, custody over his kids, and I'd lose my job. No one would want to see me. My reputation as a person would be over. Most importantly, we could no longer be together.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

"I've seen your messages to him. I checked his phone from the bed while he was in the bathroom," Ann was smiling in a deranged manner. I realized what she was implying. I wanted to punch the smug smirk off of her face.

"Why can't I just tell everyone that he was having an affair with you?" I retorted.

"I'm underage. You don't want his life to be ruined, right?" She said, innocently. I wanted to strangle her; I was so angry.

"What do you want?" I asked as calmly as I could. She wouldn't be bringing this up if she didn't want something from me.

"Let's start with some prescription medication," she said, pulling out a list of pills. Was she out of her mind? I could go to jail; I'd much rather have my love life be exposed, but even then, I wasn't so keen on that either. I just needed some time to think. I took the list, and told her I'd consider it to buy me some time.

"You have twenty-four hours," she said, taking a long drag off of her cigarette, exiting my office. I needed that bitch gone, and fast.

Walking home, I thought about my options. I didn't have many. I wondered if they were still seeing each other. I needed to find a way to make Nate all mine.

"I need carnations; they're her favorite," I overheard Linda say into her phone at the crosswalk, "yes, I'm picking up the kids now. I'll be home in a few hours; no one's walked the dog all day." She hung up her phone, and was about to walk across the street when she noticed my large smile.

"You live in that brick house, on Fuller Lane, right? Don't you have carnations in your yard? I was admiring them the other day, as I was passing by your house," I told her, hatching a plan.

"Yes, but I don't think so. I think I would remember if the gardener planted my mother's favorite flowers," she told me, knowingly, "it's her birthday in two days, and I don't know where to get carnations. I would definitely cut them from my garden if I had them."

This was too perfect. I knew it was too perfect. Nothing works out as beautifully as I plan. I ran home that day, taking a car full of potted carnations to the brick house on Fuller. I guessed I had a few hours, like she mentioned, and I planted them in her yard, behind the front hedges, so no one could see me do it.

Carnations were my favorite flowers, too, and I had them specially ordered from Columbia a week ago. Yes, they were out of season, but beauty was worth it. I waited in my car until Linda got home. I saw her face when she saw them. First quizzical, then happy. I saw her come out of her house a minute later with gardening shears. I silently celebrated; this plan was going too well. I drove over to Ann's house and stabbed her to death with a butcher's knife. She deserved to die like the pig she was. Wiping off the prints, I made sure to throw the knife in the Turners' yard before I got home.

In hindsight, I should have chosen someone who had an issue Ann. Andrew was right; Linda's lack of motive made the Ann Dawson case seem unsolved.

"You sick, twisted person," Andrew said to me with disgust, spitting in my direction. I wasn't expecting him to understand, but couldn't he see I killed her in self-defense? She was ruining my relationship with Nate. I loved him. And I couldn't write her prescriptions. That was wrong; I couldn't see Nate from jail. Why couldn't he see my side?

Andrew walked closer to me, and I panicked.

I smashed the vase I had in my hand over his head, and he collapsed. I didn't know what I was thinking; I had a two hundred pound man passed out in my living room with no plan. I had to think quickly; there was not much time before he would wake up. I tied him up with clothes from my closet, took out his car keys from his pocket, and put him in a trash bag. I tried to haul him to my trunk, but I wasn't strong enough. I did manage to stuff him in a closet. I was sweating; that was a workout.

I cleaned up the broken vase, skewed flowers, and blood from my living room. What should I do with his car? No one could know he was here. I put on gloves, and drove it to his house. For the first time in my life, I was without a plan. And I was very, very scared.