Missing Like You

SIXTY-ONE

It all happened so fast after that. Within seconds, she was lunging at me, her hands at my face. I jolted and fought back, trying to push her off of me. Scott was on his feet in seconds, but not before Zeppelin was on Lexie.

I watched in horror as Lexie was ripped away from me and mauled by my ninety-eight pound Doberman.

The next few moments after that are a bit of a blur. I remember hearing screams, from my own voice, as well as Lexie's. Scott was yelling, trying to pull the dog off of her, but then Zeppelin lashed out and bit Scott's arm, tearing off a piece of skin. Scott pulled back and fell to the ground.

I kept screaming, yelling for Zeppelin to stop, but she wouldn't relent. I've never seen someone be ripped apart by a canine before. I knew it was possible, but I didn't know the logistics of it. I didn't know how her incisors would rip into human flesh and pull. I didn't know how she would use her claws to dig and rip a body apart. I didn't think that my baby who I rescued from a shelter four years ago would turn into a monster when necessary and take away someone's life. They warned us about this from the beginning. They were insistent on training her and ensuring that she was good around people. But Zeppelin was never good around people. She was jealous and overprotective and determined to have her way. The only thing she was good at, was protecting Scott and me.

I tell all of this to Mark, knowing very well how it sounds, and knowing very well that he probably won't believe a word of it.

Finally, after a long time of processing the truth of his wife's death in silence, he says to me, "What did you do with her body?"

Good question.

It wasn't a quick and easy decision like how they portray it in the movies. We sat in the kitchen for a long time, the floor covered in dark blood, Lexie in the center. Zeppelin sat beside me on the floor, nestling in close. I was too afraid to move. Too afraid to do anything. I stroked my dog mindlessly, my arm having a mind of its own. Scott sat across from us, staring in horror as he kept one hand clenched over his arm where Zeppelin had torn him.

I knew she was dead. There was no point in reaching across the floor, putting a finger to her neck to check for a pulse. I knew from the way that Zeppelin went at her that she wouldn't survive something like that. And so we sat there for a very long time, no one moving, no one saying a word.

At one point I glanced at the clock. It was after eleven. I tried moving my mouth, forming words, but I couldn't. Scott looked up and we met eyes. It was as though upon seeing me he was brought back into reality, just enough for him to snap back into it and spring to action.

He started with the towels. Lots of towels. We spent hours on our hands and knees, absorbing all of the blood into the towels. We ran the washing machine. We got more towels. We got plastic bags and plastic gloves and cleaning supplies. We ended up wrapping her body in a comforter, then finished cleaning the floor until there was nothing left. Even after we had cleaned everything twice, I went over it a third time with bleach.

It was never a question whether we'd call the police or not. We couldn't. Everyone already feared Doberman's enough as it was. If this came out, they'd take Zeppelin away and euthanize her. They'd say she was a danger to society. They'd villainize all Doberman's. And Scott and I would lose our baby.

That, and the fact that calling the police would only bring forth more questions. What Lexie was doing in our house. Why Zeppelin attacked her. Why we didn't do anything to stop her. Surely we'd be arrested and charged with something. There was no way we'd get off from something of that magnitude. So we made a decision and we were willing to live with it. We were willing to dispose of Lexie and bury all of our secrets with her. We'd be safe, Zeppelin would be untouched, and in my mind, a great nuisance would be taken care of.

I'm not glad that she died. It was never my intention to have to do the things I did that night. But I can't say I feel a loss from her demise. From what Scott told me and from what I learned about the real Lexie that night, she wasn't a good person. She was willing to destroy my marriage simply because she wanted what she couldn't have. And that wasn't okay.

With that being said, her death haunted me for a long time. It still haunts me to this day. I feel responsible for her death as though it were my very own hands that did it. No person should have to live with that on their conscience, and now I see why Macbeth behaved the way he did. No matter how many times I washed my hands, no matter how hard I scrubbed, I could never rid myself of the guilt that had stained me.

We drove far away, buried her somewhere no one would ever find. The trick to getting away with murder is that there has to appear to be no murder. No body, no crime. And so I ensured that we did everything possible to make sure no one ever discovered Lexie's body. Ever.

The nightmares began shortly after that. I'd wake up every night in a hot sweat, her face staring down at me. I'd replay the scene over and over again, Zeppelin ripping her to shreds. I'd dream about her and Scott together, her body in his hands. I had to start taking Ambien. I'd drink myself to sleep and pray that the alcohol brought numbness and stopped the dreams. It didn't. If anything, it only amplified them and made it worse.

Scott and I only lasted a few months after that. By January, I knew I couldn't do it anymore. I resented Scott for everything that happened that night. It was all his fault. If he would have just stayed loyal to me and never felt the need to wander off and start an affair, then the name Lexie Chambers would never have been a part of our vocabulary, our marriage might have been fine, and I would have been able to sleep at night.

We separated in late January and I packed my things and moved out. I couldn't stay in that house. Regardless of all the good memories we had there, they would all be overshadowed by the one bad thing. And as much as I wanted to stay with Zeppelin, I couldn't do it either. It wasn't her fault. She was only doing what she thought was right, believing she was protecting us, which I guess in a way she was. But I couldn't be with her anymore. Everything I had ever known, the life I had created for myself there with Scott, the house, and my dog, were all tainted and ruined. There was no way to salvage any of it. So I left.

The love I had for Scott was always there, an omnipresence in my mind. Regardless of the fact that he cheated on me and ruined our marriage, and subsequently was responsible for a woman's death, I still loved him. I guess seeing him sometimes helped numb the pain. It was a distraction for both of us, something we both needed. The last time I saw him, three weeks before I was taken. And then on the seventeenth of June, karma finally caught up to us, and Mark Chambers came into existence. You know the rest.

Today. The first of July. Two weeks since I was taken. It's a quarter after six in the evening. I've just finished telling Mark everything there is to know. I must say, there is something truly liberating about finally being able to get it all out, to tell the truth. A giant weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I feel so much relief. All my sins are out there now. There's nothing left to lie about or hide.

Part of me wonders if he'll believe me. Part of me wonders how he'll react. Certainly he'll ensure I suffer the same fate his wife did. Mark is all about vengeance and retribution, after all.

I've already come to terms with the fact that there's no way he'll allow me to walk out of this cottage alive.