1994 August Twelfth
Manhattan, New York
The frail, ashen man laid the nine-millimeter pistol down with a shaky
hand. His name was Lawrence. He began typing, pecking at the computer
keyboard with two fingers. The weapon’s hammer was down, and the
safety was off. There would be no hurry to fire the weapon once the
point of no return was reached. As the man typed, his words were
concise, reflecting his mournful mind. The woefully grim message read;
‘I see no reason to continue.
I no longer recognize life’s worth.
My most precious possession, the best God could have gifted me . . .
My material wealth was inheritance from my father.
I had no hand in its’ acquisition, no delight in its’ gain.
And now without her to share it . . . it is worthless to me.
Now laughter rings hollow, if it is recognized at all. If so it hits the ear
and dissipates quickly. I have witnessed the end of joy.
Life has become trivial, banal.
Mariah is gone from this earth, this life.
Dispatched by another’s hand, it, guided by a black heart.
I hear this man’s mocking laughter, the laughter of the impenitent.
Have You Seen Me? 7
My shame has become my shroud.
Tonight, sorrow guides my hand.
Mariah is at God’s side.
I say goodbye, to say hello.’
A moment passed as Lawrence Miekeljohn stared at one of his most
cherished memories, a picture of his stunning, auburn haired wife Mariah.
With a few clicks of his mouse, he was now seeing full motion video, his
face awash in tears, eyes reflecting warmly the images before him.
Lawrence envisioned the first time he had seen Mariah, that breezy
Sunday afternoon at Hawthorne Meadow Polo Grounds. In the wash of
the summer light she was beauty personified; tawny, angelic, delicate.
Lawrence’s initial attraction to Mariah was immediate. That was how it
was for most men that first saw her
She came from a family as wealthy and respected as Lawrence’s, so
when she agreed to see him socially, Lawrence came to the happy
realization that she hadn’t made her decision based on what he was; a
Miekeljohn; but rather for whom he was, the man who would ultimately
love her forever. Lawrence knew that being of Miekeljohn lineage
represented vast wealth and family holdings in land, shipping and
publishing concerns that had been cultivated for generations dating back
to the Mayflower landing. Lawrence’s distant grandfather, Alden
Miekeljohn, wasn’t among the 102 passengers on the Mayflower, but a
member of the loosely numbered crew of the vessel. He purchased his
first tract of land in 1635 in Duxbury, Massachusetts and the Miekeljohn
fortune and legacy was in its’ infancy.
Lawrence and Mariah enjoyed a brief, whirlwind courtship. After
spending four months on four different continents indulging themselves
in all that the world held for the superrich, they asked themselves why
delay their inevitable fate? Lawrence and Mariah realized immediately that
the passion they felt for each other was real, that it was something not to
be taken for granted. Ten months after meeting they married in front of God and four hundred friends and family members. The Hawaiian
wedding proved to be the social event of the season. There was an electric
air about the affair as Robert De Niro, Ross Perot, The Artist Formerly
Known as Prince and Larry King were among those in attendance. With
vast wealth came a vast array of acquaintances and business partners.
Also in attendance was the one of the largest private security forces ever
assembled for a wedding outside of royal families around the world.
After six months of blissful marriage Mariah was leaving the Adelaide
Contemporary Art Gallery in Soho one summer evening. The gallery was
her prized possession and passion project. On this particular Mariah was
savagely attacked, abducted, repeatedly raped and sadistically murdered.
The savage flurry of blows delivered to her head by a ball peen hammer
wielding sociopath rendered her practically unrecognizable. After missing
for ten days, Mariah’s body was eventually found in a garbage dumpster
behind a leather tanning factory a mile from her gallery. Because of decay
and physical trauma she had undergone, her fingerprints and dental
records were useless in identifying her. She was ultimately identified
through DNA profiling.
Now, sitting in front of his suicide note Lawrence Miekeljohn picked
up the Smith and Wesson SD9VE 9mm pistol. He held the barrel under
his chin. There was no hesitation.
“God forgive me,” Lawrence said softly as a single tear rolled down
his cheek. The blast from the weapon exploded the silence, ending forever
the unbearable misery of Lawrence Miekeljohn.
Santa Monica, California
Since his teenaged years Dan Schwantz had always loved an early
morning swim. He thought it was the best way to wake the mind and
body. In fact, swimming had played a considerable role in his life’s
success. Because of swimming he had earned an athletic scholarship,
which had paid his way through college. Swimming also got him women.
Have You Seen Me? 9
In fact, swimming helped him get a lot of women. They were always
attracted to his athletic good looks and lean, hard body. As a Santa
Monica lifeguard during the summers away from UCLA, he was a svelte,
tanned woman magnet. Women were his greatest weakness.
To a fault, women were his greatest weakness.
When Schwantz saw Mariah Miekeljohn in New York he knew
instantly that he had to have her. Whatever the possession of Mariah
entailed, Schwantz would invest. For him it was that simple. Like every
man that was graced by her presence, Schwantz was immediately taken.
After having approached her on the pretense of wanting to purchase some
pieces from her gallery, he discovered she was married.
Still, he would have her. Plan B.
Among other things, including athlete and businessman, Dan
Schwantz was also a brutal serial rapist and a soulless cold-blooded
murderer. The fact was, the violent act of rape proved a tremendous turn
on for him. Occasionally, murder was simply a manner of closure or
After a few days of reconnaissance and in a workman like fashion,
Schwantz snatched Mariah Miekeljohn one night from her gallery. Then
he sexually violated and savagely murdered her. Shortly after, the police
learned that there was an eyewitness who could place Schwantz at
Mariah’s gallery the night she disappeared. During the investigation of
Schwantz the witness mysteriously recanted his statement. The police
never learned why.
Schwantz knew that it was a pistol pressed into the man’s ribs while he
rode the subway home to Queens after his ten-hour shift driving a New
York City bus. The gun was accompanied by a whispered threat to the
witness, painting a graphic portrait of the man bearing witness his own
family being slaughtered. The threat that was further coupled with a
Kermit the Frog lunch box stuffed with crumpled fifty-dollar bills. These maneuvers created a plethora of gray area for the witness, clouding his
memory to the point of uselessness.
For someone who was so thoroughly bankrupt in any number of
ethical and moral areas, Schwantz was also very highly educated, creative
and cultured, as well as being financially set for life. Ironically, he had
made his considerable fortune designing and marketing women’s apparel.
Today Schwantz stood poised on the diving board of his forty-foot
oval pool, breathing in the morning air made sweet by the Evening
Primrose and Cleveland Sage native to the area. His senses were slightly
dulled by the previous night’s revelry, having partied with a few of his
closest friends until the four in the morning. Now at 11am his
recuperation began with this swim. For him there would be no hair of the
dog, just proper diet and exercise. He largely believed in taking care of the
machine, certainly after an earned evening of wild debauchery.
Had Schwantz been in complete control of his senses, he might have
noticed someone hiding in his hedges. Instead, he stretched his arms
outward at his sides, trembling as he loosened his tight muscles and tested
his balance. He began to bounce lightly on the springboard.
As was his custom every morning, Schwantz stepped away from the
springboard’s edge and pulled his swimming trunks off, revealing one of
the world’s tightest asses and largest cocks. He was physically gifted in
more than just an athletic body hone over decades of constant exercise.
He threw the trunks in a heap by his sandals and edged towards the
springboards end. Bouncing three more times, Schwantz completed a
perfect, nearly splash less swan dive into the pool’s ten-foot depth.
Seconds later he emerged near the opposite end of the pool and began
cutting through the water, executing an effortless breaststroke. He
completed eight laps before he stopped to catch his breath, smoothly
Because of his blunted senses, Schwantz he hadn’t noticed that the
pool’s water was below its normal chlorine level. Also lost on him was a
slightly salty taste as he took some of the water in his mouth and spit it
out, emulating a water fountain. However, he had noticed how
Have You Seen Me? 11
comfortable and warm the water was, quickly dismissing it due to the
Southern California sun.
The person in the bushes had carefully calculated every one of these
Perfectly at ease and overwhelmed by his submergence in the pool,
Schwantz completely relaxed. He began to urinate. The release of fluids
from his bladder sent an exhilarating tingle through his body, up to his
temples. The release actually made Schwantz grow slightly lightheaded.
The man in the hedges knew exactly what was happening and guessed he
had only a moment more to wait.
The Candiru, or toothpick fish, swimming at the bottom of
Schwantz’s pool immediately became agitated. Ordinarily, the Candiru is
indigenous to the Amazon River. The specimen in the pool, in fact, was
captured off the banks of Borneo. A parasite, the Candiru was adapted for
life in the gills and cloaca of larger fish. Like most catfish, of which it is a
species, the Candiru is a bottom dweller. This was how it went undetected
by Schawntz’s less than sharp vision.
Another calculated risk.
The man behind the hedges knew that when a person urinates in the
water where the Candiru thrives, the fish will become attracted by the
smell, mistakenly thinking a larger fish is in the area, and swim up the
stream of uric acid. This in fact, is what began to happen as Schwantz
Immediately, Schwantz began to shriek a seemingly inhuman howl as
the tiny fish made its way up his penis and into his urethra, like a worm
working itself into a burrow. Then the Candiru extended its gill covers and
stuck out a set of retrose spines, that buried themselves into the flesh of
the shaft of Schwantz’s penis.
For Schwantz, the pain was staggering as he squealed, flipping
backwards into the water clutching his crotch. At that time, the man behind the hedges, Ernest Guilte, made his way quietly down the fragrant and shrub-covered hill, his task complete.
As hedrove back into Los Angeles, Guilte thought of the procedure Schwantz
would have to undergo in hopes of saving his own life.
If in fact he could survive the searing, hellish pain, Schwantz would
dial 911. After arriving at the hospital, doctors would discover the baffling
and undoubtedly never seen before problem and attempt to seek a
solution. After supposition and research, having only a few precious
hours, they would come to only one diagnosis for saving the man’s life.
For Schwantz to survive, before his bladder burst and killed him, a
medical team would have to cut off his penis to remove the Candiru.
Schwantz would have to live the rest of his life castrated, unable to rape
For his crimes against Mariah Miekeljohn, this would be his
punishment. A quick death was too good for him. The fathers of both
Lawrence and Mariah Miekeljohn held this opinion and conveyed it to
their mercenary, Ernest Guilte.