The Old Woman's Moment

The Old Woman’s Moment

I deplored that old woman; she always smelled like urine, her blue eyes were rheumy, and she wheezed continuously. I hated taking care of her in her home; she was not a gracious spinster; she was cruel. She insisted on having her hair done twice a week, a rather ugly dark blue hue. She complained about everything from the colors in her room to the money I was making caring for her. I made minimum wage, three dollars an hour to be exact. She made a point of that amount every Friday. I hated her more and more as time went on. I thought about quitting that job, but could not find anything that would pay more. It was almost as if she had it in for me. She was a very unhappy woman; her children never visited her, and her husband divorced her twenty-five years ago. I listened to her rant and rave and finally decided I was going to put her out of her misery as well as my own. Yes, I began to look for ways to murder her without being caught. I went home for the weekend and began to research different methods of murder. I found several that intrigued me. Bella Donna, or “nightshade,” was a contender. The problem with Bella Donna was that the juice was lethal, but where could I find it? No, that would not work. The next method was snake venom; an injection of Coral Snake venom might work, since it has neurotoxins which cause havoc within the body. The symptoms are easy to recognize. That won't work either. Any coroner would realize that if a snake did not bite her, she was murdered. I eliminated both of those. Reading the newspaper one evening, I found the solution I sought. A nurse in Tyler, Texas, killed four heart patients by injecting an air bubble into an arterial tube. Yes, this was the perfect crime; the nurse was seen injecting the bubble on a camera. He received the death penalty. I was determined not to make the same mistake. There were no cameras in the old lady’s bedroom; it was just her, me, and the machinery keeping her alive. I have to murder her, I have to have quiet, for my own sake. I will take my time; I have to be sure the murder can not be traced back to me. I never pictured myself as a murderer, but I can not stand her constant whining, especially during the night. I need my sleep. She passes gas, yells: “Ha top that one!” She is attached to an oxygen machine to aid in her breathing, too bad I could not just pull that plug, but then I surely do not want to find myself on death row. I must be careful and do everything she asks, I do not want to arise her suspicions, that she has seven days to live. I have to begin the preparations for her murder. She was diabetic; I had access to syringes, which made things easier for me. The problem for me was how to dispose of her body. These thoughts rambled through my mind: I must be very cautious, I am not insane, I am motivated! Motivated to find a new position, after I kill the old biddy. Truly, I am not insane; I'm just tired of her constant wheezing, crying out in the night in pain, having to prepare three meals a day that she doesn’t eat, and she has thrown plates with food at me. The one meal she will eat that I have prepared for her is Jello. She says anything else makes her nauseous. Maybe she just wants to drive me insane, but I will kill her before she gets the chance. I must be resilient, or I will not have the nerve to kill her; everything must be timed properly. I will bide my time for the seven days. No one will miss her, least of all me. I have a plan. I will kill her, chop her body into as many small pieces as I can manage. Then I will burn them, a few at a time. This will be delightful, at least for me. I heard a voice today, it told me I am doing things correctly, so I won’t get caught. Imagine! I don’t know if I was hearing from heaven or hell, maybe both. I think since I began working for the old biddy, I am developing schizophrenia, perhaps the voice is a hallucination; whatever it is, I don’t care.

A diagnosis of schizophrenia would keep me off death row; yes, I must be sure to magnify the signs. There she goes again, yelling and screaming at me. I may have to act more quickly than I planned. The voice is becoming louder now; it tells me to murder her very soon before she has me arrested. I don’t think anyone else hears the voice I hear; that is not the point. The point is, tonight I will murder the old biddy, I will then be free of her and her demands! I waited until I was sure she was asleep, then I took the syringe from its hiding place. I very carefully lifted the IV tube, inserted the needle, and pushed the plunger. Two minutes later, she was dead. I went downstairs to the kitchen, found a butcher knife and a meat cleaver in a drawer. I also found a blue tarp in the kitchen pantry. The voice told me to lay the tarp on the floor to make cleaning up easier. I returned to her room on the second floor. I put the blue tarp next to the bed. I rolled her onto it, then began to hack her apart with the meat cleaver and butcher knife. I took me over an hour to complete the task. I carefully placed body parts in boxes. I put them up in the attic, hoping there would be no smell. When I finished the task, I went to bed. I awoke later in the morning. I made myself some breakfast and went about my daily chores. I was so proud of myself, the murder had been so easy, but I sensed that something was wrong with my plan. Whatever was wrong I would deal with it at the appropriate time. Two months later, a friend of the old biddy’s visited, she was easy to get rid of, I told her the woman was sleeping and she would have to return later. I had a few frantic moments then calmed myself. Three months to the day of her demise, a police officer knocked on the door. I had to answer, I just hoped he would leave quickly. An order was developing, I think it was her. The part I hid in the attic. The officer introduced himself, asked where her room was located. I showed him, I opened the door to her room, we both stepped in. That smell was overwhelming, at least to me it was. The cop looked around, he seemed satisfied, he asked where she was, I told him the nursing home in town. The order kept getting worse suddenly, I began to babble about murdering her. I told the cop how I had injected a bubble into her IV, then thought I committed the perfect crime. I cut her into pieces, then hid some of the body parts in the attic. He knew that was the truth, he arrested me for murder. I did do it.