9:38 PM, Tuesday October 7th, 2014

I run to the ringing phone in the kitchen, set down my flashlight and guitar and pick up. “Dr. Sergio!” exclaimed Linda Soapstone “I just can’t believe it. Your ads don’t lie. I look and feel like my entire body is new, not just my tits! I can run faster, think more clearly, sing higher notes… it’s amazing! What could you possibly have done?” “Oh, don’t let it concern you,” I reply “always happy to fix someone up a little.”

3:27 PM, Saturday October 2nd, 2014

I’m shedding a tear of two because I just saw the ending of lost on Netflix. I’m trying to understand what just happened, when I hear the phone ring in the kitchen. “Is this Dr. Sergio, the plastic surgeon,” says a peppy, somewhat exhausted woman who I’m guessing is about 40. “Speaking,” I say. “Oh hi! My name is Linda Soapstone. My friend Cheryl recommended you… said your ads don’t lie.” I remember Cheryl. “Anyways, I’m hoping to get a fresh pair o’ knockers for the big 4-0,” – I was right – “and was wondering if you could help me out?” Well, that was quick, I thought, relieved.

9:29 PM, Tuesday April 3rd, 2012

I climb into bed next to dolly. She’s reading The Tao of Pooh, in her own world. “Dolly?” I ask. No response. I try again, a little louder. She slams her book shut and puts it on her night table. “Dolly?” I ask in a mellow, affectionate whisper. She looks at me for a long five seconds; the look in her eyes is one that I’ve never seen before. Then she turns off the lights. I dream of myself as a boy, the time that I helped relocate my brother’s shoulder.

1:07 AM, Sunday October 5th, 2014

The rain is pouring, the night is black. Google maps tells me I’ve arrived at Cheryl’s address, or at least the one she gave me a week ago. Just my luck, a huge mansion by the water in Miami Beach, exposed, challenging. I park my SUV about a block away, walk over to the house, and open up the front door. Did I mention that picking locks is an area of expertise for me? With what I do, I guess it has to be. To my surprise, the Bannister’s had forgotten to turn on their alarm. Just my luck I guess. My alarm goes off on my watch. 1:20. Cheryl should’ve died peacefully in her sleep by now. I turn on my flashlight and tiptoe up the stairs to the master bedroom. There she is, sprawled out next to her husband, lifeless, ready to be recycled. With my gloves on, I silently pick up her body, carry it down stairs, put her in the trunk of my car, and think, It usually isn’t this easy. No guard dogs? No alert husband?

3:38 AM, Thursday October 9th, 2014

There she is, my daughter Lila, playing violin, just like when it happened. Am I dreaming? Reliving it. No. What’s happening? It’s different this time. I’m on the couch, next to Dolly, but I’m chained up. I can’t move. I’m trapped. Lila continues, and god she’s so talented. And then, just like that, it happens again. She hits that E flat, and Dolly launches at her. But I can’t even pull her back at this point. Before I know it, I see blood spurting out of my daughter’s carotid artery, draining her entirely. My wife continues to bite, and devour her. I try to close my eyes, but my eyelids are stuck, forcing tears out. I try to turn my head but I’m paralyzed. And finally when she’s done and the only thing left is bones, she looks up at me and says, in a whisper, “You’re next.” I wake with a start.

8:47 PM, Tuesday October 7th, 2014

I grab my acoustic guitar out of the closet, grab the garbage bag from the kitchen, grab my flashlight and descend into the basement. I find the light switch and flip it on. The loose chain on the floor suddenly tightens and shoots up right when I pull what remains of Linda’s left arm out of the garbage bag.

10:15 AM, Sunday October 5th, 2014

I hear a doorbell ring just two hours after I finish gutting Cheryl. I chug about 3 ounces of cold coffee, and find Linda and the Soapstone Family. Just on time. I take them to the “waiting room” (Lila’s old room, actually) and tell the family that the procedure should take around ten hours. “For a boob job?” Mr. Soapstone rudely questions. I don’t blame him. I seal them in. They won’t hear a thing, because the room is actually soundproofed to what goes on outside. Linda’s waiting on the operating table, she looks doubtful. “Everything all right,” I ask? “Well, I’m being operated on in a home and not a hospital… is that even legal?” she jokes. Her expression changes and she tells me that minutes earlier, she found out that Cheryl’s gone missing. “I’m sure the police will find her,” I say. Lying has become another area of expertise for me.

5: 56 PM, Tuesday March 27th, 2012

I can hardly believe what I just heard. The doctor’s words still ring in my ears. “Your wife has an extremely rare condition that will eventually cause intense cravings for live human flesh. Soon, she will experience no emotions. She will become an animal. A monster. There is not cure. I would suggest putting her down, out of humanity.” I reply, “ARE YOU F*ING KIDDING ME? How the f*** am I suppose to cope with news like that. Suggesting I put my wife down? GET THAT CLIPBOARD OUT OF MY FACE YOU ASSHOLE!” Was there a part of me that knew I should’ve heeded his warning?

11:15 AM, Sunday October 5th, 2014

The Sedative has done its work. Gloves and scrubs on, I grab my chainsaw and get to work. I make incisions carefully, starting with the left arm. I cut until I feel the bone, stop, and use forceps to lift up the skin, veins, you name it. Everything but the bones, up to her shoulder. I continue all around, leaving four things: The bone, the hair, the heart, and the brain. That’s when Cheryl comes along. Her body in the plastic bag. Soon to be worn by Linda, and then future customers. It’s composed of body parts from organ donors that I stole from the hospital back in 2012 before I quit. I soak the legs in a special concoction that includes lethal bacteria that will cut off circulation throughout the body a week after entering. While recycling these parts on patients (which truly do feel new and beneficiary while they last), I keep the fresher flesh for important reasons.

2:06 Sunday September 22nd, 2012

Dolly and I sit next to each other on the living room couch. She’s out of it, of course. Lila eagerly brings her music stand down the stairs, her violin in her other hand. I love her because she’s not afraid to be unique. She’s got a dad who plays guitar and even went on tour with a band that opened for Def Leppard in the 80’s, and of all instruments, she chooses violin. It’s been just a year that she’s been practicing and I can tell, she’s a natural. The way she caresses the bow to produce smooth, silky sounds that give you both goosebumps and warmth. I sip my water profusely. Dolly hasn’t even touched hers. And then, it happens. She strains the final E Flat in the second movement of Mozart’s Violin Sonata No. 33, for dramatic effect, and I rise to give a standing ovation, only halfway through the concert she’s prepared for us. I’m shocked to see Dolly rise as well. And then I see the two embrace. Are they hugging, is my wife feeling proud, and emotions? Is this the sign I’ve been waiting for? Then she turns to me, with the same look she gave me that night that she was reading in bed… but blood is dripping from her mouth. I never thought I would knock a woman unconscious in my life. But only then did I realize that the doctor was right. I was too late. Lila’s carotid artery had been clamped down on. Blood is flying everywhere. She has no chance. I get down in the floor and hold her head in my lap. We cry together, as I tell her that she will get to meet Mozart and Bach and Beethoven (who would be able to hear) in no time. I remind her to have courage like Anna from Frozen. And after our beautifully horrible moment that lasts 15 minutes, she closes her eyes. I am hysterical. I pound the floor with my fists, I kick my unconscious wife on the floor, I throw lamps and vases on the floor, I am horrified, I am erratic. I let out a scream, “NO! JESUS F*ING CHRIST WHY?!?” and then get on my knees, pound the floor, hysterically crying, and grab the pistol from the cupboard and put it in my mouth. I pull the trigger. Nothing. I try again. Nothing. The gun’s not loaded. Is this a sign? What if I need to prevent my wife… my monster… from ever doing this again. I drag her body into the basement, and tie her in duct tape. I give her room to breath, go upstairs, sit in a rocking chair, put my face in the palms of my hands, and think. The beginning of it all.

5:15 PM, Sunday October 5th, 2014

I’m just about done putting Linda back together. Now to gather up her old flesh. I take every last scrap of it and put it in a garbage bag. I put the bag in the pantry and check my watch. I’ve got a little under three hours, minus 1 hour that the sedative will start to ware off. I make some last minute adjustments, leave the surgery room, and make myself some dinner.

9: 15 PM, Tuesday October 7th, 2014

I finish my rendition of “Your Body Is A Wonderland” as Dolly, 7 feet away, chomps on Linda’s right leg. She finishes eating during the last chorus, and lunges at me. Luckily her collar is attached to a chain leash, tightly attached to the wall. She soon accepts failure. I decide that she’s had enough food for the day, and try something new. I talk to her. “How have you been, sweetheart?” She spits at my feet, and eyes me with the look. Her hungry look is what I call it. I go on to play some more old time favorites of ours, aimlessly searching for some emotion in her. I get frustrated and try something else. I get the picture of Lila that’s on the shelf. “Doesn’t this mean anything to you?” I ask. She reaches her hand out. I toss it to her. She smashes the photo on the ground, takes the photo from behind the glass frame, and tries to eat my little girl again. And so I yell, both to her and myself, “WHAT HAVE I BECOME? WHY DO I EVEN BOTHER FEED YOU? YOU’RE A MONSTER!!!!!!” And as I ascend the stairs because I hear the phone ringing, I hear the most unexpected sound: crying.

8:00 PM, Sunday October 5th, 2014

I sit, elevated over Dolly, reading Watchmen when she slowly opens her eyes and works up the strength to ask, “How’d it go?” I reply, “See for yourself,” pulling the blanket off and holding up a mirror to see her body, naked, exposed, fresh and new. She buys it. What I do is truly a form of art. She looks at me, enthusiastically, and offers me a hug. I hand her her clothes - she immediately pushes away the pushup bra- go grab glasses of water for each of us, and unlock to door to let the family come see mom. I direct them to the door. I get one more hug from Ms. Soapstone, who says into my ear, “You’re a miracle worker, Dr. Sergio,” and a suggestive pat on the back from Mr. Soapstone. I don’t blame him. I hope the two enjoy their time together while it lasts.

7:00 AM, Thursday October 9th, 2014

I stayed up the rest of the night, thinking about that dream. What does it mean? Her words continue to pierce me, sending chills down my spine. “You’re next.” Am I. What can I do? The only reason I’ve continued to do this is because there’s a part of me that thinks that Dolly still loves me, monster or not.

10:53 PM, Thursday October 9th, 2014

I creep down into the basement and turn the lights on. I hear Dolly, Sleeping in the darkest corner of the room that the light doesn’t touch I shine my light over her, walk around her, and unlock her collar. She wakes with a start. “Hey sweetie,” I say. She looks at me, friendly and innocently. I stand up. She stands up too. I hold her hands in mine, walk with her where there’s more light, and she kisses me. And then, it’s like it used to be, until I realize that she isn’t making out with me, she’s gnawing at my face. I back up, grab the pistol out of my back pocket, and scream at her “NO DOLLY NO! I LOVE YOU!” And then I take a shot.

It’s all over.

______

“A man in Coconut Grove was found dead in his basement in the middle of the night after a neighbor phoned in about hearing a gunshot. He was identified as Dr. Sergio Martinez, a retired plastic surgeon who once played in a band that opened for Def Leppard. His wife and daughter have not been spotted by anyone within the last 24 hours. Here to tell us more is reporter Jim Acosta. Jim?”

“Thank you Anderson. I’m here at the house of Dr. Sergio Martinez in Coconut Grove, Florida, about 8 blocks from Ransom Everglades High school. It’s a two-story house with a basement, not the most common thing anywhere in South Florida other than Coconut Grove. Dr. Sergio’s body, which is currently located in the basement, was found with one bullet in his head. Forensics experts believe that he committed suicide. Martinez’s parents have requested that if Sergio’s wife, whose picture we’ll show soon, is spotted, that they immediately call the number bellow me with details about the spotting. Mysteriously, detectives found an odd detail in our story. A chain leash is attached to the wall of the basement, and whatever it was holding, presumably a dog, as gone loose. However, no records of the Martinez family owning a dog have turned up so far. The Miami Metro Police department is asking anyone with recent information about Dr. Sergio to please come fourth. That’s all we’ve got for now, back to you Anderson.”