"Was She Worth It?"

"Was She Worth It?"
by Ronald W. Adams


“Was she worth it?”

The words hung on the Blackberry screen as Bill Franklin groped in the dark for the bedside lamp. He clicked on the light, still annoyed at being awakened by the vibrating phone on the nightstand. He stared unblinking at the miniature screen, the accusing question burning a hole through his eyes. He flipped through the call log to see who sent the text, and on his directory it read unknown name, unknown number. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going to be. The night was supposed to be all his. Now this. Franklin swallowed hard, wondering who left the message. He lay on his side, his face and bare shoulders bathed in the harsh blue light from his screen. He stared at the message until startled by his lover’s touch.

“Who called, baby?” she asked, nuzzling the back of his neck softly.

“Nobody.”

He meant it. Whoever it was, they were trying to hide their identity. After a while he shrugged it off, probably not even meant for him. It was just a weird coincidence. There was no way anybody could know about his affair. His wife was convinced he was working on the Okijima Industries account, the time difference between New York and Tokyo accounting for his odd hours as of late. This gave him ample opportunity to make new friends, like the one in his hotel bed now.

It started innocently enough, with Nancy actually picking him up at the hotel bar. She was a simple flirtation, a middle aged dalliance at the most. He was flattered by her attention, and made him feel like more than a cubicle slave to a nameless corporation. With her, he was a hero, not a suburban commuter in a dead end job. Like him, she said she was locked in a loveless marriage with a careless spouse. And like him, she enjoyed the attention they paid each other. They met for lunch when he was downtown, and soon he was finding any excuse to tell his wife he would be working late.

He checked the time on his phone. It was one thirty, and he had to get home. He stood, went into the bathroom to clean up, and then dressed in a hurry. Nancy watched him, like many times before, knowing full well this was the extent of their relationship. She was resigned to being the other woman, and knew he would be back.

“When will I see you again, Bill?” she asked.

“I’ll call you this afternoon,” was his reply.

The drive home passed in a blur, his mind still wondering about the freaky coincidence of the call. It wasn’t meant for me, it couldn’t have been. Maybe it was a sign from somewhere. I shouldn’t be doing this to Liz and the kids. It can only end badly, so maybe I should just talk to Nancy and end it now, before it’s too late. That’s it. He dialed Nancy’s number, but there was no reply. He left her a voice mail, telling her they need to talk about something very important.
He slipped into the house as quietly as he could, undressing in the dark. He left his suit in a pile at the foot of the bed, his shoes underneath, and slid under the covers. His wife stirred a bit, her eyes opened to slits.

“Another late one? How much longer will you have to work this project?”

“This was the last night, I think.”

She smiled. “Good. You work too hard sometimes.”

“Sorry I woke you honey. Get back to sleep.”

He kissed her forehead, rolled over and closed his eyes. He slept fitfully, for the few hours he did sleep.

**********

The next morning at breakfast, he resolved to call Nancy from the office. He swallowed his coffee without tasting it, anxious to get on the road and be done with the whole thing. It may have been a wrong number, but it put the fear of God in him. Nancy was fun, and a sweet kid, but she wasn’t going to be his undoing. She was not someone he would risk his family for. The commute proceeded in an unconscious blur, until her realized he was in the underground parking lot of his building. He grabbed his briefcase from the front seat, checked his cell for voicemail messages, and walked briskly to the elevators. The footfalls from his shoes echoed off the concrete structure. He reached without thinking for the up button, and was thrust back into reality by the ringtone on his phone.

The display screen read ‘Unknown Name, Unknown Number’, and Franklin decided to let it go to voice mail. Whoever it was, it would keep. He rushed into his office, skipping the usual friendly greetings from his co-workers. He was a man on a mission, and focused on breaking things off with Nancy. He brushed off an offer from Fred, the guy in the next cubicle, for coffee and a donut from the office cart before they started. He couldn’t call from the company phone, security kept too close a tab on its use. He used his own phone instead, her number still on the recently dialed list. The number rang four times before going to voicemail again. Franklin again left a pleading message, all but begging her to call him. When he finished, he opened the message from the previous caller. This time the screen displayed a photo of him and Nancy taken from somewhere outside the hotel, the two of them locked in passion in the room. There was a caption under the photo, and reading it caused Franklin to shake.

“WAS SHE WORTH IT?”

He dropped the phone on his desk, staring at the screen. His eyes were locked on the ominous question. Franklin fell into his chair. Somebody knew. How the hell did anyone find out? And who had his number, that they kept sending these messages? This was starting to get out of hand. Where was Nancy? He needed to talk to her. Maybe she knew what was going on.
Franklin made his account calls the rest of the day, and tossed in three more calls and three more messages to Nancy. The hours dragged on. She never failed to return his calls before, and his anxiety grew with his imagination. He opened the picture again, remembering the night, fearful of the ominously capitalized message. Staring, he tried to pick up clues from the picture as to where the photographer stood. Bill never heard his boss come up to his office cubicle from behind, knocking loudly enough to have Franklin bobble the cell phone before it clattered on the desk top.

“Am I interrupting anything?” Charlie Vaughn asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Um, no, Charlie, I was, well, I was…” Franklin stammered, regaining his composure.

“I see. What’s had you distracted? I’ve been hearing customer issues all day, Bill. Not like you at all.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had some personal issues to deal with. I’ll have it straightened out.”

“Uh-huh. Is that your personal issue?” Vaughn asked, gesturing to the Blackberry screen.

Stupid! I left the picture on the screen! He fumbled with the device to clear the screen.

“Uh, yeah, but I can explain…”

“I’m sure you can, Bill. All I care about is what you do on the job. What you do outside work is no business of mine, until it affects what you do here. Whatever your ‘personal issues’ are, deal with them now. I don’t want to spend another day fixing your screw ups.”

“I get it, Charlie, sorry. I won’t let it happen again.”

Vaughn nodded. “From what I could see, she’s gorgeous. I hope she’s worth it.”

“What?” Franklin glared at him.

“Easy, Billy. All I said was that I hope she’s worth the trouble she’s causing you.”

Franklin nodded. He kept his eyes locked on Vaughn as he walked slowly down the aisle, the manager poking his head in on a hand full of offices on the way to his own. Why did he ask if she was worth it? What the hell was that, anyway? If it was Vaughn screwing with him, there was going to be hell to pay. He wouldn’t get away with, no matter what he was doing. The more he thought, the angrier he got. Vaughn reached his own office and closed the door behind him. Franklin stood to go to Vaughn’s office to confront him when his cell phone vibrated on his desk.

He looked at the caller ID screen. The name and number were the same as before, unknown. He answered, the muscles in his neck and arms tightening. There was a picture of a woman, her face barely recognizable from the bruising, her body naked from the waist up and perforated by more stab wounds than he could count. She was lying on a bed, with a hotel telephone visible on the bed table beside her lifeless remains. Again, the caption sent a chill through him.

“WAS SHE WORTH IT?”

A wave of nausea washed over him, followed by rage. He rushed from his office, the Blackberry still clenched in his right hand. Vaughn’s door exploded as Franklin burst into the room.

“Why are you doing this? You son of a bitch!” Franklin screamed at the man. He grabbed him by the lapels lifted him out of his chair and up against the back wall. “What did she ever do to you?”

“What are you talking about, you psycho?” Vaughn shouted, grabbing Franklin’s wrist to free himself. He shook off the smaller man, and shoved him hard enough to send him sprawling over a chair to the side of his desk.

Scrambling to his feet, Franklin screamed, “You! You’ve been sending me these text messages all day screwing with me! Why?”

The Blackberry lay at Vaughn’s feet, and bent to pick it up. The screen still showed the dead girl, her bloody corpse in sharp relief against the white sheets.

“Jesus Christ, Bill! Is this…?”

“You know who it is!” he sobbed.

“Bill, you have to call the cops.”

“What?”

“This is a dead body, you idiot. You have to call the cops if you know anything about it.”

“What do you know about it?”

“Are you out of your mind?” Vaughn shouted again. “She’s your mistress! What do you mean what do I know about it?”

“You asked me if she was worth it. The same question the text messages kept asking.”

Vaughn scrolled through the repeated messages. He shook his head and handed it back. He took out his own phone and dialed Franklin’s number. The phone rang, with Vaughn’s name and number clearly displayed. Franklin blinked, and stared at his boss.

“If it were me, you’d know.”

Franklin slumped against the side wall of the office. He was drained in body and spirit.

“Go home, Bill,” Vaughn told him. “Call your lawyer, call the cops, do something about this. You’re no good here today. Just go home.”

Franklin hung his head and nodded. He mumbled and apology, but didn’t wait for the reply. Whatever else, he needed to go home.

**********

As he pulled into the driveway, Franklin noticed the black Ford Crown Victoria pulled up on the street in front of his house. He saw the small dome light in the front window, and the side mounted spotlight, and knew the police were there. His wife met him at the door.

“Bill, the police are here, they want to know about some woman? Is it someone you work with?” she asked, anxiety mixed with fear in her voice.

One of the plainclothes officers stepped between them, facing Franklin. “Mr. William Franklin?”

“Yes,” he replied.

Flashing his badge, the officer continued. “We’d like to ask you some questions regarding Nancy Prescott.”

The other officer chimed in from across the foyer, “Mr. Franklin, were you with Mrs. Prescott last night between the hours of 10:00pm and 2:00am last night?”

“No, he wasn’t,” his wife interrupted. “He was at work on an overseas account.” She wanted to believe it, her eyes pleading with her husband for this to be the truth.

“Before you answer, Mr. Franklin, please be aware your fingerprints were all over the hotel room, as well as her body,” the closer of the two policeman offered.

Franklin swallowed hard, his wife’s expression freezing him into silence. She crossed the room and slapped him hard across the face, the pain biting into his cheek and ear as she struck. She covered her mouth and quickly walked to the back of the house. The two officers shook their heads.

His eyes welling, the red mark rising on his left cheek, Franklin said, “Yes, I was there, but I didn’t do anything.”

“The crime lab people have hair and semen samples under analysis right now. Is there anything you want to tell us?”

“We were having an affair; it was just sex, just two adults enjoying each other. There was no commitment or anything. I was trying to end it. I’ve been trying to get in touch with Nancy, um, Mrs. Prescott all day.”

The other officer again spoke. “When did you last speak to Mrs. Prescott?”

Franklin turned to answer him. “About 1:30 I think, just before I left to go home.”

The closer officer studied Franklin. “Mr. Franklin, did you kill Nancy Prescott?”

His spine stiffened. “No! I could never kill anyone. It couldn’t be me; she was alive when I left.”

The second officer produced a bloody, mud splattered carving knife from inside his jacket. “Have you seen this knife before?”

Franklin shook his head.

“We found it behind your garage, along with a piece of steel pipe with hair and blood all over it. Anything to say about that?”

“I didn’t do anything! She was alive when I left her!” He looked around; his wife was nowhere to be seen.

The first cop approached, handcuffs out and ready. He shoved Franklin in a circle up against the foyer wall, bringing his hands back and behind him in a well-practiced rush. “Mr. Franklin, you are under arrest in connection with the murder of one Nancy Prescott. You have the right to remain silent, and anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”

“I didn’t kill her!” he screamed, wrenching against the officer and the handcuffs. “This can’t be happening! I need to talk to my lawyer…”

“What you need to do, sir, is calm down, and go out the car. We will be taking you down to central booking, and you can call your lawyer when we’re there. I would suggest you exercise your right to remain silent, and go with the officer out to the car.”

Franklin nodded in silence as the second officer led him out to the car. They were at the sidewalk just feet from the car when Franklin felt a sharp blow between his shoulder blades and fell forward face first towards the concrete. A quick twist and he took the majority of the impact on his left shoulder instead of his nose and forehead. He looked back in shock at the policeman already reaching down to help him up.

“If you wouldn’t resist arrest, you might not have fallen, Mr. Franklin,” he offered, smiling as he jerked to fallen man to his feet. Franklin was at a loss for words, so he offered none. The cop opened the passenger rear door to guide his prisoner into the back, but instead of helping to guide his head safely into the car, he again shoved him from the side. A white hot flash of pain burst Franklin’s head as it slammed into the top of the doorframe. He slumped into the back seat his eyes losing focus. The cop opened the passenger side front door and slid in, turning to face the barely conscious Franklin in the back.

“Hey! Don’t you pass out on me you piece of shit!” he called out. Franklin opened his eyes. “You never answered my question.”

Franklin’s head was pounding. “Question? You mean about the knife and the pipe?”

“Think again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Was she worth it?”

Franklin’s eyes went wide, staring in disbelief.

The officer shook his head. “It took a while, you know. I didn’t want to believe it at first. I mean, you put you faith and trust in someone, then they rip your heart out and grind it under their high heel. So when she left, I did whatever she asked. I left her alone, you know, let her have her space. But then she started screwing this other guy, a married guy. Can you imagine? She’d rather have a guy who’d never leave his wife, who’d probably just probably just use her for sex, then me. It wasn’t right. So I followed her, right, just to see what the competition was like.”

Franklin furrowed his brow. The pain was slowly being replaced by something more primal.
“So you found out the competition was …?”

“It doesn’t matter. She found out I was following her. The little slut still smelled like the guy’s cheap-assed cologne. You know the kind of shit they sell in the men’s room, beside the aspirin and condoms? Anyway, she threatened to call the cops on me.” He laughed out loud. “Can you believe that shit?”

Franklin could only stare. “You…?”

The officer nodded. “The thing is, she used to be my wife, but she was my partner’s sister. She wasn’t coming back to me, I knew that. And your wife? She’s not gonna be waiting for you, if you ever get out of prison. See, he thinks you killed his sister, so he’s gonna take care of your wife. Returning the favor, you know what I mean? But here’s the beauty part. He’s doing the same thing I did. He’s making it look like you killed your wife, too.”

Fear spread through him. There was nothing he could do, but go along with the madman in the front seat. Who would believe him over a couple of cops? He was going to prison, most likely to die, for two murders he didn’t commit. If he tried to run, he was a dead man anyway.

The partner returned, jumping in the driver’s side and turning the key. “Too bad we didn’t get here before this guy killed his wife.”

“I know, but he’ll have lots of time to think about the error of his ways.”

The car lurched forward, jerking Franklin back into the real world. He began to sob. The two officers in the front looked back at him, one turned and the other in the mirror. Nancy’s husband looked back at him with a maniacal grin, his eyes cold and piercing.

“So, was she worth it?”