“So when did it really occur to you that you would have to go to such extremes?”
Oh, that’s putting it delicately.
But I forgive you.
It has occurred to me many times.
And, over the decades, I have persuaded myself to ignore the evidence, many, many times.
But then, of an evening in, I think 1999, I saw a last drib of some cable channel’s special, and knew, though I had missed their narration, what it was.
Image after image, all frozen: shot; bludgeoned; chain-whipped, knifed.
Thrown from a balcony.
Or, simply, strangled with a twist of pantyhose.
Women’s deaths, but with an extra something: that knife not wielded once, but many times; or two guns emptied into one stillness where once a quiet spirit moved.
All for a bit of makeup and some lace.
These, then, must be my people.
I wept aloud, standing there before the television, and my family came running, to protect me from they knew not what.