Commentary by: Bill the Butcher
The weather on March 6th was foreboding. Not deadly, but that kind of night that would make you cut your cigarette short should you be smoking outside. But Janet wasn’t looking for cigarettes that night. With time alone, she was looking for something a little more, shall we say, mind expanding?
Janet’s husband was in Houston for the weekend, seeking diversion of his own desire. Their newborn daughter, Jane, had been in hospital since she was born six months ago to the day. A lifetime of drugs had bequeathed little Jane the DNA from hell.
Released that morning, Baby Jane was working her way through her first day of “life on the outside.” Sleeping quietly in the back seat of Janet’s car, the mother saw no reason to take her into her connection’s house while she scored her drug of choice. She’d be back soon enough, and no one would be the wiser. She secured the baby’s blanket and went to the door of the house.
Big Red opened the door to someone he didn’t want to see. Janet had been on “the tab” for some time now. Paying for her supply with sexual favors and keeping her addicted husband in the dark. As she progressed from simple grass to speed to crack, she found her way to his door often. On this night there was nothing unusual except the baby that she’d left in the car, something that Big Red didn’t need to know.
Tonight was meth night. Janet needed to kick it up a notch to make up for all the sobriety she had to endure while portraying herself as a “concerned mother” at the hospital. She had become impatient, waiting for her husband to return from Houston with the usual party favors and a short trip to Big Red’s would take the edge off until her husband returned.
If you are anything like a responsible adult you can see what is wrong with this scenario. Leaving a six-month old baby in the back seat of a car in the wee hours of the morning while you trade sexual favors with a pusher. What could possibly go wrong.
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Wanna transcend time and space? Smoke dope! Hours seem like minutes. Minutes melt into timelessness. And with each passing minute little Jane’s medication wore off, and nobody heard her cries. And the angels came and took another Angel home.
When Janet woke on Big Red’s floor she was vaguely aware of something important. Something she’d forgotten. Slowly the clouds cleared and she fumbled her way to her car. Baby Jane was frozen in time. Both figuratively and literally with her mouth still wide open from her last cry, and all the color gone from her once bright blue eyes.
In a sane world Janet would be filled with remorse. In a sane world the police would find her dead beside her baby. In a sane world every newspaper would run Baby Jane’s story. But Baby Jane didn’t die in a sane world. She died in a drug world. A world without form, and void. A world with no god, only the Hedonistic satisfaction of base desires. Ruled by the Prince of Darkness.
Without hesitation, Janet rushed back to the RV that she and her husband lived in. She scrubbed and cleaned as if that would cover her crime. And when she was satisfied she went to her car and brought Baby Jane to her room. Placing her in the crib, covering her with a blanket, she waited for her sister-in-law to come and check on the baby. Then, when the police arrived, she played the distraught mother, overwhelmed with insurmountable grieve at discovering that Baby Jane had passed during the night from SIDS. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. And the secret rests in an unmarked grave to this day. Oh, I’m sorry. You were expecting justice. Sorry. If you go looking for justice, you’ll go crazy.
About The Author: Bill the Butcher is the purveyor of The Butcher Shop. Whatever cut of literary meat you prefer the Butcher Shop is here to serve.