It all started with the Christmas wreath.
Timothy McDougal was at the office Christmas party when his co-worker, Jordan, gave him the Christmas wreath and wished him happy Holidays. Timothy knew he should feel a bit of Christmas cheer at the sight of the colorful wreath, but he hated it. He wondered what was wrong with him as he gave Jordan a false smile and made the appropriate noises of gratitude.
He carried the wreath to his office and set it on the desk while he looked around for some tacks. He didn't like touching it. There was the feeling of revulsion when he touched the wreath. As if he was not actually touching a circle of prettily decorated plastic leaves, but instead handling the moldering carcass of some animal found dead by the side of the road. Just touching it made him feel as if he had somehow been contaminated. Rationally, he knew that it was just a wreath, but he couldn't shake the feeling.
He found a box of tacks in the back of his desk drawer. When he took a tack from the box, he accidently pricked himself with it. Dropping the tack and cursing under his breath, he examined the bead of blood that appeared on his index finger. It didn't look too bad. He used a tissue to blot the small wound. The wreath lay on the desk, blameless and yet mocking somehow. With a sigh he tossed the tissue in the trash and picked up the wreath.
He opened his office door and hung the wreath on it. Wiping his hands on his pants without thinking, he stepped back to appraise his work. The wreath hung just below his name plate on the door. It looked menacing rather than merry. At least the damn thing wasn't crooked. He wouldn't have to touch it again. He frowned and shook his head. Obviously, he was more stressed than he'd previously thought. He decided to leave the Christmas party early. Clearly, he wasn’t in a festive mood for some reason. He went back into his office to get his coat.
As was reaching for his coat, he suddenly had the feeling of being watched. He looked around. Nothing. Grabbing his coat, he stepped out into the hall. Talk and laughter drifted from the lunchroom where the Christmas party was taking place. Otherwise, the place was deserted. Looking around uneasily, he closed and locked his office door. The feeling grew stronger as he walked toward the exit.
Finally, unable to resist the urge to look behind him, he turned and looked back the way he'd come. All he could see was his office door with the wreath hanging on it. What was wrong with him today? Why was he so damn jumpy all of the sudden? Facing forward again, he continued to the exit. He did not look back.
In the morning when Timothy opened his front door, he was treated to a view of a winter wonderland. Smiling, he rescued the morning paper from the front step. It was soggy with melted snow. He probably wouldn't even be able to read it. Maybe that was a good thing. These days all the newspapers seemed to carry nothing but bad news.
He turned to go back inside and stopped. Melting snow from the paper made the front of his bathrobe damp and dripped onto the toes of his slippers. He didn't notice. His mouth hung open and his eyes were wide with disbelief. The wreath was hanging on his front door.
This was clearly the same wreath he had hung on his office door last night. It was even pinned to his front door with the same yellow tack. How had it gotten here? Timothy felt a sudden attack of superstitious dread before rationality reasserted itself. Someone must be playing a joke on him.
During the drive to work, Timothy came to the conclusion that Jordan had to be the prankster. Sometimes his sense of humor was downright juvenile. Just last year Jordan put a laxative in the manager's coffee and then bragged to his co-workers about it. The poor woman spent most of the day in the office lavatory.
Everyone was shocked, but Jordan had laughed about it. He acted like it was the funniest thing he'd ever done. It was a miracle he hadn't been fired. Timothy decided that if he found out for certain that Jordan was the prankster, he would tell the man to grow up and stop playing games with people. When he drove into the parking lot, he knew that confrontation would have to wait.
A dozen police cars, lights flashing, were parked in front of the office building. Police officers were milling in and out of the building. Two men in wool coats stood near one of the squad cars talking and smoking. As Timothy parked his car, he saw an officer approach the two men and speak to them. A moment later the trio went inside the building.
Timothy sat in the car thinking. He looked over at the passenger seat where he had placed the wreath. It lay there innocently. Yet Timothy had the feeling it had some ominous connection to all the activity going on in front of the office building. He shook his head. That was just nonsense. The wreath was just a Christmas decoration. He got out and locked the door. There would be time to come back for the wreath later. Right now, he wanted to find out what was going on.
Several of his co-workers were standing together in a group and watching the activity. Some were smoking and chatting. Others stood rigidly, with anxious expressions on their faces. Ignoring the knot in his stomach, Timothy walked toward the gathering. He stood with the others and listened to the muted conversations.
"--body was found--"
"--hasn't been identified yet--"
"Whoever it was--"
"The police won't say how--"
Pretty soon it became apparent that someone had been found dead in the building. Whoever it was had not yet been identified by the police and the cause of death was unknown. Jordan arrived and joined the throng, blowing on his hands to warm them. Timothy continued to stare at the building as Jordan chatted with several of the others.
Everyone fell silent as a hearse pulled up in front of the building. Two men came out carrying a stretcher. There was a covered body on the gurney. Timothy watched as the body was loaded into the back of the morgue wagon. He wondered who had died and if the death had been natural causes or something worse.
Two days later, details of incident began to circulate through the office grape vine. According to the detective on the case, Selena Rogers had been found dead in the hallway. She had been stabbed to death. Timothy was as shocked as everyone else. He couldn't believe that someone would murder Selena. Once, he had asked her out for coffee. She had been a decent supervisor and a nice lady.
There was a small memorial for Selena in the lunchroom. After the ceremony, Timothy returned to his office to finish the Cullen report. He had been working on it for the last couple of weeks and it was due tomorrow. The wreath was back up on his office door where he had returned it on the day Selena's body had been found. There had been no more pranks since then.
It was late in the evening and he was deeply engrossed in the Cullen report when there was a knock on his office door. He looked up to see a man with salt and pepper hair standing on the threshold. It was Detective Leydecker, the detective assigned to investigate Selena's murder.
"May I come in?" He asked.
Timothy set the report aside and nodded. "Yes, of course. Is there something I can do for you?"
Timothy stood to shake hands with Leydecker. Then both men seated themselves before continuing. The detective seemed to be relaxed and at the same time ready to spring into action. Looking at him, Timothy felt a shiver of apprehension. But what could he possibly have to fear from this man?
"Hard at work even on Christmas Eve?" The detective gestured toward the paperwork spread across Timothy's desk.
"Yes, I have to get the report done tonight." Just thinking about all the work he still had to do, Timothy felt impatient to get back to work. Leydecker had not closed the door when he had entered the office and Timothy could see the wreath hanging on the door. It seemed to be looking at him over the detective's shoulder. Timothy's inexplicable dread increased. Something was wrong. He returned his attention to the detective.
"What's happened? Something must have happened or you wouldn't be here."
Leydecker nodded. "Jordan Bynes is dead. His body was found dumped into a garbage bin. He was shot in the head."
Timothy gasped with shock and straightened in his chair. "What? But he can't be dead! I saw him at the memorial for Selena just this morning!"
The detective was nodding. "Yes, several co-workers confirmed that he was last seen at Selena's memorial."
Leydecker reached into his jacket and pulled out an evidence baggie. Inside the baggie was a letter opener. There was dried blood on it. He put the baggie on the desk. Timothy stared at in horrified fascination.
"I had the lab run tests on this. It is the weapon that was used to kill Selena. She was stabbed multiple times with it." Timothy could not tear his eyes from the blood on the letter opener. The detective continued, as if oblivious to Timothy's reaction. "At first it was summarized that Mr. Bynes killed Selena in a fit of rage. It was the only thing that explained the brutality of the attack."
Timothy closed his eyes. He could easily picture the letter opener. The metal gleaming in the light as it plunged again and again. Hot blood spraying in all directions.
"Four hours ago, a call was made to 911. Someone heard a shot being fired. Apparently after the service, Mr. Bynes left the office and went home. He collected his gun and then drove to the alley where he climbed into the dumpster before shooting himself in the head."
Timothy felt sick. "Stop. Can't you please stop."
Leydecker continued as if Timothy hadn't spoken. "I suppose by killing himself in the garbage bin he was trying to say that he thought he was a piece of human garbage. But there was something that bothered me about the death of Mr. Bynes. With instant death the body doesn't bleed much. If the heart stops instantly it doesn't have time to pump the blood out. But there isn't any blood or brain matter in the dumpster. On a hunch, I had CSI check the entire alley. They found blood and brains just three feet away from the trash bin."
The detective fell silent and stared at wall, his eyes were far away. Perhaps he was seeing the crime scene all over again in his mind's eye. Timothy felt nauseated. He leaned his elbows on the desk and put his forehead into his hands. His mind was spinning. He tried taking deep slow breaths to calm down.
Finally, he lifted his head and looked at Leydecker. "Why are you telling me all this detective?" His stomach churned and his bowels quivered. He lowered his trembling hands to the desk.
Leydecker turned his head to look at Timothy. Surprisingly, there was understanding in his eyes. Worse, he saw pity in that gaze. If the detective had glared accusingly at Timothy, it would have been easier to accept the horrifying truth.
"Mr. McDougal, did you know that there are people that have a rare disorder called Dissociative Identity Disorder?" Timothy just stared at him mutely. He felt as if he were a statue. He fervently wished that he were made of stone like a statue.
"People with this disorder sometimes do things they don't remember doing later because they are under the control of a second personality. They do things they would never do if they were fully in control of themselves. Stress usually triggers the disorder."
Timothy's hands had tightened into fists. He stared straight ahead, looking past the Detective to the Christmas wreath hanging on the door. The decoration seemed to radiate a terrible evil.
"I got a call from the lab just this afternoon. This letter opener was found in Mr. Bynes' office, but it has your fingerprints on it."
Timothy closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of the hateful thing. He had been projecting his feelings onto the wreath because he didn't want to face the terrible truth. In the darkness behind his eyelids a memory began to unfold.
He was returning to the office. The Christmas party was over and the building was empty. At least he had thought the building was empty. Selena approached him just as he was removing the wreath from his office door. She was angry and wanted him to stop asking her out. Then the scene changed.
Selena backing away from him. Terror filled her eyes as they followed the arc of the letter opener. The weapon came down and plunged into her neck before she could scream. She fell to the floor clutching her throat. Then he was on her, slashing and stabbing. Angry with her. Hating himself for what he was doing, yet compelled to continue. Finding bitter satisfaction in hurting her worse than she had hurt him.
"On a hunch, I also checked the gun that Mr. Bynes allegedly killed himself with. Your fingerprints are on the gun."
Timothy gasped and doubled over in his chair. Nausea roiled through him. He gagged as memory returned with hideous clarity. Jordan is on his knees in the filthy alley. Timothy is standing over him. He is shouting at Jordan. Claiming that Selena was his until Jordan stole her from him. He grabs Jordan by the hair and puts the gun to his temple. Jordan is crying and shaking. Pleading for his life. The gun goes off.
When Timothy felt a hand on his shoulder he looked up. Leydecker was standing next to him. Timothy spoke in a shaky voice. "What am I going to do now? I'm out of control!"
"I have to place you under arrest now Mr. McDougal. But I'll see to it that you get help. Will you trust me?"
Tears ran down Timothy's cheeks. He nodded.
Leydecker helped him to his feet. Timothy was handcuffed. Then, taking his
elbow, the detective guided Timothy out of the office and down to the waiting
patrol car.
Written by efoshee.
Story idea efoshee.
