My Story Part 2
The next several months were horrible. Although Curtis had a company van, he had also taken our family van. I had no job and no transportation to go look for a job. Curtis paid the mortgage, but nothing else. Each month, I would write a hot check to cover the utilities, the check would bounce, the utilities would be turned off, then Curtis would pay the bill. I felt like a complete failure and sunk further and further into depression. I eventually told Christopher that I was going to ask his Dad to move back. He begged me not to. I told him Christmas was approaching, and I couldn't continue on as I had. I was exactly where Curtis wanted me; desperate and needy. He moved back home.
As Winter ended and Spring approached, I became more and more depressed. I was completely under Curtis' thumb. The only time I left the house was to accompany Curtis to do the grocery shopping. This outing stopped when Curtis got mad because I spoke to the teenager who was sacking our groceries. After that, I wasn't allowed to go to the store. I had to give Curtis a list of items to purchase. By the beginning of May, I had slipped into such a deep depression, all I wanted was for the misery to end. I began to think everyone would be better off if I was gone. In my more rational moments, I knew I couldn't leave the children with no one to stand between them and Curtis.
I went to our family doctor and asked to be admitted to the mental health wing of our local hospital for inpatient treatment. I told no one I was being admitted. Who was there to tell? Curtis would only find a way to stop me. I called Curtis from the hospital to tell him I had been admitted and that he would need to make arrangements for when the children got home from school. He told me that I had embarrassed and humiliated him. There was absolutely no concern for my well-being, it was all about him. The facility was co-ed with men and women sharing a common dining room, and attending group therapy classes together. As I sat in a chair hugging my knees, waiting to be told where to go and what to do, one of the other patients approached me. He introduced himself as Mark, and asked if he could help me in any way. He told me that although things looked bad now, they would get better. He said to just ask him if I needed anything. Over the next couple of days, Mark was in several groups with me. He was always there with words of encouragement or sympathy. It was so wonderful to have someone who didn't find anything wrong with me, who told me they understood what I was going through, and would be there for me if I need them. The unconditional acceptance was liberating.
Mark was released before I was. We exchanged numbers with promises to see each other as soon as possible. I felt better upon my release, not only because of the counseling and medication, but because I now believed I had someone who understood me and would be there for me. I went with him to meet his mother and daughter. I also met the guy who did his tattoos, a guy named Johnnie. We went to Johnnie's mom and dad's trailer in Alvin where he lived. Mark needed to pay Johnnie for a tattoo of his daughter's name he had done. At one point, Mark asked me to step out; that he wanted to speak with Johnnie in private. I sat in the living room with Johnnie's dad. Shortly after this, Mark began talking about taking all the kids and moving to Florida. I told Mark I wouldn't leave Curtis, because he would take the kids from me. I would never leave my children to be raised without me. Mark seemed to understand, and he said we would be together no matter what.
On May 30th, I went to pick Leslie up from school. When we got home, Leslie jumped out of the van and went to play with her friend down the street. Curtis' work van was parked in the driveway. I went into the house, called for Curtis and went to the kitchen. I got as far as the kitchen door. Laying in the middle of kitchen floor, surrounded by blood, was a nude male with a bag over the head. I turned and ran out of the house to the neighbors, where I began banging on the door.
When the neighbor answered, I told him to call 911 and report the body. I would not, or could not, associate what I had seen in the kitchen with my husband. I also asked the neighbor to make sure Leslie stayed at her friends for the time being.
When the police arrived they asked if I knew whose body it was. I told them that I did not. I hadn't seen the face, so I still couldn't accept that it was Curtis. I went with the police and answered any questions they had. I spent the night at one of the neighbors'.
The next morning, I went back to the station, answering more questions. Leslie had stayed at her friends house. Christopher was out of town hunting with a buddy. I picked Leslie up that day, and stayed at a hotel that night. By June 1st, the house had been released by the police and a cleaning crew had been called in, Leslie and I returned home.
After we returned home, friends and neighbors kept stopping by, the phone wouldn't stop ringing. I felt as if I was walking around in a bubble. I answered questions, moved around as needed, but didn't actually comprehend what I was doing.
Mark called telling me he had gotten a room at a local hotel and for me to come over. I called a neighbor and told them that I needed to go back to the police station, and asked them to watch Leslie. I dropped her off and went to meet Mark.
I was mentally exhausted. Mark told me to just lay down and try to rest, and he would be there. I lay down and fell asleep. I was awoken by the police banging on the door demanding to be let in. We were both taken to the police station. The next day, I was charged as a co-conspirator in the death of my husband.
In less than two weeks, I had been admitted to the hospital, began an affair with Mark, found my dead husband, and been charged with his death. My life as I had known it was over.