Mercy Read Online Free PDF Page A

without, and so she has to have two of everything. She has two television sets, identical ones, sitting side by side on the table by her bed. She has one of them on day and night, but she worries it might break, so she makes sure she has a backup. She does the same thing when she’s ordering something from a store or a catalog. Always buys two, but what’s the harm in that?” he asked. “She isn’t hurting anyone, and she has so little joy these days. She puts up with me because she loves me.” Bowing his head he whispered, “She’s my entire life.”
    “Yes, we know,” Cameron agreed. “But we’re concerned about you.”
    John whirled around to confront them. His face was twisted with anger. “Hell, you’re worried about yourselves. You think I’ll do something to screw it all up, don’t you?”
    “The thought crossed our minds,” Cameron admitted.
    “John, we can’t afford for you to go crazy on us,” Preston said.
    “I’m not going to go crazy.”
    “Yeah, okay,” Dallas said. “Here’s the way we’re gonna play it.
    John will tell us if he needs help. Isn’t that right?”
    John nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
    His friends let the subject drop and spent the rest of the evening plotting their next project.
    They continued to meet on Friday afternoons, but they kept silent about John’s mounting depression. None of them knew what could be done about it, anyway.
    Three months passed without a mention of Catherine. Then John broke down. He couldn’t bear to watch Catherine suffer anymore, and he told them he was worried about money all the time now, which he thought was ludicrous given the fact that they had millions tucked away in the Sowing Club account. Millions they couldn’t touch for five more years. He told them that insurance covered a pittance of the treatment Catherine needed, but not nearly enough, and if his wife continued to linger, her trust would eventually be gone and he would be financially ruined. Unless, of course, the others agreed to let him dip into the Sowing Club account.
    Cameron protested. “You all know how
I’m
hurting for money, what with my divorce pending and all, but if we make a withdrawal now, without closing out the whole account, we could create a paper trail, and the IRS —”
    John cut him off. “I know. It’s too risky. Look, I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’ll figure out something,” he said.
    The following Friday afternoon, they met at their favorite bar, Dooley’s. While it thundered and poured outside, and Jimmy Buffett sang about Margaritaville over the speakers, John leaned across the table and whispered his dark wish aloud.
    He wanted to kill himself and end the torment.
    His friends were appalled and outraged. They admonished him for even thinking such crazy thoughts, but it didn’t take them long to see that their rebukes were not helping. On the contrary, they realized they were adding to his misery and his depression. Their harsh words quickly turned into solicitous ones. What could they do to help him?
    Surely there was something.
    They continued to talk, huddled around a table in the corner of the bar, putting their heads together to come up with a viable solution to their friend’s untenable situation. Later, near midnight, after hours and hours of discussion, one of them was bold enough to suggest what all of them were thinking. The poor woman was already under a death sentence. If anyone should die, it should be his pathetic, long-suffering wife.
    If only.
    Later none of them would be able to remember who had voiced the proposal to kill her.
    For the next three Friday afternoons, they discussed the possibility, but once the debate had ended and the vote had been taken, there was no going back. The decision, when it was finally made, was unanimous. There were no second thoughts, no nagging doubts on the part of any of the members of the club.
    It was as absolute as dried blood on white carpet.
    They didn’t consider themselves