KILLER ADDICTION: When Murder Becomes A Habit

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

I STARED DOWN AT MY bare forearms, fixated on the pimply gooseflesh that had formed on them, just like a cold turkey, and thought of the appropriateness of the description for what I was about to do to myself—cold turkey withdrawal from h****n.

I’d had seven hundred in cash left from my last burglary, which I had allocated for my dealer. Instead, this went to several other recipients. Most of it went to the manager of a dingy motel for a room paid ten days in advance. Another fifty went to him in return for an agreement to leave me alone for the duration, no matter what. Next had been a stash of packaged food and a carton of Gatorade, enough supplies to last me through the brutal period that I knew was coming.

Understanding my potential to give up in the darkest hours and run again to my dealer, I’d bought a small safe with a combination lock from the local hardware store. I had asked the store owner to set the combination and only reveal the number to me in ten days when I called the store and asked him for it. He thought it was strange but agreed after I slipped him fifty bucks.

On this, my first morning, I locked myself in the room and locked the key in the safe. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get through the bars on the windows and the heavy door to my room opened inward, so I couldn’t easily kick my way out. I figured if I was aware enough to get out without the key, then I would probably be safe from a relapse.

I know I need to stay strong and will need every ounce of my willpower to get through this. It would be easier with help, but I feel this is something I need to go through alone. I want no medication to ease the pain and no comfort, support, or advice from anyone to help me on my way. I need to suffer for what I’ve done to Sally, and I have to get through this if I’m to find her killer. I’m determined to see my mission through to the end, whatever my personal cost. It seems only right that I should suffer for the path down which I had taken my darling Sally.

I looked up at the grimy mirror in front of me and my eyes teared up again for what seemed like the hundredth time. The picture of Sally that I’d stuck on the mirror captured her beautiful, smiling face adorned with bright blue sparkly lipstick under a mop of crazy red hair. It made me smile and filled my heart with love. Then my gaze shifted to the other photo on the mirror—a grisly image of Sally’s corpse. It hit my heart like a hammer, making me gasp with a sharp intake of breath, even though I had looked at it so many times already. My resolve hardened once again to get myself through these torturous days of recovery.

Detox passed in a blur, as one day blended into the next. I was a blathering mess of convulsions, seizures, chills, hallucinations, and sweats. I was cold, hot, sweaty, chilly and a bundle of muscle aches and pains. I vomited and paced, paced and vomited. I was restless and twitchy as f**k, I would sit down, stand up, walk around, lie down in a mess and a haze of confusion, having no clue what time, or even what day it was. I was off the grid—no phone, no medical contact, I hadn’t even told the police where I would be, despite their last message of ‘don’t leave town’.

I couldn’t bear silence through my self-imposed ordeal, so the TV was my constant companion. Judge Judy, Days of Our Lives, Doctor Phil, or the Shopping Channel, it didn’t matter, so long as there was some noise and action flickering on the screen; anything to take my mind off the hell that I was imposing on my body and brain. I was breaking all the rules that the rehab experts talk about, because they say cold turkey by sudden detox is dangerous and if you are irresponsible enough to do it, then you shouldn’t do it alone. Every cell of my body craved a hit—I had been a daily user with a high d**g tolerance, so had been running big doses to get the high I needed; all of which meant that getting myself off it was pretty f*****g challenging, to say the least.

Finally, one morning I had my s**t together enough to focus on what was on the TV. The date they announced on Good Morning America told me I had completely lost a whole week. So, it was day seven when I finally felt human again. I had resisted the worst of my detox. My personal prison had done its work, and I had kept myself in the room without escaping to track down my dealer. The massive d**g cravings were still there, but the convulsions, sweats, chills and mind-bending hallucinations had eased off. Now that it was just me and my willpower, I was in a state where I could focus and be aware of what the hell was going on in the world around me.

I stuck it out for the next three days, treating them as insurance to solidify my detox. I had heard so many stories of junkies getting clean, only to relapse the minute they hit the streets again, so wanted to make sure I didn’t suffer the same fate. Day ten came, and I rang the hardware store, spoke to the manager and got the code from him, then pulled the key out of the safe and unlocked the motel door. As I stood in the door opening, I looked back into the room and shook my head. It was a mess of Gatorade bottles, food packaging, dirty dishes and stained sheets. It was like a symbol of the filth and chaos of my previous life, one I resolved to leave behind for good. I didn’t even want to clean it up, didn’t want to touch it for fear of retaining the muck. I wanted to burn that image into my mind’s eye as a reminder of the old life that I was leaving behind.

As I closed the door behind me, I turned and winced at the bright sun burning right through my eyes and into my brain, bringing on an instant headache. I knew this next stage of my life would not be easy. I would need to stay strong for Sally.