After Thrills

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 Chapter 1

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through,” my mom said handing me a mug of warm chamomile tea. “This should help calm your jitters.”

I had no appetite for warm tea on a hot summer day, but I took a sip for no reason other than to placate my mom. I knew better than to cause alarm with just how much PTSD that gruesome horror left me dealing with. 

“Better?” Mom asked.

I nodded yes but didn’t mean it. 

“How’re you holding up?” she asked.

“I’m okay.” Another lie. I actually screamed myself awake last night, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. The less I said – and the less Mom knew – the better. It’s for her own protection. 

Brutality of that harrowing murder rocked our quiet community. The victim, after all, wasn’t just some random person caught up in being in the wrong place at the wrong time; no, she was a young doctor who just up and disappeared without so much as a trace. Every local news outlet, both TV and print, kept the public constantly updated with every morsel of juicy tidbits as they were learned. They started out by reporting the story as a missing person’s mystery that had a husband desperate to be reunited with his wife and police baffled for either a motive or a suspect. 

“You look like you haven’t slept all week,” Mom noted. 

“I know, right? I need stronger sleep aids.” 

My neighbors responded to my outcry by pounding on the other side of the paper-thin wall between us. Ironic, considering how often their scream matches have kept me up tossing and turning. 

“You seem like you’re bottling things up, sweetheart. That’s not healthy. If you need help, say something. We’ll get you help.”

“I told you I’m fine.”

“I know you’re strong, but there’s a point where being strong blurs into being stubborn,” Mom said. 

Clips of the victim’s husband publicly pleading for the safe return of his beloved bride made their way around social media. An element of scandal was introduced when rumors began to swirl that she had taken a lover prior to her untimely death. Who was this mystery man? Did he have a vendetta? Did a heated argument turn deadly? Did her husband know more than he was letting on? 

“I’m still just trying to process everything, is all.”

“Well, one thing’s for sure, kiddo, you’re holding up much better than anyone else would if they had to deal with everything you’re going through.” 

“It’s tough, but I’m managing,” I said putting down my tea and picking up my phone. Come on, Erik. Please! I need you right now.

“I don’t care what anyone says, it’s not fair bad things happen to good people,” Mom said. 

I wanted to throw my phone. Erik had not called or texted me back.

“But praise the Lord for small favors,” Mom continued.

I furrowed my brows. “And what small favors would that be exactly?”

“Your car troubles. You’re never going to convince me that wasn’t a blessing in disguise.” 

“Oh, right,” I said. I told so many whoppers lately that I’d totally forgotten about the little white lies.

Her disappearance reeked of foul play, yet no one had any answers, only questions. How could the police not have a suspect in custody? Was it incompetence? Was this the start of a serial killer’s murder spree? Who in the community would be claimed as his next victim? Was anyone actually safe in their own home – poor Dr. Ellen Hudson sure wasn’t!

“And to think how close you were to meeting the same fate as your friend,” Mom said.

“Ellen wasn’t my friend,” I said getting her name out of my mouth as fast as I could. “She was my boss.”  

“And you know what boss is backwards, don’t you?” Dad said strolling by on his way to the refrigerator. “Double S-O-B.”

“All I’m saying is it could have been much different for your father and me. It could have been our door police knocked on,” Mom said. 

“And to think they still haven’t caught the guy,” Dad said grabbing a cold one. “He’s still on the loose out there somewhere.” 

“You know what would do you good?” Mom asked me. “A vacation.”

“Sounds nice, Mom, but I’m kind of strapped for cash right now, seeing as how I just lost my job, and all.” 

“No, I was thinking we could all go. You know, a family vacation like we used to take.”

“Seriously?” I asked. How many parents take their twenty-four-year-old on vacation with them?

“I think, given the circumstances, it’d do us all good to get away for a while.”

I could tell my mom was serious about taking a vacation because it was her idea. I don’t ever remember the suggestion of taking a vacation coming from her mouth; vacation suggestions always originated from my dad. My mom was the penny pincher, the coupon clipper of the family. She didn’t like spending the kind of money the hospitality industry requires in exchange for lodging, food, and entertainment. 

It was my dad who wanted to get away, and spoil his family a little. I remember once my mom caught him giving me a few dollars to spend at a fair. He was like, “Ah, come on, Teri. It’s the Fourth of July. It only comes around once a year. Let the girl enjoy some cotton candy.” Between you and me, I think he used that excuse at every fair: county fairs, community fairs, Fourth of July fairs. My mom would just give him the look. You know the one. Her look said, “they all come around once a year, Tony, multiple fairs a year add up.”

“Well, kiddo,” my mom asked, “what do you say?” 

“Do we have to come back?” I mumbled scrolling through my social media feed.

“What’s that, dear?” 

“Yeah. Let’s do it. It’d be nice to get away for a while.”

“Then it’s settled,” Mom declared by smacking her palm on the table. “Now we just need to decide where we’re going. The beach? The mountains? Camping?”

“Are we limited to staying countryside?” Dad asked. 

“Oh, are you thinking a cruise?”

“Actually, I was thinking Italy.” 

“Do you think your back can handle the long flight?” I asked. 

“You let me worry about that, Princess,” he replied digging his plump sausage finger under the tab and cracking open a beer.

“Can we afford Italy?” Mom asked him. 

“I’m sure we can stay with family. That’ll cut down on hotel costs,” Dad said. 

“I wouldn’t want to be a burden.” 

“Hey, they always say if we’re ever in the area that we’re benvenuti a restare con loro,” Dad said smiling proudly he still remembered some basic Italian from his childhood. (I know even less than him, but I’m pretty sure translated he said we’re welcome to stay with them.)

“Knowing how tempers run in your family, Dad, I think they’d be upset if we were anywhere near Europe and didn’t stay with them,” I pointed out. “Who knows, maybe they’ll even cook some of their famous dishes for us.” 

“Our daughter is not wrong, Teri. They will insist on that.” 

My mom sat there for a moment, mauling it over in her head. Two sets of eyes stared at her. Dad and I anxiously awaited her decision. I know when she suggested taking a vacation she meant something within a reasonable budget, and not a trip across the pond! After a few painstakingly long seconds, she sighed. We had a verdict. 

“Okay,” she said. 

“Really?” I asked, needing her to confirm that. 

“Sure. Why not? We’re not any getting younger, and I’ve always wanted to see Italy.” 

“This is so exciting.” 

“It’s also a once in a lifetime trip, so what do you say we go all out, eh?” Mom said.  

At first, investigators treated the disappearance of Dr. Ellen Brown-Hudson as another classic case of a love triangle gone bad, that she simply left her husband to run off with her new lover. A break, clean and swift. It was either that or, and this is a bit more sinister, one of her lovers (her husband or her new lover) took matters into his own hands and committed cold-blooded murder. After all, it had all the classic makings of either one or the other. There was no sign of forced entry into her home, nothing missing or stolen, and no sign of foul play. 

A little probing into Ellen’s marriage revealed it was not the paradise it appeared to be on the surface. When police dug into the façade of the Hudson’s marriage, pealing back the layers one by one, they uncovered one dark secret after another. It was not all roses and wedded bliss as Ellen’s husband, Heath Hudson, had claimed it to be during initial questioning. It was noted that Heath seemed anxious and eager to clear his name, yet not as forthcoming with information as someone who had absolutely no connection with his wife’s disappearance would expect to be. It was also noted that during questioning he asked if Ellen’s body had been found yet. Investigators found that odd considering the investigation was still being treated as a missing person’s case at that time, and not yet the homicide case it would become. Heath Hudson was circled as the primary suspect early on in his wife’s disappearance. At the very least, they believed Heath certainly seemed to know more than he was letting on. Upon further video review, his pleas on the news for Ellen’s safe return seemed rehearsed and insincere, like he didn’t really want his wife back. If that was indeed the case, why not? What was he hiding? 

And what about the crime scene itself, the last known whereabouts of the victim, Dr. Ellen Brown-Hudson? Cell phone records indicated she was in the comfort of her own home the night she went missing. With no sign of a break-in, the police deduced with a degree of near absolute certainty that she knew her assailant. Perhaps, she freely invited her killer into her home unaware of the danger she was placing herself in. Or perhaps her killer had a key and snuck in without Ellen’s knowledge. Either way, the apparent lack of foul play suggested to investigators that this was not just some random unplanned murder or a home invasion gone wrong, but rather the victim and her cold-blooded killer knew each other in some capacity. How they knew each other had yet to be determined by investigators. But they knew uncovering the how of the crime would uncover the motive. And uncovering the motive would assuredly lead them straight to the killer. 

“Maybe I’ll finally be able to relax some,” Mom said. “Not completely. But maybe a little.” 

“Are you seriously referring to my chest pains again?” Dad said. “Would you give it a rest already, Teri?”

“No, I will not give it a rest,” she replied. “Not until you go see a doctor. And now on top of your chest pains, there’s a killer out there somewhere. And given how close your daughter was to the crime, I’d think you’d be a little worried, too.”

“Why? She wasn’t harmed.”

“Who’s to say the killer won’t come for her next?”

“Why would the killer come for her next?”

“Because she might know something.”

“Like what? She’s already told the police everything she knows.”

“That may be, but I just can’t help but feel she’s still in the crosshairs of all this chaos somehow, someway.” 

Like most investigations, the list of suspects started small. Police started with the victim’s inner circle of family, friends and coworkers then expanded outward from there. Everyone was a suspect until he or she could be safely ruled out as the killer. Once the victim’s husband was ruled out, if authorities had another prime suspect, they were playing it very close to the vest. There wasn’t even one of those reports where they claimed to be getting close to making an arrest - a ploy used to get the perpetrator to reveal themself, leaving no doubt they had tagged the right person. 

At a follow-up press conference, the chief of police said investigators had no leads and no suspects at that time. That was a bold face lie, a ploy of a different tactic. Behind the scenes, police had zeroed in on a target. They just didn’t want to arouse suspicion while they gathered more evidence, damning evidence. They would make an arrest when the time was right, the evidence overwhelming and irrefutable. Best part is, even though the killer was constantly looking over their shoulder, knowing their arrest could come at any moment, they would not see police coming. The killer would be taken totally by surprise, yet the arrest completely expected. 

“Can you imagine what that poor woman’s family must be going through right now?” Mom asked. She looked at me with mourning eyes. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too, Mom.”

My mom and I exchanged “I love you’s” all the time. I’ve told her that thousands of times and she’s said it to me thousands of times. But when she told me she loved me right then at the kitchen table, it felt different. It didn’t feel different because she said it differently. It felt different because of the overwhelming shame and guilt I felt upon hearing it. That particular day it felt undeserved. I knew she loved me – that wasn’t a question - but if she knew what I had done on the night of the murder, she would not have liked me very much. 

“I guess the one positive in all this is my social media has exploded,” I said proudly of the number of new followers I had gained. 

“Well, I don’t know anything about that,” Mom said getting out of her chair. “And I don’t know what I’d do if you were ever taken from me either.” She softly kissed me on top of the head then suddenly jumped back and let out a horrific squeal. 

Dad nearly choked on his beer. “What’s wrong with you?”

“There’s someone out there.”

“Where?” 

“In the backyard.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. I just saw someone dive behind the evergreen. I think he had a machine gun.”

“What?” he said slamming down his bottle. 

Without warning, Daisy launched her little body off the couch and sprinted to the backdoor, barking and growling and carrying on like a dog possessed. If there was a shred of doubt, it was gone right then. We knew for sure there was definitely someone out there now. 

“Who the hell goes around to the back of someone’s house with a machine gun?” Dad wondered gazing out the backdoor. 

“Are you trying to get yourself killed? Get away from there!” Mom ordered him. 

Dad scanned the backyard. Though it was broad daylight, and the sun wouldn’t set for several hours, he wasn’t sure he saw anything, maybe a shadowy figure behind some shrubs, but it was difficult to tell for sure. 

“I’m going to see what the hell is going on,” he said twisting the door handle. 

“Don’t you dare,” Mom shouted. “It’s probably the same guy who killed her friend, and now he’s come here to finish the job.” 

Dad let go of the handle. “You’re probably right. Call the police,” he said backing away from the door. 

“You don’t need to call the police,” I told her. 

Mom dialed 9-1-1 as fast as her shaky fingers would allow. “Why not?” 

I did not need to peer outside to guess who was there and what they came to do. I already knew. 

“Because they’re already here,” I said. 

“What?” Mom asked then followed my stoic gaze out the front window. Her jaw dropped; a sense of dread came over her. “What on God’s green earth is going on?” 

Police cruisers were parked on the street, sealing off traffic and, more importantly, preventing the perp’s escape from the house. Heads dotted open police cruiser doors, shotguns and sniper rifles fixated on house windows and doors. The police were prepared for an all-out war. 

“This must be some kind of a mistake,” Mom said. “They’ve got the wrong house.” 

“They’ve got the right house,” I replied. 

There was a BANG BANG BANG at the front door. 

Daisy turned her attention to the front door and began to incessantly YIP YIP YIP at whoever had knocked. If it was a war they wanted, Dad’s ten-pound terrier was going to give it to them. 

“OPEN UP! POLICE!” a voice on the other side demanded. 

“Police?” Dad said unaware his home had been completely cutoff from the rest of the outside world. “What do they want?” 

“Don’t you answer that door! It’s the killers!” Mom said.

My dad looked at her. She might be right. Or it might really be the police. He was trapped, unknowing what to do. One decision was the right one and one decision was the wrong one, but he didn’t know which was which - and he didn’t have time to figure it out. 

“OPEN UP NOW, OR WE’LL BUST THIS DOOR DOWN!”

“What do you want me to do, Teri?” Dad asked.

“I don’t know,” Mom replied with two fistfuls of her own hair. She was literally about to lose her mind.  

“Go ahead,” I told him. “Open the door.” 

“What? Why?” Mom demanded to know. 

“Because it’s the police.” 

“Police do not show up at people’s homes with their guns drawn.”

“They do when they’re about to make an arrest.”

“Who are they going to arrest?” she asked. 

I set my phone face down on the kitchen table and sat back awaiting my fate. “Me.”

And just like that, at the snap of a finger my mother stopped running around like her hair was on fire. She went from total panic and hysteria to complete confusion. “What?” 

My dad cracked open the front door. He opened it a little; the police opened it the rest of the way, pushing it all the way to the wall where the handle bashed a hole into the drywall. 

“Tony Matravisano?” the voice asked.

“Yes?” I heard him reply. 

My mom looked over at me in bewilderment and disbelief. “You?” she asked. “What do police want with you?”  

I dropped my head. For the first time since this whole ordeal started, I felt shame for what I’d done. 

Mom gasped. “Oh, Alessandra. You didn’t.” Her complete confusion had transformed into absolute clarity. She understood why police had come to her door and what they were on the precipice of doing. 

“I have an arrest warrant for Alessandra Matravisano,” I heard the officer tell my dad.  

“Tell me you didn’t,” Mom said in the most disappointed tone I had ever heard in my life. 

I didn’t say anything, just kept staring down. I had already broken Mom’s heart enough for one day; no need to break it with more lies and half-truths. 

Officers in tactical gear, bullet-proof vests, and masks that hid their faces wasted no time storming in and taking complete control of the situation. Watching them swarm the place was like watching something from a movie, but surreal and in slow motion. There were guns everywhere and pointed in every direction. If you’ve never had a gun pulled on you, let me tell you it’s absolutely terrifying. Some were pointed at me, which was forgivable, and some pointed at my parents – which was not. I brought this on them; they did nothing to deserve that. There was nothing I could do about it; I wasn’t in charge, the police were. I just stood there in the chaos as my mother cried YOU DIDN’T YOU DIDN’T YOU DIDN’T and Daisy barked and barked and barked. One officer ordered someone to “shut that dog up.” I found myself staring down the dark barrel of a pistol pointed between my eyes. I don’t know why but for whatever reason, in that moment, I thought about the person who had snuck around the back of the house and how they were there merely to prevent my escape. There would be no escape, not even an attempt to escape. They caught me. It was over. Despite offering no resistance to my arrest, an officer tackled me to the floor. He jammed his knee into the small of my back and pulled my unwilling wrists together. Regardless of my mom’s pleas that force wasn’t necessary, my guess is he had been briefed on what I was capable of doing and wasn’t taking any chances – not for a cold-blooded killer like me. 

As I laid there with a face full of dirty tile, I couldn’t help but wonder how investigators linked me to the murder. I had tied up all the loose ends: I’d cleaned up all the evidence; I disposed of her body (what was left of her anyway); and had a perfectly valid explanation why my fingerprints and DNA were found all over that house. Yet, a week after my heinous crime and impeccable coverup, I would be plucked out of society to live out the rest of my life in metal cages. 

Though being tackled to the floor and having a knee jammed into my back was painful, it wasn’t nearly as painful as the next words that came out of the officer’s mouth. Those words cut wounds like a knife – not because I hated hearing them, but because I know how much they hurt my mom to hear them. 

“Alessandra Matravisano,” he said with no emotion, “you are under arrest for the murder of Dr. Ellen Hudson.”

My mom burst into tears. “No, Alessandra, you didn’t!” she bawled, her knees buckling. I can only imagine tears streaming down her cheeks. I don’t know for sure. I couldn’t look, and I didn’t want to. 

After slapping cuffs on my wrists, the officer hoisted me to my feet and led me away to the awaiting squad car. I did not look at my mom as I passed by, but I heard her uncontrollable cries. I did look at my dad; however, and he looked at me. At least, I think he looked at me. His eyes had a glossy glazed look I’d never seen before. He writhed on the floor gasping for breath and complained of terrible pains in his chest. I’ll never forget how helpless he looked. I heard someone tell him to hang in there, that an ambulance was on the way. I dropped my head and walked right out the front door. 

I know what the famous walk of shame is (I’d done it plenty of times), but that’s got nothing on this walk of shame. My hands were bound behind my back while two imposing officers on each arm ushered me to face justice for what I’d done. Yeah, that was the true walk of shame. I couldn’t help but notice the whole neighborhood had curiously gathered around, murmuring to each other about what was going on. I soaked up the last bit of freedom I could. I enjoyed the warm sun on my face, the smell of fresh-cut grass, and songbirds belting out their best hits. I was truly in the eye of the tornado. Too late to go back and undo things now. My life was about to irreversibly change. 

Once to the backdoor of a police cruiser, an officer firmly placed his hand on top of my head and graciously guided me into the backseat as if I’ve never gotten into a car before. I was placed into a metal cage with holes barely big enough to stick a finger through. Once he slammed the door shut, I was all alone in that police cruiser. It was eerily calm. Off in a far distance, I could hear the whir of a siren - the ambulance for my dad, I presumed. As I sat there with my hands cuffed behind my back listening to that siren get louder and louder and the murmurs of the cops congratulating each other on a job well done, it suddenly dawned on me. I realized how investigators had linked me to the murder of Ellen Hudson. Again, my chin dropped into my chest - not out of shame that time, but out of defeat. How could I have been so stupid? I completely trusted a lying, conniving snake. And now I’m in this box while the snake is out there free as a bird. I was set up. And I never saw it coming. I was betrayed by the one person who had done most of the planning for this whole murder thing: my co-conspirator. And best friend.