Something Had to Give (50 page)

I thought I would be relieved to be back in Charlotte, but it seemed like things got worse. Shanna had to get back to Virginia, Mommy was busy with church most days, and Daddy still had a busy work schedule which left me home alone with the kids. I couldn’t look for jobs because I knew I would be back and forth to Tennessee, which meant I could not afford a place of my own or daycare for the kids. My days were nonstop with changing diapers, feeding, chasing Brandon, and of course they never took naps at the same time. We were rarely able to leave the house besides a short walk around the neighborhood and when I did have any down time, I was flat out exhausted. There was so much that I felt I needed to be doing to prepare for what was going on in Tennessee, but I didn’t know where to start or where I was going to find the time. I couldn’t afford a lawyer and since my parents were paying for everything for me and kids, I couldn’t bring myself to ask them for more help.

For weeks I had the same routine of caring for the kids, never leaving the house, and moping around. I wondered if my parents noticed how unhappy I was or if they even cared. On days that Mommy didn’t have a church activity, she still found a reason to leave the house and not once did she ask for us to come. I wanted so badly just once for her to tell me to go out and have some time for myself and offer to keep the kids, but that never happened. Each day as I watched her and Daddy leave for work not having to worry about anyone or thing, I resented them. I wanted my life to be easy like that and free from stress and worry. Each night I went to bed hating my life. There were times I would try to find the good in each day to not feel that way, but it just didn’t work. My life sucked and something told me that it was going to get worse with the way Jason was acting. Something had to give, but what?

I found myself saying that something had to give a lot. I spent so much time dwelling on it, that I convinced myself that I had to come up with a plan for a drastic change in my life. Out of what seemed like nowhere, I got the motivation to start looking for jobs like my life depended on it. Every free moment I was able to find I was sending out applications. I wouldn’t allow myself to think about the trips I was likely going to have to take back and forth to Tennessee. Instead, I kept telling myself that I had to start bringing in some money and getting my life together. The day I got not one, but two call backs from applications I submitted gave me the glimmer of hope I needed to know that I was going to be okay. Immediately I began to get a plan together for what I was going to wear, what I was going to say, and who was going to keep the kids during my interviews. It seemed like it had been years since I had dressed up for anything. I didn’t know what I had that was interview appropriate. The first two outfits I tried on were too tight on my stomach that was still holding on to baby weight. I was in too good of a mood to let it bother me though. As I was having a mental celebration of the third pair that I tried on fitting perfectly, the doorbell interrupted me. I hurried to the door before it could be ringed again and wake the kids. I expected it to be a delivery guy since it was the time he usually came. My heart sank when I opened the door and saw a Sheriff at the door.

Jason had me served with papers again. He filed for full custody of Amelia and wanted his name off of Brandon’s birth certificate following a DNA test. As I sat reading the papers over and over I didn’t understand why I had to be served on a day that was the first in months that I actually felt happy. I wasn’t sad, I was angry. He had stolen my joy once again. On top of that he was trying to take my daughter away from me and tossing my son to the side like he was a piece of trash. In that moment, my whole focus changed. Something had to give and it was clear what it was. Jason had to go. He wasn’t just going to go away and I knew there was no way I could just ignore him forever. So it was clear to me what I had to do. I had to kill him.

I knew I had no business planning a murder. It was going to be premeditated murder and I was in way over my head to say the least. I didn't take the time to consider that I would spend the rest of my life in prison or that my kids would be orphans. I just kept telling myself that something had to give. I didn’t want to cancel the interviews I had just eagerly agreed to, but I didn’t have a choice. If I was going to get rid of Jason, I had to act fast and devote all my energy to successfully carrying out my plan. I didn’t want to keep it a secret from my family that I had been served. I needed their support, but I didn’t have a choice. There wasn’t a way to explain to them that I had no intentions of going to that court date, because I intended for Jason to be dead by then. I also didn’t want them scrambling to find a lawyer for me. I didn’t need any distractions from my plan and I didn't need a lawyer mixed up in my plan. I didn’t want to kill the father of my children, but I didn’t have a choice. He had forced my hand; backed me into a corner so far, that it was the only way I knew how to come out fighting.

I needed a plan and I needed one quickly. I had watched so many crime shows that I had always joked that I could commit pretty much any crime and successfully get away with it. I had even convinced myself that even if I didn't get away with it, I knew how to make it seem like I was insane and still get away with it. It was so easy to watch and point out all the stupid mistakes the criminals had made. As I sat and thought about how to carry out my own murder, it was so easy to see how emotions and anger could drive someone to make irrational and impulsive decisions. Jason being so far away was good in that I couldn’t go to him right away and drive a knife in his neck like I had imagined myself doing so many times. I became obsessed with coming up with the perfect plan. When the kids cried or needed something and I had to stop planning, it pissed me off. When my parents came home and I had to hide what I was doing, I would fight back tears. Some nights I fell asleep with a pen in my hand or at the computer and even though I knew it was ridiculous, I didn’t stop.

Each day as it got closer to the court date, I panicked more and more. I had started on dozens of plans, but none of them seemed good enough. I didn’t have a gun and I didn’t want to risk him surviving a stabbing. I thought about running him over with my car, but I figured the way my luck ran, he would just be paralyzed and still fight for custody. Poisoning him could take months and I didn’t have access to his food or drinks. I wasn’t strong enough to physically strangle him. I had no money to pay a hit man and I didn’t know how to find one. There wasn’t a single person I felt I could ask for help that wouldn’t immediately have me committed. Nothing was panning out for me and that stressed me out beyond words. No one around me recognized that something was off with me. No one asked me how I was doing or if I was okay and that fueled my anger. My mind was telling me to just let it go; that I was out of control and needed help. However, what was left of my heart wouldn’t listen. I didn’t know of any other way to fully have peace in my life. Something had to give and it had to be Jason. Nothing else made sense.

It was two days before the court date when overwhelming feeling of sadness and despair took over. I lay in bed that morning listening to both children crying for me to come and get them and I just wanted them to not need me for just one day. When I finally drug myself out of bed, I felt so hopeless that I knew it was going to be a terrible day. My feelings were confirmed as I made my way downstairs, juggling both kids, and saw that Mommy was still home. She was in the kitchen at the table reading the paper and sipping her coffee without a care in the world.

“Oh good morning! Which one of you stinkers was making such a fuss this morning?”

“Both of them were! It would have been nice to have some help with them!” I snapped back at her.

“Well I guess everyone woke up on the wrong side of the bed huh?” Mommy responded as Brandon climbed into her lap.

That was the first time ever that I wanted to do physical harm to my mother. I was so angry with her and she didn’t seem to care or get that I needed a break, just a moment to breathe. It didn’t help that both kids continued to whine all morning and once again instead of offering help, Mommy left me alone and went to her room to talk on the phone with Aunt Michelle. My breaking point came when Brandon managed to get his diaper off and poop on the carpet while I was cleaning up after breakfast. When I realized how quiet he had gotten, I found him rubbing it into the living room carpet with a huge grin on his face. Something that I should have laughed off or viewed as something all kids do as a toddler was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Without taking the time to think, I put both kids in the playpen and pushed it right outside mommy’s door before grabbing my purse and car keys and heading for the door. When I realized that I had no money for gas to get anywhere, I doubled back to the kitchen where Mommy always left her purse and opened her wallet to grab a credit card. As I made my way to the door, I turned around once again and took her whole wallet, which also contained a good amount of cash. I was still in pajamas and bedroom slippers but I didn’t even care. It was time.

As I stood outside my car pumping gas, thoughts about how I had left my kids that morning, thoughts about what I was planning to do, thoughts about how much my life sucked at the moment flooded my mind so heavily that I had a panic attack. I wanted to make it back to sit in the car while the gas finished pumping, but my head was spinning so bad that I couldn’t do anything but stoop down where I was and hope that I would not pass out. My gas had long finished pumping when I finally felt stable enough to stand up. I was still lightheaded from skipping breakfast. There was a McDonalds that was connected to the gas station that under the dire circumstances, made my mouth water to smell the food cooking. My phone was ringing when I got back in the car to get my purse. It was Mommy and I quickly declined the call that then showed eight missed calls from her on the home screen. There was no way to know if she was calling because I had left the kids screaming outside her door, about her missing wallet, or the smashed poop on the carpet. I didn’t want to find out either. One thing I was sure of was that I needed to get out of town fast before her or anyone caught up to me.

I convinced myself to still get breakfast despite my overwhelming desire to get on the highway as fast as possible. I was somewhat relieved when I walked in to see only one person ahead of me. What should have taken at the most five minutes to complete took double the time since the cashier was obviously new and undertrained. I started to get so flustered that I felt another panic attack coming on. Rather than have that happen, I opted to go inside the gas station to get food. Back in the car, I told myself that I needed to take just a few minutes to eat before hitting the highway. Deep down I was terrified of what I believed I was capable of doing and of how far I had gone so far. I had left my kids and stolen my mother’s wallet. I felt ashamed. As I sat there cramming powdered donuts in my mouth my phone continued to ring non-stop. Among the numerous missed calls from Mommy were calls from Daddy too and one from a number I did not know. They had left a voicemail and something told me to check it.

“
Ms. Atkins, ‘this is Sergeant Michaels with the Charlotte-Mecklenburg police department. I need to speak with you urgently regarding a stolen wallet and credit cards. I can be reached at 704-555-9875. “

I knew I was undoubtedly in the wrong for taking Mommy’s wallet, but I was still surprised and annoyed that she had reported it to the police. I knew I had to get out of Charlotte quickly, but first I knew that I wouldn’t be able to use the credit cards anymore. Even if Mommy didn’t have them cancelled, the police would easily be able to track me if I continued to use them. I didn’t even want them in my possession any longer, so I rolled down the window and tossed the whole wallet after removing the cash. I had a little over $200 to get me to Chattanooga and carry out a murder. Turning my phone off, so I couldn’t be tracked that way either; I took several deep breaths and made my way towards the highway. I couldn’t be scared or nervous anymore. I just had to do it. Breathe Cheryl. Breathe.

The ride to Tennessee was pretty much a fog. I left early enough that I did not hit much traffic. My cruise control was on most of the drive and surprisingly, I felt so relaxed that I was tempted a few times to lean my head back and rest my eyes and mind. I didn’t turn on the music and my phone was turned off, so the only noise was the wind blowing in all four windows that were rolled down. My goal was to make the whole drive there without stopping. I wanted to get it all done before I had time to talk myself out of it and most importantly before my parents or any police officers could figure out where I was and intervene. The donuts didn’t hold long and I was so hungry that I could hear my stomach growling over the sound of the wind. My breast ached and throbbed since I hadn’t had a chance to pump breast milk. They ached so badly that I had to unhook my bra. I had drunk a coke and cup of coffee from the gas station and it felt like my bladder was about to burst. Still, I did not want to stop, but when it got to the point that my head started to spin from the pain, I knew I had to.

I was already in Tennessee, but I still wanted to make the stop as short as possible. By this time, I had to pee so badly that my teeth were hurting and I barely made it to the bathroom. My breast were the size of cantaloupes at that point and I was hoping they would just start to leak on their own to relieve some pressure, but it didn’t seem as thought that was going to happen. I became instantly annoyed as I stood in the stall realizing I had no pump. As a last resort, I bent over the toilet seat and squeezed each of my breasts by hand expressing the milk. It made me anxious that I was spending such a long time in the bathroom, but luckily for me, I was so full that the milk came out with little effort. I stopped as soon as I had enough of the milk out to stop the throbbing and practically ran out the bathroom. I was stopped in my tracks when the nausea and light-headedness hit me from the hunger. I knew I had to get more than junk this time and the smell of the connected Taco Bell drew me in.

I devoured three steak tacos in what seemed like one bite each without taking a breath. It didn’t dawn on me how fast I was eating until I looked up and saw a little boy turned around in his seat staring at me. I had to assume that my disheveled pajamas and dirty house shoes probably made it seem like I was a homeless person that lucked up on a few dollars to get something to eat. The little boy stared at me with such pity that I was tempted to go up to him and explain to him that he had just caught me on an off day. He was a child though. I knew he probably didn’t care to know the real story behind my appearance and I was on a schedule anyway. With my phone in my hand, I sat in the driver's seat letting the summer breeze hit my face as I waited for my gas to pump. A part of me wanted to check my messages to see if anyone had figured out where I had gone, but the more sensible part told me to just keep it turned off. I convinced myself to not only keep the phone turned off, but to toss it in the trash as I went to put the gas pump back. As I was getting in the car, I noticed the young boy once again staring at me through the window as he sat eating. We made eye contact and I smiled knowing that since I wasn’t able to explain my story to him, that the fact that I was getting in a vehicle showed that I wasn’t homeless.

It was mid-day when I reached Chattanooga. Seeing the sign “Welcome to Chattanooga” gave me mixed emotions. I was relieved that I had made it, but at the same time, I had a stomach full of butterflies. I still had no plan. I had made the long drive from Charlotte, but I didn’t allow myself to think about my kids that I had left, the state of panic my parents were probably in, and definitely not about how I was going to commit murder. I did nothing but drive and it felt great. Now that it was show time, I realized that I had just over $100 and limited amount of time to think of a plan, find and buy a weapon, and execute it. I had no clue what I was going to do. The uneasiness in my stomach became ten times worse when I exited off the highway. It was so weird how I could easily remember the numerous times I had gotten to the same exit and felt such a rush of excitement over seeing the guy who I thought was the love of my life. It was surreal to believe that we had gotten to this point and that it was real life.

I didn’t want to pop up at Jason’s house immediately and risk being seen by him. There was no way for me to know how much my parents had figured out. I also didn’t know if they had contacted Jason to let him know I had “disappeared.” Even if they had not gone as far as to contact him, I was pretty sure that by the way he had been acting towards me, that he would immediately call the cops on me if he spotted me near the house. Just thinking about how Jason would respond to seeing me angered me and made me hate him even more. I didn’t deserve how he was treating me. I felt like he was doing anything he possibly could to get back at me and to ruin my life. I wanted him to suffer; to feel every bit of stress, anxiety, and pain that he had caused me. Dozens of thoughts ran through my mind as I sat at gas station just minutes from the house. I was racking my brain over how I was going to get it done.

Did Wal-Mart still sell guns? Did I have enough money with me to buy a gun?

Where could I go to get a large knife? How much did they cost?

How many blows with something like a brick or baseball bat would it take to bust his head open? Would he be strong enough to stop me from beating him to death?

Would I even be able to get close enough to him to attack him?