Earlier this month, I asked for your assistance in helping me determine the appropriate ending to the story, “Sid And Janis—A Love Story?” On January 11, I posted three possible endings.

 

After reading the story, I invited you to let me know which one I should use. The choice that received the most “Yes” votes would become the story's ending. Please see the outcome of the vote below and visit the January 11 posting to read the story again to see if you agree with the conclusion. And now, the results . . .

 

 

Sid And Janis—A Love Story?

 Posted January 11, 2021

 

The last line of the story before the ending:  That night we slept cuddled together—capturing the loving past we’d both forgotten. In the morning, we awoke to the sun coming through the bedroom blinds. Our eyes met and my heart pounded, as I awaited her words of love, . . . 

 

Ending I

but what poured out of her mouth, was not what I’d expected. In a somewhat condescending tone, she questioned, “So what did neighbor Jones do? You’re not going to leave me hanging, are you?” Well, we were back where we started, and divorce was looking better all the time.                                                                             

 

                                            Percent of respondents voting “Yes”:  18.75%

 

Ending II

but not wanting to chance revisiting yesterday’s uncomfortable conversation, I grabbed her, wrapped my arms around her, and kissed her passionately. She was so taken aback, not another word was spoken about what I’d tried to tell her. I never pursued the subject with her again, nor did I ever find out the truth about neighbor Jones’s “casket.”

 

                                            Percent of respondents voting “Yes”:  68.75%

 

Ending III

but my world was rocked again by what came pouring out of her mouth. Her uncompromising manner was frightening, as she stated, “You were so right yesterday. You did start the argument, as always. And taking responsibility does not make it all go away. You need help. So, do I call a marriage counselor . . . or do I need a lawyer?”                                                                                                                                  

                                            Percent of respondents voting “Yes”:  12.50%

 

 

Alan Lowe, January 30, 2021

 

 

 

Some of you who responded to my offer to select the appropriate ending to the story asked the question, “Was it a casket that Sid saw and what was in it?” I would like to provide the answer in . . .

 

 

Sid And Janis—The Love Story Continues

 

     With the casket issue behind them, their marriage was still intact eight years later, in spite of the bickering that took place on an almost daily basis. This evening found Sid in his recliner staring off into space with the TV blaring, while Janis sat in her recliner glaring at him. Neither one said anything to the other until Janis, somewhat annoyed, said . . .

     “I told you I didn’t want to watch this awful movie, Sid. However, you had to watch it. But are you really watching it?”

     “Uh, yeah.”

     “Well then, tell me what it’s about.”

     “You were watching it, so you already know. Why should I waste my time telling you?”

     “You have no idea what it’s about. Do you, Sid?”

     “I’ve got to take a leak, Janis. Watch what you want. I don’t care.”

     “What do you care about? Certainly not me.”

     “We’ve been married forty years. Doesn’t that mean something?”

     “Sure, we’re both cowards.”

     “What do you mean by that?”

     “Neither of us has the guts to leave.”

     “I’ve had it with you, Janis. I am leaving to go to the john.”

     “Don’t get lost. You’ll miss the end of the movie.”

     “Just keep it up, Janis. I hope, when we go to heaven, we’ll both have a better life—alone.”

     “That would be a blessing, my sweet.”

     Well, as fate would have it, Sid passed away in his sleep not quite a year later. Janis, not having anybody to rag on, followed him six months after that. Both of them had decided to be cremated, so they never had to talk about caskets. One can only hope they got separate rooms in heaven.

     Now you must be thinking, that with both Sid and Janis in a better place, the casket issue had died with them. However, you’d be wrong. For two months after Janis died, the block they’d lived on for most of their life together shook like an earthquake.

     Sirens blasted, rattling the peaceful lives of the street’s residents. Of the forty-three people living there, all but two exited their homes and stood in awe at what was happening. Police cars lined both sides of the street. Cops were everywhere. And a SWAT team made its way to the house where Henry and Melanie Jones resided.     

     What occurred next was unbelievable. The team, getting no response from the occupants of the home, used a battering ram to bust the door down.

     Loud screaming could be heard coming from inside the house. The SWAT team leader commanded, “Everybody down on the ground. Place your hands behind your back.”

     Then two people, a man and a woman, in handcuffs were escorted from the house. “Oh my, it’s Melanie and Henry,” Margo Sampson yelled.

     As they walked down the driveway, a man, sitting in the backseat of a police car parked by the curb, stuck his head out the window and screamed, “She did it, not him.”

     All eyes focused on the car. What they saw was mind-boggling.

The man was Henry Jones. But how could that be?

     The confused crowd stared at the car and then at the couple being escorted from the house. “If that’s Henry in the car, who’s the guy with Melanie?” Roger Atwater asked. “He looks an awful lot like Henry. And what did she do?”

 

     The answers to Roger’s questions eluded the neighbors for almost two weeks. After the couple was placed in a patrol car, all the vehicles parked on the street disappeared, including the one with Henry’s look-alike, sitting in the rear seat.

     During this time, investigators appeared at the house, but conducted their business discretely. They removed crucial evidence late at night, when the neighbors were asleep. The residents wondered why the police had not questioned any of them.

     Then, on Thursday afternoon of the second week, a police van arrived at the Jones’s house. Neighbors peered out their windows, while others stood outside their homes and stared in the direction of the vehicle. An officer got out of the van on the driver’s side. Opening the back doors, two men exited, without handcuffs—the “two Henrys.”

     The officer said to them, “You’re free to go. Sorry for the inconvenience.”       The men walked up the front walkway, entered the house and closed the door, as the officer got back into the van and left. Perplexed, the neighbors muttered to themselves, “What just happened? And Why? And where is Melanie Jones?” As they were about to disperse, the front door of the house opened, and . . .

      A neighbor yelled, “Henry, what the hell’s happening? Who’s the other guy? And where’s Melanie?”

     “Henry” faced the group and said, “I’m not Henry. I’m Stanley.”

     The crowd was in shock. “Stanley?” they echoed in unison. “Where’s Henry?”

     “Henry has had a difficult time the past few weeks, while the police were trying to figure out what’d occurred. He needs to rest.”

     “Well, you look like Henry. If you’re not him, who are you?” Roger asked.

     “I’m Henry’s twin brother. I haven’t been here in years and had no idea what was going on. When I asked about visiting, I always got an excuse as to why the timing was inappropriate. So I decided to surprise them. And surprise them, I did. At first, Melanie wouldn’t let me in. And when Henry did . . .”

     “And when he did, what happened?” Margo queried.

     “The strangest thing. There were two caskets in the living room.”

     “Caskets?” The crowd shouted. “How’d they get there?”

     “Henry built them for Melanie, thinking they were flower boxes, about ten years ago. When he found out what they really were, he tried to get rid of them, but a neighbor saw him putting one in his SUV. After the neighbor left, that night, he dragged it back into the house. When he heard nothing about it from the neighbor or anyone else in the neighborhood, both empty caskets, with blankets over them, were laid to rest on the back patio. Henry thought nothing more about them.”

     “So, is that where the story ends?” Margo asked.

     “Not quite. Just before I arrived, Henry returned home from a business trip. When he did, he found both caskets sitting in the living room. He also saw Melanie’s mother’s inexpensive, designer knockoff purse on the coffee table. When he asked Melanie where her mother was, she pointed to one of the caskets.

     “Dismayed by her gesture, he inquired as to what was in the other one. She opened it and bills flowed out onto the floor.”

     “Where did they come from? I thought you implied her mother didn’t have money?” a small woman, standing in the street, questioned.

     “But she did. She was very wealthy from her inheritance from her fifth husband. However, she also was quite frugal, but not very careful with her money. She visited many times a year and carried thousands of dollars with her in her purse. Apparently, Melanie had been stealing from her for years and placing the cash in one of the coffins. Since she didn’t know how much she had in her purse, she never noticed the missing cash until this visit, when she found a hundred dollar bill under the coffee table. She confronted Melanie about it and Melanie killed her.”

     “Oh, my God!” Margo shrieked.

     “After putting the money back in the casket, Melanie instructed Henry to take both caskets to a storage unit she’d rented. He refused. She pulled a gun out from under the couch cushion, but before she could use it, I knocked on the door. She had no alternative. She stashed the weapon and opened the door. When I entered, I saw the two caskets but, otherwise, everything seemed ‘normal.’ Melanie smiled at me and gave me a big hug. Henry, not wanting to get me killed, didn’t say anything, and I didn’t ask any questions.  

     “However, that night, after we’d gone to bed, Henry snuck out of the house and went to the police station and told them what had happened. And you know the ‘rest of the story.’”

 

 

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