At AJ Bell, we believe investing is for everyone. Even people who know nothing about investing. Like Keith, who thought dividends were a boy band. Jessica, who thought compound interest was a prison dating app. And Sue, Sue thought FT100 was a bit of under the table fun, which surprised her accountant. Oh, no. If we can make investing feel good for them, it's no wonder which have recommended us eight years running. AJ Bell, feel good investing. The value of your investments can go up or down. Hi, I'm Ashley Flowers, creator and host of the number one true crime podcast, Crime Junkie. Every Monday, me and my best friend, Britt, break down a new case, but not in the way you've heard before, and not the cases you've heard before. You'll hear stories on Crime Junkie that haven't been told anywhere else. I'll tell you what you can do to help victims and their families get justice. Join us for new episodes of Crime Junkie every Monday, already waiting for you by searching for Crime Junkie wherever you listen to podcasts. This episode was produced with immersive audio. For the best experience, we kindly recommend you listen with headphones. Was it always this dark? He reaches back to years far gone, winching memories bloated by time. Much like the stars, these ancient gems, these stones, no longer glitter. Perhaps they never did. So much had changed in the last few years, least of all, his prescription. Misty clouds rub over the moon, spoiling its light with cataracts. Celestial features now millimeter smudge. Was it always so small? Matt knuckled his eyes, trying to scrape the sticker price from his newly bought contacts. This was his fifth pair, his third optometrist, just this year. His vision was 2020 by standard marks, but his sight was still off. It had to be. So much was changed in the last few years. He was a very young man, and he was a very young man. He was a very young man, and he was changed in the last few years. Not just what's far away, but inches away. He stares down over his arms at the spatter of freckles flicked like mud. In clear contradiction, he can't help but think, this skin feels new. Come on, we're not getting any younger. I said I'm still thinking. It's harder going last. Well, while you think of a story, I'm gonna make a lemon stand. Oh, what? I think he's relieving himself. What a relief. Don't pretend you won't miss me, BRB. Did it just get 200 decibels quieter? Or is it just me? I can still hear you. Ow, it's like a smoke alarm. So much had changed in the last few years. But not his friends. Why not his friends? The fire cracked its back, and he sees them as they are. Still the same group of misfits founded since high school. Their faces, their voices, were nearly identical. Was he really that different? He took a deep breath, but the air was filled with smoke and gnats and his own dry spit and the fear that he... Ah! Jeez. That thing... shit! Oh my God, I bet you heard that one too. You? Ahol! Ah! Now there's dirt all over my sleeping bag. Not cool, Jay. Oh, relax. We're camping. Dirt is part of the experience. Why do you even have that stupid air horn at? If I had a mirror, I could show you. Some people never change. Damn right! I'm mint condition. Well, thank you, Jake, because your little joke just gave me an idea for a story. Oh boy. I can't wait to hear this. Yeah, you see, this story is about a prank taken a bit too far. So gather round, Jake, and listen... close. Uh-oh. Okay, so before you go calling me a complete asshole, you should know my wife Stacy has pulled some seriously messed up pranks in the past. Like, last August. After my mom got hit by an 18-wheeler, I was told that I was going to be a bad ass. I was told that I was going to be a bad ass. I was told that I was going to be a bad ass. I was told that I was going to be a bad ass. I was told that I was going to be a bad ass. I was told that I was going to be a bad ass. I was told that I was going to be a bad ass. I was told that I was going to be a bad ass. I was told that I was going to be a bad ass. I was told that I was going to be a bad ass. I was told that I was going to be a bad ass. I was told that I was going to be a bad ass. Ask the whole boss and tell him the whole department knows he screwed his secretary at the office Christmas party. So, I'd been looking for a little...payback, you might say. Just last week, Stacy came down with a ferocious migraine, and three days in bed with a damp rag across her head didn't help one bit. So, off to the hospital we went. From across the desk in his cramped office, Dr. Mercer said she needed a brain scan. He also suggested that, in his professional opinion, we should brace ourselves for the worst. Time slowed down while we waited for the diagnosis. A drift in forlorn, we held each other for hours on end while the seconds ticked by on the clock above the mantelpiece. Oh sure, my beloved kept a brave face, but anytime she returned from her solo walks, her eyes would be all red and puffed out. Well, this morning, Dr. Mercer finally called while Stacy was at the store. He used the landline because she hadn't answered her mobile. So, what's the diagnosis? I asked, my stomach folding itself and knots. Again and again he insisted he couldn't discuss the case with anyone besides the patient, although ten minutes of groveling wore him down. He sighed, lowered his voice, then said he had a hunch Stacy and I would have caused for celebration this Valentine's Day. All the joy seeped back into the world. I thanked the doc a million times before collapsing into the chair. An idea for a prank already blooming in my mind. And boy was it a doozy. At the lounge table, I rubbed my eyes until they turned all bloodshot and then practiced my sullen face. Soon I heard little miss loves to prank, come through the front door, kick off her shoes and shuffle along the hall. As she stepped into the room, I looked up without saying a single word. My hand shot over her mouth. I swallowed a gulp. Then in a thin, weak voice I said, Dr. Mercer called. Is it...bad? Rather than answer, I simply pretended to sob into my hands. Stacy didn't burst into tears or scream, nor did she collapse on the floor. Instead, she let out a deep sigh and threw her head back. On the wall beside the window stood a dark wooden cabinet. She went over to it, slid open the bottom drawer and lifted out this huge metal trunk. I stood up. Everything...okay? The trunk had a combination lock. Once Stacy rolled the numbers into place, the latch opened with a little click. Do you love me? She asked over her shoulder. Still in character, I said, Of course I love you. I'll always love you. And we're gonna get... Then drink this. She spun around, holding out a whiskey bottle. I craned my neck to peek inside the trunk and glimpsed a pair of handcuffs and a red bow tie before she blocked my view. I bought it for a special occasion. She said, I stepped forward, arms outstretched. Listen, no matter what, we're gonna get through this mess together. Just drink it. She snapped. Please, it's important. If you love me, you'll drink it. Was this a joke? I searched your face for answers, finding none. But hell, who was I to judge? Everybody processes grief in their own individual way. Sure, honey. I grabbed the bottle from her and took a long swig. My insides already warming. Five seconds later, the floor rose up to meet me. Darkness swallowed the lounge and everything in it. My next memory is of the words, I love you. Drifting toward me from the end of a long tunnel. There was pressure inside my skull. I tried moving, but I couldn't. My hands had been cuffed behind my back. My ankles were bound together by a length of rope. I was propped up on the sofa in a tux. Through the haze, I saw two Stacey's orbit one another, both wearing her favorite dress, that read off the shoulder number. In her right hand, she had a... a pistol. Where did that come from? Her voice echoed on and on as she told me she'd prepared for this day years ago. That she couldn't bear the thought of me carrying on without her and starting a new family. Although I dipped in and out of consciousness, the words, We have to go together. Kept stinging in my ears. I thrashed around, unable to speak. The best my drooling mouth could manage was slurred random syllables. Stacey sat beside me and pressed her right temple against my left. The pistol angled in such a way one shot would tear through both our frontal lobes. Oh fuck. Did she plan on killing us? My attempts to beg her to wait came out as a nonsensical gurgle. Squeezing those beautiful green eyes of her shut, Stacey said, Goodbye Frank. I love you so, so much. Now, enough of the brain fog had lifted that I could mutter. It was a prank. She stopped breathing and tensed up. What? I took several quick short breaths. It's a prank. Dr. Mercer said you'll be fine. So I set you up as payback for the lottery thing. For almost a minute, neither of us said a word. The room thick with tension. Then, forcing a smile, she said. Well duh. She stood. Did you really think I was gonna kill us both? I knew you were full of crap the second I walked in. You're the worst actor in the world. I just turned the prank around on you. The way she said this, every word steeped in sincerity. Made the statement swing all the way back towards hollow. She crossed the room and slipped the gun into the trunk before returning with a key to unlock my cuffs. Well that's a relief about the diagnosis. We should celebrate. How about we order Thai tonight? After she loosened the rope, I got up rubbing my chaff wrists, my vision blurred and my throat dry. Sounds... great. Perfect. With that, she smiled, stood on her tiptoes, lifted my chin with a finger, gave me a quick kiss, and then disappeared into the kitchen. My shirt was a drenched rag against my chest. Had it really been a prank? Surely, drugging me was a step too far, even for her. Just then, the phone wailed. It sounded painfully loud inside my aching skull. Dr. Mercer was on the line, and this time, his voice carried a distinct sour note. Frank? I'm really sorry, but there's been a mix-up with the results. Can you have Stacey call me as soon as possible? It's, um... it's urgent. The room tilted from side to side. The ground shifting beneath my feet. My better half came through the door and asked, Who was that, honey? I hung up and swallowed the lump in my throat. Uh... wrong number. So, Jake, anything you have to say? Bravo. Bravo. I never knew I was such an inspiration to you, I was... Insp... yeah, right. More like... And... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have scared you while you were wrapped in your burrito. Ugh... well, thank you, I guess. I just wish you weren't always so... Ha ha ha ha! Sorry, I had to get that last one out. Ugh... As I said, some people never change. Full Body Chills is an audio chuck production. This episode was written by Lighting Nations and read by Harley J. Intro Outro, written by David Flowers and read by Ashley Flowers, Idris Jones, Kirsten Lee, Nathan Nokes and Shai Sharay. So, what do you think, Chuck? Do you approve? Everyone's told a lie, but what happens when one lie becomes a life, a movement, a conspiracy? I'm Josh Dean, host of Chameleon, and I uncover true stories of deception scams so intimate and convincing they fooled the people closest to them. These aren't strangers, they're lovers, friends and trusted allies. Because the most dangerous cons don't feel like they're a threat to you. Listen to Chameleon wherever you get your podcasts.
