by Tyler Wolfe
Carter, my boy, you were one lucky sonovabitch earlier when you killed a man and nobody noticed. Better play it cool now that you’re cleaning up your own mess. I tried. I kept under the speed limit as I drove down Fernery, lights on, playing the Stones low on the radio.
Nothing to see here, just your neighbor driving down the road. No trouble. Nothing to worry about. I’m just here to make a quick pickup and I’ll be on my way.
What’s that in the back of my truck?
Nothing. Nothing at all.
My stomach churned like a washing machine as I approached the spot where I left the body. Anxiety loomed over me as I pulled off to the overgrown side of the road, blocking any view of what I was about to do. I turned off the engine and headlights, wary of drawing attention to myself, and jumped out to grab my gear.
As I crept into the ditch, I held a faint, fleeting hope that I had been wrong in my panic. I hoped that the teenage boy had woken up with a bad headache, stumbled out of the ditch, and gone on his merry way thinking twice about jumping random people. That was the happy ending that I wanted: an empty ditch.
Then I saw his feet sticking out from under the bush, still in the same position I had left him. My heart sank as I gagged. I swallowed hard as I picked my way toward him. Sonuvabitch.
I didn’t know who, between us, I was more angry with—him or myself. The most terrifying thing was that I hadn’t wanted any of this. I tried to get away until I...didn’t. Could I call what had happened self-defense? When had it stopped being self-defense?
Stop standing here brooding and pack up the poor bastard.
I quietly unfolded the tarp and laid it on the ground, my chest heaving. A faint foul odor was already wafting from the body: piss, shit, God knew what else. I grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him onto the tarp. I was glad that he was face down. I didn’t want to look into his eyes again, or see that shocked expression.
His body was stiff. There was no mistaking it for something living, no more than a manikin. I pondered how the situation could get any worse as I was now about to move a dead body from a damp muddy ditch to a dirty spider-webbed groundsheet. I shuddered when his sock slipped and I felt his cold skin against my fingertips.
Once he was centered on the tarp, I wrapped it around him, then dug my hands into the mess of bungees and clothesline. Able to unravel the rope first, I started tying up the body, crisscrossing it around him like I would tie up a roast. It looked ridiculous, but I was thinking only of getting the hell out of there as fast as possible.
Once I had finished wrapping up my attacker into a grisly package, I went back to throw the bungees into the back of the truck, then dragged him over and pulled the truck’s tailgate down.
With both arms wrapped around his waist I heaved him into the truck bed with all my strength, feeling jags of pain go through a muscle in my arm. Think I just pulled it. Great. I would be paying for this whole adventure in the morning—along with every time I tried to eat, or sleep.
Jesus Christ. I slammed the back gate—and then looked up suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling.
On the other side of the street, past a rundown fence and a broken row of palmettos, a tiny, rotting bungalow sat in a yard full of weeds. An old fuel tank sat beside it, back lit by the faint glow from a television flickering through one of the side windows.
That window. I stood still and watched, wondering if I had seen the half-drawn curtain move. I held my breath and froze. If anyone sees, I’m done. Was there someone there?
The glow from the TV flickered and moved as the images on its screen shifted. I kept holding my breath. Was there a silhouette in that window or was it just how the shadows fell inside the house? Was my mind playing tricks on me?
I stood still for several seconds, staring at that glowing window from behind the broken screen of foliage, my heart feeling like it was going to beat its way out of my chest. But nothing moved except for the shifting lights. After a few more heartbeats, I hurried around to the driver’s seat and got in.
I reversed, making a hard cut backward, then jammed it into drive to speed off. If someone was watching, I didn’t want to give them enough time to see my license plate—or my face. There wasn’t much else I could do, and my paranoia was starting to get the best of me.
As I drove past the house a light flashed from the window making me jump.
Knock it off. It’s just the television.
I was sweating bullets in the heat as I sped down the street towards the boat ramp. Luckily, the docks were deserted at this time of night.
There was supposed to be a night-time security guard, but the guy never seemed to be there. I knew that as long as I had a little luck, I could grab a boat and take my John Doe out into the middle of the lake and dump him.
On the other hand, thus far tonight my luck had been astoundingly unlucky. Beat up, freaked out, and now with a corpse in the bed of my truck. I would ask how things could get worse, but the universe might see it as a goddamn challenge.
Thank God. They still hadn’t fixed the gate that led down to the boat ramp. I was able to just jump out and swing it open. It made a thin, ringing screech as I pushed it open—and I looked around in a hurry, muscles tight.
No sign of anyone. So far so good.
I checked the bundle in the back of my truck briefly before getting back in. No problems—aside from its existence. The bundle didn’t even look that much like a body. It could have been a wrapped Christmas tree, or a rolled-up rug. Not a person—or a thing that once had been a person.
I found one of the small, ratty rowboats that were kept moored there, and checked for leaks before pulling it up onto the shore to load.
Getting that stiff, heavy shape into the boat almost did me in. I dragged it off the gate of the truck bed and grunted with pain as it fell on me and jolted my arm again.
Groaning through my teeth, I half dragged, half carried my burden to the boat and heaved it in. I followed it with the pair of cinder blocks. Then, back and arms throbbing, I pushed the boat down into the water and climbed in, grabbing the paddles.
My stomach dropped as I shoved off. I didn’t actually have that much experience with boats, but then again, this seemed to be a night of firsts.
I checked my watch. It was 10:15. Plenty of time to get this done before Zoe would be home. Now I just had to get my story straight.
“...He must have gotten out of someone’s yard,” I muttered to myself as I paddled along, practicing my lines. “He was huge. Really huge. Maybe part Mastiff or maybe part Stegosaurus. I have no idea, but he was big, fast and thought I wanted to play.”
The stink from the corpse reached my nostrils, and I choked. Taking a hard swallow, I thought more while I dug the paddles into the water. “No, he didn’t bite me, he just knocked me down and wanted to wrestle. Stupid dog.”
I’m paddling an old boat out into the middle of a lake to dump the body of a teenage boy I strangled to death, while rehearsing the bullshit story I’m going to use to lie to my wife. The thought brought me up short; the tips of my ears burned, and I lowered my head.
Who am I kidding? Even if I came up with a bulletproof story, Zoe can always tell when I’m lying. Well, maybe not always, but pretty much most of the time. I might have to just tell her.
I looked out over the lake. The thin moon had risen among the stars and cast a soft silver reflection over the dark glimmering water and surrounding land. Clouds were starting to roll in, moving slowly to block the moon’s light bit by bit. Watching it, I tried to imagine what would happen if I simply...confessed.
Almost at once, I let out a bitter little snicker and got back to rowing. Yeah, right. Zoe will go through hell right alongside me, since she’s the loyal type, and I’ll have to live with that. I’d rather cut off my right arm.
As I rowed, I replayed the fight in my mind, and shook my head. “God damn you, kid,” I muttered to the corpse. “You really screwed us both. All you had to do was leave me alone
, and you’d still be alive. And I wouldn’t be stuck doing…this.”
But even as the words left my mouth, I felt like a jerk. With nothing but the moon and a corpse for my witnesses, the guilt made me feel even sicker. As much of a big, belligerent asshole as this kid had been, he hadn’t deserved to die.
But I don’t deserve to go to prison either. Not for this. Not when it wasn’t even intentional, or my fault.
I was starting to sweat under the black hoodie I was wearing. The humidity coming off the lake made the breathless heat that much more unbearable. Mosquitoes swarmed around me, buzzing my face; I had forgotten to re-apply my repellent, and could feel them biting my cheeks, forehead and hands. Now and again I had to stop and slap them away.
It was so quiet out on the lake. The loudest noises were the plop of the oars slicing the water, and the endless buzz of crickets from the surrounding shore. A mist rose off the overheated water, making it even harder to breathe. The growing stink of the corpse lying just feet in front of me didn’t help either.
I’m trapped in a horror movie. That’s what this is. It’s a goddamn nightmare I’m having after watching some bad gore-fest on TV. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up next to my wife, and everything will be okay. None of this will matter. Hell, none of it will have even happened.
It’s just a dream. But I knew it wasn’t.
I tried to convince myself, but the problem with being sane is that you can’t rationalize away reality for very long. It always catches up. Just like the horror of what I was doing, now creeping in the back of my mind.
It’ll be over soon. Just keep rowing. The body would rot in the warm water and the fish would pick away at the bones. Maybe one day they would find a skeleton there in the depths, bleached white and as clean as something standing in a biology lab. When that happens, I would just have to act surprised just like everyone else.
I was getting really thirsty. I had been queasy enough back home that I hadn’t even thought of bringing water, and now I regretted it. But as I glanced back at the corpse lying in its bundle near me, my attention was being nagged…by something else.
I paddled as softly and slowly as I could, not daring to turn on my flashlight. Any kind of water craft was forbidden by law to be on the lake at night. Now and again, some horny teens or a drunk guy would get caught going out on the lake, and the police were always waiting for them when they got back to shore. I needed to be extra quiet, because if anyone saw or heard me out here, the police would surely be waiting for me too.
My arms were throbbing and my hoodie was soaked by the time I reached the center of the lake. I stopped to have a look around. The water below looked dark and endless, like I was staring into an abyss as I peered over the side of the boat. This is it. Time to get this over with and go home. I could barely keep the sweat out of my eyes as I looked at my watch to see it was now 11:20. Better hurry. Zoe was due home at 1:00, but she’s come home early before.
I dragged in the paddles and stood up unsteadily, wary of going over into the water with my burden. I bent down and grabbed ahold of the ropes tied in a web-work around it—and froze as I felt their damp texture under my hands. Crap, this clothesline is made of cotton!
My mind immediately went into cinematic mode. Picture this: the ropes rot before the body’s completely skeletonized. It breaks loose from the cinder blocks and goes bobbing to the surface for someone to find before the fish and bacteria can fully do their work. And I go to prison forever.
“Nooooo,” I whispered. “No, no, no, NO.” I was now more panicked and uncomfortable than ever. I wiped my shaky, sweaty hands on my jeans and stared at the corpse, wondering what the hell to do.
I’ll have to go back for the damn bungee cords. At least I don’t have to worry about them rotting, but Christ, it’s another half hour or so to get to shore and back. Is there even enough time?
Dammit. Dumping the body the way it was currently bound was just too risky. I knew I had to act fast.
I quickly turned the boat around and reluctantly headed back to shore. Time was running out and so was my energy. I knew tomorrow I was going to pay dearly for doing all this hard work when I was injured.
By the time that I got back to shore, I was pouring sweat, my hands and face were itching from multiple bites, and I was really starting to feel exhausted, not to mention all my scrapes, cuts and bruises from the fight and falling down were really starting to ache. “You stupid ass kid,” I growled angrily under my breath as I dragged the boat ashore. “Look at what I have to do because of you.” It was easy to blame the lifeless parcel even though I was the one who forgot to secure it with bungees.
Unbelievable, I whispered as I stepped unsteadily out of the boat, wondering again if I could really do what I was about to do. Am I really about to do a goddamn body dump. That kid’s family won’t even get a chance at a proper burial. This is insane. But what happens if I don’t do it? I felt my conscience pulling my thoughts back and forth like a giant tree saw cutting through my brain.
I imagined my friends, colleagues and family staring at me in horror. I imagined Zoe in tears, turning away, crying for me to never touch her again. I imagined what prison would do to me. It would kill me, plain and simple. There is no other choice.
I ran up the ramp to my truck, which sat alone and untouched. Relieved to see that no one had noticed me, I hurried around to the back and grabbed all the bungee cords I could find. Four or five should do, I thought as I grabbed the tangled mess of cords and quickly made my way back to the boat. It was now 11:40.
Standing by the boat, I quickly took count of the bungees. “Five should do it” I reassured myself, rolling the corpse back and forth as I stretched the rubber cords under and around hooking them together at both ends.
Once the bungees were secured to the corpse and the cinder blocks were secured to them, I pushed off again and hopped back in the boat. “This is it” I thought. “This will just have to do.” I looked down at the wrapped body and cinder blocks as if I was waiting for them to agree.
I shook my head at myself and set out. I had to row faster this time. I could only pray I got this done and got home before Zoe. But what the hell was I doing trying to pray?
Turn the other cheek. My father, a minister, had always said. My mother, a minister’s wife, would teach me no different. I could have learned to box or taken martial arts and fought back against the bastards beating me down every day. Instead, I obeyed God’s rules and now look where they had gotten me. Running away was the only defense I knew when it came to protecting myself; and while it worked pretty well for my adolescent years, it wasn’t something I could do anymore. I was tired of being everyone’s goddamn punching bag.
Where was God when I was getting pushed to the ground and pounded on? I had to wonder, while stuck alone with my thoughts: if I had fought back at the bus stop, if I had fought back on the playground instead of turning the other cheek, would I have lost my shit earlier tonight?
I had swallowed my anger like poison for years and years. I had developed the skill of keeping it so tightly under wraps that everyone thought I was a gentle man because I wanted to be. But truth be told, I wanted to rage just like everyone else. And if tonight proved anything, it was that I could no longer bottle up my childhood memories.
I don’t think I can turn the other cheek anymore. I don’t even think it’s that good of an idea. Maybe it’s just something that got put down as holy law so that people would accept oppression with a smile. But I can’t anymore. I’m done.
People at work took my reliability and mild manners for granted. Zoe trusted me with everything. I had house keys for half a dozen neighbors. And I still walked around carrying a whole tank full of repressed rage. The kid tonight had just put a match to it.
Maybe trying to burn it off with running had never been enough. Maybe I should have been working harder by running three miles a night? Four? Clearly I wasn’t doing enough.
Or I could have supplemented my nightly run w
ith something more serious, like some therapy or yoga or something. Maybe then I wouldn’t be in this situation.
I stopped and looked at the tied up object in front of me, then went back to work rowing as I let out a short, sorrowful laugh. Is walking into a therapist’s office a worse option than this?
There was no helping it now. The deed was done. Even if I hadn’t snapped and killed him, I’d still be facing jail time and my life being pretty much over. I still didn’t know why that goddamn kid had gone from asking for money, to trying to mug me, to beating me down. Maybe he had been crazy. Maybe the real violent psycho in the situation had been him.
“Yeah, that’s it,” I breathed, trying to convince myself. “It was self-defense.”
Maybe it was even partly true, but it didn’t lessen the guilt. It only let me counter it some with anger, and a tiny sense of vindication. I gritted my teeth behind my lips and forced myself to focus on rowing.
I was shaking with exhaustion by the time that I finally reached the middle of the lake, for the second time. My mouth was stuck together with dryness, my lips were cracked, my eyes itched, and while my clothes were soaked. I was anxious to be done with this as the stench from the body was really starting to get noxious.
I let the boat drift to a stop, kneeling down to ponder my still, silent passenger. It was now time to do the unthinkable. It was time to dump the body.
“Guess this is your stop,” I muttered with apathy.
My arms were dead and throbbed when I lifted them but my legs had been resting for over half an hour now. Maybe it was best that I didn’t try to stand up and muscle the body over the side with my arms. With how exhausted I was I couldn’t chance loosing my balance and dumping us both off the boat. That might lead to me going along to the bottom too. Instead, I scooted forward to get the body into position.
The boat was stable, but I knew there was a chance of it tipping if I didn’t do things carefully. I propped half the body up over the front as I used my weight to keep us from capsizing. The body was so stiff now it took several minutes to tug and shove it into position as I did my best to not breathe in the putrid stench radiating out from inside the tarp.
