by Jeff Strand
Soon my apartment didn't look like the site of a recent atrocity.
Again, if a CSI team came around, it was all over for me. I wasn't trying to fool forensics experts. I went around with a flashlight, shining it everywhere on the floor that Andy or Wulfe might have leaked, and I didn't see any specks of blood that I'd missed. I'm sure there was at least one or two. But if Abigail came over, I believed that as long as she stayed out of the bathroom, I could sit with her in the living room without feeling the stomach-clenching anxiety that she might suspect something was wrong.
To be clear, I wasn't going to invite her over until this situation was resolved. But I felt I'd cleaned up enough that she could come over.
Now that I was done getting rid of the ghastly mess, I felt like I could sure use a shower, but...you know...
I got undressed, then washed up using the kitchen sink.
Though it felt like it should be after midnight, it wasn't even eight-thirty. It had been less than two hours since Marc showed up at my door and possibly destroyed my life.
I needed to hide the duffel bag. I should've done that sooner; again, I was doing things in the wrong order. It would've been more secure to hide it outside of my apartment, but I wanted to keep it easily accessible, so I slid it under my bed, right where Marc had been hiding. That spot hadn't worked out for him, yet the key difference was that I now had two guns, so I could do a better job protecting the money than I had protecting Marc.
Now what?
Truthfully, my plan was really to just sort of hang out and hope that nobody came after me. I wasn't sure how Wulfe and Andy had known to come to my door. Maybe nobody else knew where they were headed. Maybe I could ride this out. Tomorrow night I'd get rid of the bodies. Whether that meant "sneak them out of my apartment and pray there were no witnesses" or a long-term plan where nobody would be allowed to inspect the foil-wrapped packages in my freezer, I hadn't decided yet.
So for now I'd simply sit in my apartment, alone except for my victims, and obsess over what I'd done. An evening well spent.
I looked for lighthearted, stupid comedies on Netflix. I watched the first few minutes of several different movies, from black and white silent slapstick to modern stoner, but none of them amused me. I switched to cat videos on YouTube and couldn't elicit a single "Awww..."
Normally I went to bed around ten o'clock. Whenever I went to bed earlier, I'd just lie there and stare at the ceiling, and since tonight was already going to be a miserable night for sleep, I didn't want to compound the problem.
I wished I could talk to Abigail. Not about what happened. Just talk to her. Unfortunately, I wasn't convinced that I could carry on a normal-sounding conversation. We were in the very early stages of being boyfriend and girlfriend—perhaps too early to even use those terms—and I couldn’t risk weirding her out.
One plus: I wasn't hearing Andy's voice in my head or hallucinating images of him standing in my living room. That was good.
At exactly ten o'clock I went to bed.
When the alarm went off at six, I felt way less sane.
ten
You know those nights where you aren't sure if you fell asleep or not? You don't think you lost consciousness, and your thoughts never seemed to be interrupted, but it also seems like those eight hours passed a bit too quickly? Oh, it was a long, long hellish night—it just felt like it should be two in the morning instead of six when my alarm went off.
If I did fall asleep, there were no nightmares that I remembered. Just lots of spooky movement of shadows while I was awake. Lots of fantasies about how wonderful my life would be if I'd merely let Wulfe and Andy waltz out of there with Marc. What a glorious, stress-free existence.
I had a recurring image—not a dream, just an image—of me grabbing Andy by the hair and tearing his head off with my bare hands. His head didn't talk or anything, but it was still a freaky image.
During my unknown number of hours lying awake, I'd decided that I'd go to work. If the police showed up to investigate, it would probably be better for me to be home instead of having the landlord let them in, but I was still operating under the assumption that the cops weren't going to come looking for those guys. Maybe that was foolish. Surely they had families. Still, anybody who could link me to their disappearances wouldn't be the kind of person to involve the authorities. At least that's what I hoped.
If Wulfe's men showed up while I was gone, well, it was probably better if I wasn't home.
I picked out my clothes and went to take a...no, wait, no shower for me this morning. I didn't think that corpse germs were floating in the air, but I still didn't want to use my toothbrush, so I settled for taking my tube of toothpaste out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. I squirted some toothpaste onto my index finger and rubbed it onto my teeth. I washed up as best I could with just water and a cloth (my only bar of soap was in the shower), got dressed, and shoved the guns into the duffel bag with the money.
Then I reluctantly decided that I needed to check on Wulfe. I mean, I knew I'd have to do it before I left, but I was putting it off as long as possible.
I pulled back the shower curtain.
He was still lying there, not that I thought he'd gone anywhere. The lower half of his face was caked with blood, but it was all dried so it had stopped flowing at some point. He'd wet his pants. The smell wasn't bad, so I didn't think he'd done worse. His eyes were closed.
"Hey," I said.
Wulfe didn't open his eyes. I could see that he was breathing.
"Hey, Wulfe."
He still didn't react. I wasn't sure if he was a heavy sleeper or if he'd fallen into a coma. I reached out and poked his shoulder. It took a few pokes, but eventually he opened his eyes.
"I'm heading out," I told him. "I was going to let you sleep, but you've got blood and piss all over you. Do you want a shower before I go? Blink twice if you want a shower."
Wulfe blinked twice.
"I'm not taking off your clothes or anything. I'm just turning on the water. It's your responsibility to make sure that you don't drown. Okay?"
He blinked twice.
I turned on the faucet and waited a few moments for the water to warm up. Then I switched it to the shower spray. Most of the blood washed off his face fairly quickly. I wished I had one of those removable showerheads, but since I didn't, I used a washcloth to remove the rest of the blood. The water wasn't hitting his crotch very well, so I held the washcloth under the spray and wrung it out onto him a few times.
I turned off the shower. He wasn't ready to go out to a five-star restaurant, but he didn't look as crappy as he had a few minutes ago. I didn't think that getting Andy wet was accelerating the rotting process, though I was no science expert. As far as I knew, I had at least a couple of days before the maggots appeared.
Wulfe didn't look very comfortable, though that was to be expected. I wasn't sure if I should adjust his position, like a nurse would do to a bedridden patient, or leave him alone.
"Your call," I said. "I can turn you a little, which might mess up your bones some more, or I can leave you the way you are. Blink twice if you want me to move you."
Wulfe didn't acknowledge my question, so I decided to leave him where he was. I closed the curtain, turned off the bathroom light, and shut the door behind me.
The can in front of Marc's door hadn't moved.
Work was a challenge. It made the day that I was twitching with rage over Abigail's black eye seem stress-free by comparison. A few times I considered telling my supervisor that I was sick and needed to leave early, but no, I'd stick it out. I hoped these particular calls weren't being monitored for quality assurance because I wasn't providing excellent customer service.
Around eleven o'clock, I got a text from Abigail.
Feeling any better?
Yes, thanks, I responded, after making sure nobody was watching me.
Did you to go work?
Yep. Dragged myself out of bed.
Want company for
lunch?
I'd love that. I have to run a couple of errands, but we could meet at Kenner Park at noon.
Great! I'll bring sandwiches!
Do you know where it is?
I can Google it.
See you then!
I didn't have any errands to run. I just wanted an excuse for us not to walk to the park together. Why risk Wulfe's men seeing me with Abigail if I could take a simple precaution? I couldn't imagine that I was part of some elaborate criminal conspiracy where they were tracking my every move, but that didn't mean they weren't hanging out by the place I worked.
Though Kenner Park was only three blocks away, I drove and took the long route. Again, I had no reason to believe that anybody was following me in a car (and my frequent glances at the rearview mirror seemed to confirm that) but driving a few extra minutes was no big deal. This wouldn't last forever.
Abigail was already there, sitting on a bench. She had a foot-long submarine sandwich and two cans of soda. I loved her.
"Is turkey okay?" she asked, handing me half as I sat down next to her.
"It's perfect, thanks."
"Sorry about last night."
"Why?"
"You know, being pushy about coming over. I swear I'm not a stalker chick."
"No, no, no, that's totally fine. I'm sorry I cancelled. When I get these migraines, I can barely function. I would've been terrible company."
"Glad you're feeling better."
"Me too." I hoped she wouldn't ask if we could get together tonight. I needed to get ahead of that. "Are you busy on Saturday?"
"Saturday is when I sit at home and reflect upon the poor decisions I've made in my life, but I could change my plans for you."
"Dinner and a movie?" I asked. I needed to eventually come up with something more inventive. When I got back to work maybe I'd try to write out a list of more creative date ideas.
"We could do that," said Abigail. "Or we could explore nature. Do you like nature?"
"Sometimes."
"I know a great place for hiking. It's beautiful and none of it is uphill. The trail ends at a waterfall."
"Really?"
Abigail nodded. "I don't mean a Niagara Falls waterfall, but it's absolutely gorgeous. Sometimes I'll go out there and spend hours just sitting there and drawing. I've never brought anybody out there before. If you aren't impressed, I'll invent time travel and give you your two hours back."
"Then can we go kill Hitler?"
"If you'd like."
"That sounds like a lot of fun. It's been a while since I've done anything in nature, and who knows how much longer we'll have it around? Do I need good hiking boots?"
Abigail glanced at my feet. "You need something better than what you've got on."
"I wear dress shoes to work. I've got sneakers at home."
"Those would be fine. Again, it's not a treacherous hike. We'll save the danger for our next one."
"It's a deal."
We sat in silence for a moment as we ate our sandwiches.
"What's wrong?" Abigail asked.
"What do you mean?"
"You look really upset all of a sudden."
"No, I'm totally fine," I insisted. "Everything's..."
And then I lost it.
It wasn't a meltdown at the level of yesterday's when I was alone in my apartment, but it was much worse than any emotions you'd want to display in front of a brand-new girlfriend without giving her any warning that they were about to spew out.
There were tears and quaking shoulders and, of course, snot. I kept wiping it up with napkins but there was an endless supply. Abigail would have been well within her moral right to stand up, say, "Sorry, Frank, not what I signed up for!" and make a hasty retreat, but instead she just sat on the bench, waiting for me to compose myself. She didn't offer a hug or extra napkins. She just watched and waited.
There were plenty of other people in the park and I'm sure a lot of them were staring at me, but Abigail never looked around. If she was mortified, she didn't show it.
Finally I started to get myself under control. I blew my nose with one napkin and dried my eyes with another. I took a few deep breaths. The meltdown had passed. Now I just had to deal with the aftereffects.
"I didn't mean to do that," I told her.
"That goes without saying."
I forced myself to look her in the eye. Her expression was a mixture of concern and anger that she was clearly trying very hard to control. A tear trickled down her cheek.
"It's all right," she said. "I won't tell your wife."
"What? No, no, no, that's not it at all. Nothing like that, I promise."
"But it's something bad. Did somebody die?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"You're thinking 'favorite aunt' or something and that's not it either. Okay, so, I'm going to tell you everything, and I'm not asking you to understand, or to forgive me, or to even hear me out until the end. You have the right to just get up and leave anytime you want and I won't hold it against you. I'll never bother you again."
"Frank, you're kind of scaring me."
"It's a scary story."
"Tell me."
And I did. From beginning to end. I didn't leave anything out, and I made no effort to paint myself in a positive light. I was ninety-nine percent certain she'd leave me after this—and true to my word, I'd never bother her again—but if by some miracle she didn't flee, I wasn't going to leave any dark secrets for her to discover later.
To clarify: what I mean is that I told her the whole story about Marc and Wulfe. I told her how I accompanied Marc on a few drug deliveries and how this ultimately led to two bodies in my bathtub. I did not tell her that I spied on her abusive ex-boyfriend at a bar. She didn't need to know that. It wasn't relevant to my current predicament.
Abigail mostly kept a poker face. There were no new tears.
"And that's what happened," I said.
Abigail nodded. "Thank you for telling me."
"No problem."
"I don't usually need a lot of time to work things out, but I'd like ten minutes to myself. Is that okay? Ten minutes?"
"Yes, yes, absolutely. Take as long as you need."
"Do you need to get back to work?"
"No, it's fine."
"I'm going to take a walk around the park. You'll see me the whole time. I promise you I won't run off."
"I already said you could," I reminded her. "Not that you need my permission."
"What I mean is that you'll see that I'm not making a call, or running off to get help. For ten minutes, all I'm going to do is think, so you don't have to worry."
"All right. I'll wait here."
"You can finish your sandwich without me."
"I will. Thank you."
Abigail walked away from the bench.
I felt a very tiny bit better. She could have slapped me in the face, or even spat in it. She could have pointed at me and screamed "Murderer! Murderer!" I didn't expect her to come back waving an axe and say, "All right, partner, let's go hack us up some drug dealers!" but I'd honestly expected a much worse initial reaction.
Obviously, she could be lying to me. As soon as she was a safe distance from me, she could break into a sprint. I wouldn't try to stop her. I mean, I wouldn't just sit on the bench and wait to be arrested, but I wouldn't stop Abigail from doing whatever she thought was necessary.
I couldn't see her face. She was walking like somebody deep in thought, although I may simply have been projecting that. I'm not sure how people walk when they're deep in thought. Slowly, I guess. She was walking slowly.
I wasn't hungry, but I ate more of the turkey sub, just to give myself something to do.
I had a prediction for how this was going to turn out, which I'd classify as "bad, but not as bad as it could've been." She would, I expected, tell me that she was not going to report me to the police, but that she never wanted to see me again. It would be a heartbreaking end to our far-too-short relati
onship, yet not as bad as going to prison.
I wondered how much time had elapsed. Not much, probably. This ten minutes was going to feel as long as the hours I spent staring at my ceiling last night.
Each bite of the sandwich required a drink of soda to wash it down. My throat wasn't working right.
If I'd let them take Marc away, Abigail and I would be having a fun lunch right now. We'd be laughing and talking about how our days were going and enjoying whatever inside jokes we'd generated when she came over to my apartment last night. I wouldn't be sitting on a park bench trying to choke down a turkey sandwich while my girlfriend (ex-girlfriend) determined my fate.
She stayed within sight, basically just walking in a big circle. I would've understood if she was talking out loud to herself, but she wasn't, at least not when I could see her face.
I finished up the sandwich. It was the first submarine sandwich I'd shared with Abigail and should have been the best submarine sandwich of my entire life, not the worst. If she dumped me, which she most likely would, I'd probably get food poisoning on top of it.
Abigail walked back over to the bench.
"I need ten more minutes," she informed me.
"Okay."
"Should we talk after work?"
"No, I can be late." I never came back from lunch late, but the threat of getting scolded by my supervisor felt pretty insignificant as of today.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Abigail returned to her soul-searching walk.
I was getting twitchy. She hadn't told me to wait on the bench. I felt like I should, though.
At least I didn't feel another breakdown coming on, although anything could happen when she finally came back and told me to stay the hell away from her.
On the other side of the park, a young woman was playing with a dog. I wished I had a dog to distract me right now. I'd much rather be spending ten minutes throwing a Frisbee to a Mastiff than sitting here sweating.
