Walk Between the Raindrops

by Tymber Dalton

  If she got stopped with Matt’s gutted body in the back of a pickup truck, explaining away a knife would be the least of her worries.

  Besides, her prints were all over the damn tarps, and there wasn’t any way around that. She’d have to dispose of them.

  Still, she worried about blood seeping through and getting on the truck bed.

  That’s when she spotted the bags of mulch and potting soil sitting stacked there on another tarp, an ongoing gardening project that kept getting stalled because of rain. Her mom had made her dad stack them inside because she didn’t want to risk snakes getting into the piles outside, or killing spots in their grass with them.

  Of course…

  Twenty minutes later, after raising the garage door again, she’d broken open a bag of mulch, followed by a bag of potting soil. She spread them in the bed of his truck, which she’d turned around and backed up to the garage door. The rain had slacked off again for this part, much to her relief.

  Shoving the empty bags into the garbage bin where several others already resided, she heaved Matt’s tarp-shrouded body up and onto the tailgate and got him inside the bed without any problems other than twinges in her back muscles.

  Just like wrestling a damn deer.

  She took the second tarp that had been under him and used his own bungee cords from his truck to stretch it over the bed and secure it.

  Nothing to see here.

  She was soon driving away from her parents’ house, still dressed in his clothes, but a bag containing a towel, a pair of her shorts and a T-shirt, her driver’s license, and keys sat next to her on the seat.

  Minimal.

  Less to worry about losing.

  The isolated park was only a five-minute drive away, downriver and west of her parents’ house and, fortunately, it’d started pouring rain again. When she pulled in, there was no one there, and no streetlights down by the water. Completely dark and deserted in the horrible weather.

  No neighbors, either.

  As she turned in, she spotted the large piles of clay dirt that were going to be spread on the new ball fields, taking up several parking spaces and covered with tarps.

  Blue tarps.

  Like the ones she had.

  Of course!

  Sometimes, fortune truly did favor the bold.

  After driving into the park, she shut off the truck’s headlights and worked her way around to the parking area nearest the water, where she backed into the space closest to the river’s edge. She took his shirt off and left it stashed on the floor of the backseat, sort of tucked under the seat, like it’d been forgotten there.

  Topless and working fast, and with her heart now racing, she totally ignored the rain as she opened the tailgate and dragged her grim cargo down the grassy slope and through cypress trees to the water’s edge.

  She was starting to shiver despite the warm evening. The rain felt cold, and she didn’t doubt emotional shock might be trying to set in.

  Yet she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

  Not now.

  Not yet.

  Unwrapping him at the water’s edge and retrieving the knife, she rolled him off the tarp and then rinsed it in the river and set it aside. The rope she slung out into the river as hard and far as she could, in case it bore any traces of blood. The bungee cords she left in the bed, where they’d been. As the rain poured down on her, mixing with her tears, she looked around and while she spotted lights across the river, there were no boats out on a night like this.

  No one around.

  She quickly finished gutting him, slicing through his clothes, making plenty of slashes and cuts lengthways along his arms and legs and puncturing his lungs and other vital organs, shredding long muscles. Including rolling him over to do his back, as well.

  Every stab of the blade into flesh, she thought about July, her sightless eyes.

  A cut for each year June would have to live without her twin.

  For the babies July would never have.

  For the nieces and nephews she and May wouldn’t get to play with and watch grow up.

  For the grandchildren their parents wouldn’t know.

  For all of them.

  She lost track of time. When she finally sat back and realized his carcass was little more than an unrecognizable pile of rotten meat and there was no way his finger or toe prints would be even slightly legible after time spent in the water and the Ginsu treatment she’d just given them, she took a deep breath.

  No way this fucker will float.

  Plenty of alligators in the area. And bull sharks were frequently spotted upriver, since they were so close to the coast. Hopefully, one or more of them would help dispose of him, if the flooded and heavier river current didn’t carry his body out to the Gulf first.

  If not…

  Well, who would suspect me of something like this?

  Now reasonably sure decomposition gasses wouldn’t easily float the carcass in a day or so, she dragged it and July’s bloody clothes into the water, as deep as she could stand, shoving them out toward deeper water where the current moved more swiftly.

  She pulled the pants off that she was wearing and carefully wiped the knife with them. Then she grabbed the tip of it pinched between her fingers and the fabric from the pants, and flung it as hard as she could out into the darkness, where she heard it hit the water with a splash. She left the pants in the water, too, the current slowly carrying them out of sight.

  Wading back to shore, she rinsed herself off as best as she could. She knew it’d be impossible to see if there was any blood visible in the grass without using a flashlight—which would look suspicious and possibly draw unwanted attention.

  Instead, she scooped water with her hands and splashed it up on the grass, hoping with that night and tomorrow predicted to bring even heavier rains, it would do the job for her. At this rate, the river was predicted to rise at least six inches above its usual levels, which would cover the area where she’d finished dressing him out.

  There was a spigot up by a storage shed near the clay piles, where she took the tarps. Working as quickly as she could, she pulled the top tarps off the piles, put her tarps on, scooped some clay dirt onto them with her hands like they’d used to hold the top tarps down, smeared it around a little, and then put the other tarps back on, adding more scoops of dirt on top to hold them down. That finished, she rinsed the clay off her hands and returned to the truck. They would look like someone added extra tarps ahead of the weather to better protect the clay piles.

  She toweled off and pulled on her T-shirt and shorts before climbing into the cab.

  Heart racing, she started the truck and pulled out so she could turn around, headlights pointing toward the water.

  As another, heavy rain band swept through, she could barely see the river’s edge.

  She couldn’t see any signs, in that light, of justice rendered.

  Aware that she was now seriously racing against the clock and an ever-growing gap in her alibi time, she backed out and left, stopping at the closed gas station less than a mile down the road from her parents’ house. The chain link fence was down in two places where people had hit it in car wrecks. The station’s fuel tanks had been found to be leaking, but the owners hadn’t been able to afford to replace them, so they’d been shut down by the state nearly a year earlier.

  Fortunately, no neighbors close by, just undeveloped woodland.

  No businesses that might have surveillance cameras.

  No traffic to see her get out and walk away.

  She parked so that the tailgate was facing downhill and remembered to shove the seat all the way back, where Matt had it. She hadn’t adjusted his mirrors.

  Using the towel, she wiped her prints from the shifter, steering wheel, windshield wiper switch, headlight switch, keys, seatbelt buckle, the door inside and out, and the tailgate, which she left open. Hopefully, the torrential rains would rinse it out for her if any blood did seep through. Then she ran home with her bag,
leaving the truck unlocked with the keys in the ignition. Any stray fingerprints she could explain away as having ridden in the truck with July plenty of times. Just like July’s prints would be in Mark’s car.

  If she was really lucky, someone would steal it. She knew she took a huge risk leaving it that close to her parents’ house, but she had an answer ready for that, too.

  Matt knew her parents weren’t home that weekend, but wouldn’t necessarily know June was going to be there. Or, maybe he did know and he’d planned to try to kill her, too, instead of hanging around the apartment and waiting on her. But he’d know the alarm code for her parents’ house from July, and know where the spare key was hidden.

  Or so June would tell police, if it came to that. An admission once made to her by July.

  Again, not that July was there to deny it.

  Not that Matt would be contradicting anything, either. June also knew there were enough witnesses, between her and her parents, May, Mark, his parents, the gym, and July’s friends, that they could all testify to the behavior they’d seen him exhibit over the years.

  His abusive, controlling ways.

  June would not be a prime suspect in his disappearance.

  She stayed close to the trees despite it being a muddy slog, in case any vehicles approached. That way, she could duck into cover.

  None did.

  Back at her parents’ house, she stripped outside the garage side door and used the hose to rinse the mud off her feet and legs, then went onto the lanai and dried off. All her clothes she dumped into the wash together and started another load.

  All she had to do was forget about them until morning, in case she needed a stronger timeline. She hadn’t reset the alarm when she’d left, so her parents would insist it meant she’d been there the whole time.

  And the Caller ID showed she hadn’t missed any calls from them or May, either.

  In fact…

  She hustled to the kitchen and looked up the number her mom had written on the notepad, dialing it, her heart racing as she did. When the hotel switchboard operator answered, she asked for Paul and Susan Corden’s room.

  Her mom sounded a little out of breath. “Hello?”

  June felt guilty she might have been interrupting something…but only a little. “Hey, Mom? It’s June. Do you have any of those pizza roll thingies in the freezer? I looked but didn’t find any.”

  She didn’t need to be standing in front of her mother to recognize that tone of voice. Exasperation. “Yes, honey. They’re down in the bottom drawer. Look again. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I just couldn’t find them. How’s the hotel room?”

  “It’s fine. Um, can I call you back later?”

  “Oh. Oooohh! Ohmigosh, I’m so sorry, Mom. No, it’s okay. I’m here doing laundry and taking care of the fuzzball. Please don’t call me back. I’m going to eat and read for a while and then go home.”

  Zorro was currently twining himself around her ankles. She added a mental note to remember to scoop his pan and top off his dry food and water. Forgetting to do it would look suspicious.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, seriously.” She weighed letting it “slip” that July had mentioned possibly breaking up with Matt, but decided that was too heavy-handed. “You guys have fun this weekend. Sorry I interrupted you.”

  “Okay. Thanks, sweetie. Love you.”

  She hoped her voice sounded right. “Love you, too.”

  She hung up, hoping that would keep them from calling the house before the cops notified them.

  Another reason not to tell them July was thinking about breaking up with Matt? It might screw up her timeline if her parents called the apartment and then called June right back to go check on her. She hadn’t quite finished fixing her alibi yet. She’d bumped up the AC temp in the apartment to eighty-two, meaning July’s body wouldn’t chill quite as quickly and give her a little more wiggle room in the time-of-death window.

  If questioned on that, she’d tell the truth—that when they left every morning, they turned it up to save electricity. Everyone who knew them knew they did that. It would lend more credence to Matt showing up immediately after July arrived home, killing her, and leaving just as quickly.

  After that, still naked, June tightened the bulb in the garage door opener and used a flashlight to examine the garage floor. Not only had she wanted it dark inside to obscure Matt’s view of her, the knife in her hand, and prevent anyone from seeing inside, she’d also wanted him not to see the tarps on the floor.

  He might have been suspicious. He’d been there when she and her dad had butchered a deer they’d hunted locally and brought home to finish preparing. Her dad had laid the tarps down just like that to contain the blood. They’d done it inside because it’d been raining that day.

  It might have tipped even idiot Matt off.

  Now, all that was visible was the old tarp the bags of mulch and dirt sat on.

  No sign of a murder.

  Looking up, she carefully played the beam over the ceiling as she examined it for any trace blood spatter. She’d been very careful not to fling the knife up to avoid just that problem.

  Nothing that she could see.

  Nothing on the garage door, either, or the shelves along the closest wall.

  First, they have to find him. Then they have to think I killed him. Then they’d have to think I killed him here. I still need to solidify my airtight alibi.

  She wasn’t the only one who’d need an alibi, even though he wouldn’t know that.

  He could never know that.

  Hurrying inside, she grabbed a shower and dressed, dried her hair, then set the alarm and got in her car and headed to Mark’s. His parents wouldn’t be home until after midnight, having driven up to Tampa to see a play there.

  Mark looked pleasantly surprised to see her standing there when he opened the door. “Hey, June.”

  She threw her arms around him and kissed him. “Tonight,” she whispered. “Please?”

  Chapter Ten

  The recent past, a little over a year after Leo’s accident

  Scrye and June had claimed the large metal A-frame in the old side of Venture, where the social area was. It’d been weeks since they’d really had a chance to play, and June was looking forward to being suspended, beaten, teased, and—if she was lucky—a few orgasms from a vibrator.

  Just enough to work her up until they could get home and he could fuck her brains out.

  Tonight he’d let her pick the rope color, and she’d gone with red, loving the bright color against her skin. He’d tied her hips and chest, connecting the two harnesses, and got her belayed and up in the air.

  That’s when subspace sweetly beckoned and she answered its call, closing her eyes.

  Scrye hadn’t finished tying her yet, she knew from experience. She was facedown tonight, and that meant he’d tie her legs bent, tie her wrists behind her, and her hair, too, most likely, before he started going after her with implements and a vibrator.

  That’s what she was waiting to happen when June became aware of something going on, Tilly screaming for Marcia’s help. Then someone yelling for Nate.

  It was Tilly’s tone more than her words that immediately snapped June back into full focus and shoved away any trace of subspace that had tickled her conscious brain, her eyes opening.

  Tilly normally yelled.

  Tilly normally yelled a lot.

  That was Tilly.

  But for all of that, never did Tilly’s voice ever bear the tight, taut tone of fear and urgency as it did then, the command and control nurse voice barking orders and brooking zero resistance.

  June unfortunately had heard that same tone before from coaches and paramedics at competitions when a gymnast suffered a serious, gruesome injury and needed immediate assistance.

  That was a tone that meant life and limb lay at stake.

  From where June hung in the ropes, she saw people running toward the bathrooms there on the ol
d side, where Tilly was helping Eva out of the bathroom and across the space toward the office door. Cris and Landry were now scrambling to change and get packed, and Nate had joined Tilly and Eva.

  Everyone else had frozen, the dungeon still and silent except for the music playing.

  “Fucking move your asses!” Tilly screamed at her men. “And bring my purse and going home clothes!” she yelled after Landry.

  The baby!

  June was about to ask Scrye to bring her down when he grabbed her and rotated her torso, head up. “Grab it. Now.”

  She realized he’d dead-lifted her high enough to grab the hard point ring he’d used to belay the ropes through to suspend her.

  She grabbed.

  “Hold on tight. Don’t let go. And do not move.”

  Next thing she knew, he reached up and was cutting her down, the sharp gut hook on his knife easily parting the ropes without hesitation. And he didn’t bother trying to save the ropes, quickly cutting them all about halfway to the ring, not one at a time, or only one end by the harness to preserve as much length as possible, or cutting one end and then trying to undo the belaying rope.

  Her heart pounded. In all their time together, and during all his time tying, he’d only cut ropes one other time. That had been early on in his suspension tying experience, due to a damn belaying rope knot that had shifted and gotten wedged underneath other ropes and wouldn’t come free. It’d been far easier logistically to cut the single offending rope close to the knot than trying to support her weight while untying that part of the harness.

  But he wasn’t even trying to save the rope. She felt her lower body swing free and carefully lowered herself, Scrye grabbing her around the waist and easing her the remaining distance to the floor.

  He immediately released her and started shoving stuff into his bags haphazardly, not even coiling his loose ropes still lying on the floor, and leaving the remnants of the cut ropes hanging from the ring. She wondered if he was going to untie her or cut the harness off her when he spoke.

  “Let’s go. Put your coat on over your harness and grab your stuff. You can change at the hospital.”