Page 5 of Dying Flame

After I got home, she seemed…distant. My car was vacuumed, and a neat stack of papers sat on the passenger seat waiting for me. One thing was missing: a receipt. I had gotten distracted and forgot to get rid of it, but I knew she found it. I knew that she smelled something odd, and when she asked me about it, I told her some food spoiled in the trunk after I forgot about it.

After that she never said a word. She didn’t need to; her body language told the entire story.

Now, almost a decade later, the secrets she’s holding onto are bursting at the seams. I can’t risk her piecing things together and trying to rat me out to the police. Even if she doesn’t know every detail or have any concrete evidence against me, I have to take care of things.

It’s time for her to join the others.

It seems like the entire campground is gathering around for the parade. There is a trail lined up through the place with flags, and other campers brought their own chairs to sit and watch. Trucks and golf carts line up at the entrance of the grounds with the participants of the parade.

Luckily part of the parade trail is right behind our cabin, so we can just sit outside to watch everyone pass by. I crack open a cold beer and take a seat while others in the cabins and tents nearby get ready as well. We haven’t met anyone yet, but there are different groups of people here this week.

Some are childless couples, like ourselves, families, or groups of younger people here with friends. I’ve made it a point to carefully watch a group of young college-age girls as they set up camp near our cabin.

I can see Emily watching me from the corner of my eye; I bet she thinks I’m going to do something to one of them while we are here. Good. That thought will keep her distracted. While she was busy packing at home, I made sure to bring my ‘travel’ bag and put it in the secret compartment of the trunk where she wouldn’t notice.

It’s a black tactical bag that I use for my trips. She’s never seen it before, and it holds things I never leave behind unless I fly somewhere and can’t bring it with me. In those cases it’s safely stored in my office away from prying eyes. I don’t think I’ll need much from the bag anyway; maybe a pair of gloves and my hunting knife for good measure.

A little slip or misstep on these trails can be deadly enough to leave me a widow, and no one would question it; a little cliché, I know, but it’s quick, and there’s no mess for me to clean up. Emily is not close to her family anymore and isn’t in contact with her sister, so no one aside from co-workers would question if she went missing. The only hard part would be acting like I’m distraught and heartbroken over her accident.

Over the last 15 years I’ve done everything I could to show the world what a doting husband I am. I’ve worked hard to maintain our lifestyle; we don’t fight or argue, we have a beautiful home and nice cars. She can do anything and everything she wants with no pushback from me. It’s a perfect life; even she knows it.

For a July day there aren’t many mosquitoes around, and there’s a nice breeze rolling through the area. The shade from the mountains and woodland makes the temperature comfortable. Although I still appreciate that Emily chose a cabin over a tent for the week. Sadly, in a couple of days she won’t be here to enjoy it with me.

I think I'll sell the house. Move somewhere else on the East Coast and start fresh. Maybe even find another clueless wife to keep up appearances again in time. My thoughts are interrupted when a loud bullhorn sounds and people start cheering. I guess it’s the start of the parade.

Now, where is Emily? She’s going to miss this stupid shit and be all pissy with me, like it’s my fault. The screen door behind me finally creaks open, and footsteps on the gravel approach me.

“Sorry, I was on the phone with June. Just some last-minute things before the rest of the week.” I don’t believe her. It’s a national holiday today, and I highly doubt her assistant would be calling.

Emily is the type of person to have everything organized and taken care of before taking any time away from work. She is meticulous, like me.

“Oh, I see. Well, I’m glad you got ahold of her. The cell reception is pretty good here, but it might not be while we are on the hiking trail or out kayaking later this week.”

We keep to ourselves for the entirety of the parade. I can’t really see her full expression under a ballpark cap she is wearing, but I can tell she’s not really focused on the activity this afternoon. There is something going on in her head; I’m sure of it.

SEVEN

EMILY

Ireplaced the Epi-Pen Devin had in his hiking bag with an empty one while he was sitting outside before the parade. I have another empty one with me that I put in my own bag. While walking around yesterday, I noticed a few bees around but couldn’t scope out an active hive while Devin was following me.

He’s been allergic to bees since he was a child; I remember him telling me about the time he found out he was allergic. There was a swarm of bees that attacked him, and he went into anaphylactic shock. Luckily for him, his parents got him to the hospital in time. Ever since, he’s been afraid and hyperaware of making sure to bring an Epi-Pen with him to all places.

That could be why he isn’t into hiking or camping like I am. He hates bugs of all kinds, so I knew in order to make this work I would have to rent a cabin. I can feel Devin watching me once I came out and the parade started. He’s onto me, I know it.

I found his travel bag he thinks I know nothing about. It was filled with different items one could use to kidnap a person and hurt them: rope, leather gloves, tape, a hunting knife, and a flashlight.

I’m not stupid; I watch plenty of crime shows, and Devin is spot on with the profile of a serial killer. I’ve known him long enough to learn his mannerisms, habits, and travel schedules to align some of the missing persons cases in the area. It’s taken me years to confirm my findings, but I’m sure of it now.

I’ve thought of turning him in, but I have zero physical evidence. There is no way to convince him to turn himself in, so that’s out of the picture. If he knew for sure that I knew about him, he would kill me immediately. He knows there would be few people that would question me going missing or if I was found dead. I wouldn’t even put it past him to kill me in the same manner he’s done before to link it to the other cases.

The parade was cute—just as I expected. Trucks, and golf carts adorned in red, white, and blue decor with flags paraded around the entire campground. People cheered and enjoyed the sunshine with drinks in hand. I made sure to bring plenty for Devin to drink while he was here; I figured it would make him easier to handle.

“Want another beer?” He nods and hands me the empty bottle in his hand. I try to make things the same as they always have been: me tending to him like a helpless child. I usually partake in the occasional drink, but lately have not had the desire to do so.

Especially this week. I have work to do.

We had a light meal for dinner and are now heading to the main area where a bonfire is being held at 8:00 pm. Devin has been chattier than usual this evening, surely the work of all the beer and now hard alcohol he’s consumed throughout the day. He keeps going on and on about the couple’s therapy sessions coming up and which ones we should attend. All the things he wants to do while we are here this week.