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I remember that feeling she is experiencing now. The first kill is never easy. Not for a normal person. Denial, fear, panic, maybe even sickness. All things I had never known to be true. My first kill had filled me with elation, fulfillment of the highest order, a sense of purpose, of being right where I belonged. And a longing to do it again.
But this is Brenda, an everyday housewife and homemaker, whose primary source of excitement is probably changing up the meal plan or refreshing her haircut. She’d wanted her husband dead, but wanting it and carrying it out with your own two hands are totally different things. She hadn’t bargained for the fallout of her actions.
But I’m not about to let her fall apart alone. I’m going to do everything in my power to keep her together, whole.
“I-I didn’t mean to,” she stutters. “It just happened.” Her eyes flare even wider as I grow closer. “Oh, God, please don’t tell anyone!”
Silly girl. Doesn’t she know that I am the last person who would ever say anything?
Uncharacteristically, I reach out and, with unsure hands that hold a hint of a tremble, grasp her arms. Locking eyes with hers, I tell her the truth. “I would never tell a soul what happened here today. Never.”
Searching my eyes, she must reach the conclusion that I’m telling the truth. Finally, she smiles a small, almost invisible smile, but I catch it because I’ve memorized every line and curve of her beautiful face. That smile reflects in the creases beside her eyes, in the almost infinitesimal way her cheeks plump, and the way her ears lift and her hair moves. I see it all, every last detail.
“What are you doing here?” she breathes.
I knew the question was coming. It was the most obvious one. The last time she saw me, I’d kicked her out of my apartment and told her under no uncertain terms that I was done, canceling the contract without argument. As far as she knew, I had moved on.
But I couldn’t move on. That was the thing. She’d changed something in me, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t figure out what that was or why it had happened. I just know that it had, and now I have to deal with it. I have to play the hand I was dealt and see if it turns up aces.
“I don’t know, honestly.” I’m still holding onto her arms, aware that my grip is tightening, and in one quick movement, I release her. My palms are hot and clammy, tingling as if they want to touch her again and never stop.
Forcing myself to turn away, I look out over the darkening skyline, my eyes searching for any signs of life on the horizon, any witnesses that will need to be handled, and all the while, I’m explaining myself the best I can for a man who isn’t used to opening up about anything.
“I know I said I was done with the contract, but I couldn’t let this one go. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t have an answer for you. I just needed to see it through.”
“If I had known…”
I swing around, pinning her with a hard stare. “What? If you had known you would have…waited for me to do it instead of getting your own hands dirty?”
Why do I sound angry? Because I am. I hate that she marred her flawless record with the death of another. That’s why I exist. It’s my hands that should be dirty, not hers. Never hers.
Brenda spreads her hands out, palms toward the sky. In an almost apologetic way, she says, “Yes?”
Of course. What else could she say? When faced with a choice, what kind of person would choose to risk their lives and freedom to murder another? Aside from me, that is.
I rake my hands through my hair. Then I marched toward her with purpose. Snatching her arm in a punishing grip that has her protesting, I tow her toward the waiting tree line. “We need to get out of sight before someone sees us. We have no idea if anyone witnessed anything, but if they didn’t, we sure as hell don’t need anyone discovering the body and making any connections.”
Brenda’s expression shifts to a mix of understanding and panic. “What do we do now?”
That’s the easy part. Or at least it would have been, had we had time to adequately prepare. My plan had been perfect, no witnesses, and once Brenda discovered what had become of her husband, she could have claimed ignorance and all would be well. Now, lies would have to be crafted and told, and those always had a chance of failure.
I don’t like to fail at anything.
“We go back to the cabin, and we work on your story.”
“My story? But you’re a witness.”
I shake my head. “No, Brenda, as far as anyone is concerned, I was never here. You understand? The simpler this is, the fewer witnesses to question there are, the easier it will be to pass inspection.”
We walk while she digests this, the silence lasting long enough to bring us to the doorstep of the cabin.
Brenda turns and looks up at me. “When do I call the police? You know, to pretend he’s missing.”
I consider my options and settle on, “Wait a couple of hours. Then you’ll call and tell them that you’re worried something happened to him. That he went out for a hike—”
“Glenn doesn’t hike.”
With his waistline, she was probably right. “Fishing?”
