I shoo Squeaker out of the bathroom and tell her to go outside. The doggy door I installed last summer was probably my best investment. I don’t have to worry about rushing home to let Squeaker out or get up in the middle of the night to let her out.
Once I close the door, I’m able to really look at myself in the mirror. The person I see looks nothing like me. My hair has streaks of matted blood in it while there’s smears of blood and dirt down the sides of my face. The strap, that I used to move Mike, left spiral burns on both of my forearms. Good thing it’s only the beginning of summer because it’s not very hot outside. I’m going to need to wear long sleeves for a little while.
My clothes not only have bleach spots on it, but apparently my shirt is made from something that doesn’t like bleach. I have tiny holes beginning to form where the bleach landed. I strip down and toss my clothes into a heap on the floor. I’ll have to add them to the garbage bag when I’m done. I flip on the shower and once it’s warm, I hop in. The blood starts to wash away, becoming pink swirls in the water around my feet. It feels good. It’s like I’m washing away the guilt and the memories of tonight.
I had to do it.
He was just going to keep on doing this to other women. I wasn’t going to be the last one. Viv would probably be next if he hadn’t already started his manipulative ways.
He didn’t start out by hitting me. He started out by gaslighting me, making me think I was crazy, or dumb. Every small negative comment laced within a compliment made me feel like I was almost good enough. Almost sexy enough. Almost an adequate chef. Almost an okay housekeeper. Almost a lot of things, but never quite good enough. Then when he had knocked me down to the point where I was constantly seeking his approval, that’s when he started being angry. I don’t even know why it triggered his anger. When I felt dejected and worthless, that’s when he would “slap some sense into me.”
He didn’t grow up in an abusive home either. He was an only child, had all the attention, got whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. That leached its way into our marriage too. In every aspect, every facet, every nightly ritual regardless of if I felt like it or not. I was too afraid to get pregnant and bring another human being into that environment. Thankfully, I was able to hide when I had the IUD placed, and my doctor knew what was going on in my home life too.
But all of that was over.
Washing its way down the drain. I could feel a weight being lifted from my shoulders. I wouldn’t have to constantly be on the lookout for him, and I wouldn’t have to worry about him breaking into my house ever again.
No.
Now I had to worry about the police.
Now I had to worry that someone would find his body and link it to me.
The water from the shower begins to cool and I realize that I’ve been in here for way too long. My fingers are pruned but at least my body is relaxed. I turn off the water and watch as the last few drops drip from the shower head and hit the top of the tub faucet. Finally, I whip open the shower curtain, and there’s a heavy haze blocking the mirror. I wrap the towel around my hair, slip into my robe and flip on the fan to suck the steam out.
When I open the door, Squeaker is laying on the floor just outside the door. She’s probably been there the whole time. She’s very good about staying with me. Sometimes too good. I should put my bloody clothes in the garbage bag but I’m just too tired. I decide to leave the fan on and close the bathroom door. I’ll pick the clothes up in the morning. Maybe.
I don’t even turn on the light in the bedroom. I just climb into bed, careful not to look at the clock because that will just ramp up my anxiety, and quickly drift off to sleep.
A black shadow darts just out of my peripheral vision. I turn to see who it is, but they’re gone. I don’t know where I am. Maybe work? There are desks everywhere but not cubicles, just old, wooden desks. They’re all jumbled together in a way that would make it hard for people to sit behind them and get any sort of work done. Wait, I don’t see any other chairs here. Just the old desks. Like they’ve all been pushed in here for storage.
The black shadow flashes across my vision, as though it can float above the desks. I whip my head around to try to follow it, but it’s gone.
“Effi…” A voice whispers in my ear. I spin to see who it is, but no one is there.
“Effervescent…”
That voice. I know it. But it’s not quite right. It sounds… gurgly.
I look down at the top of my desk and there’s carvings in it. It reminds me of an old school desk from way back when kids would carve their initials in the top of it. I remember kids doing this in my class, but I never had the guts to do it. Suddenly, a set of initials catch my eye. MS.
Could it be? Yes. Those are Mike’s initials. Mike Strapinski. My Mike.
As I rub my finger across his initials, I see more: MS + EG.
1. Those are my initials. Effervescent Graber.
The black shadow hovers in front of me on a desk. Drips of black goo slide down its legs and onto the old wooden desk. When I look up, it’s Mike. But not yesterday Mike. It’s Mike when I first met him. He’s wearing an old biker leather jacket, dark jeans, and black boots, just like he used to.
“Effi…why?”
I hear his gurgly voice, but his mouth doesn’t move. Instead, I see black goo start to flow out of the side of his neck. Soon it’s gushing and rushing down the front of his shadowy body, puddling at his feet.
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It doesn’t stop.
It keeps flowing. The black goo rises like a wave and then crashes down onto my desk. Just as it’s about to ram into me and take me down, Mike’s arm reaches out to grab my neck…
“Wakey Wakey all you guys and gals! It’s time to get out of bed and get your wonderful day going! And while you’re at it, don’t forget to take KLQ with you!”
Ugh.
Squeaker rushes up and begins her morning ritual of licking my face. She knows that if she does this, then I’ll get out of bed and start getting ready. And the sooner I start getting ready, the sooner she gets her Kong.
“Aw crap, Squeaks. I forgot to make your Kong last night. Looks like you’re going to get a deconstructed one, how’s that?”
She licks my face and then rolls over on her back, waiting for me to rub her belly. I oblige and rub the fluffy fur that seems to have grown longer overnight. “You’re going to need a grooming pretty soon, my friend.”
The towel I wrapped around my hair last night is barely hanging on. A quick shake of my head and the towel falls off onto the bed. My hair is still slightly damp. I know it was late when I went to bed last night, but I guess I didn’t realize how late. Well, at least it didn’t completely dry all wadded up in the towel. I can work with it and make it presentable.
My body aches from everything I did yesterday and the burns on my arms are red and angry. I slip on a pink silk blouse and hope that it is soft enough to keep my skin from getting worse. After I’m ready and look mostly okay, I scoop some wet dog food into a bowl along with some coconut oil and a little turmeric. Squeakers doesn’t seem to care that it’s not in her Kong as she starts wolfing it down the minute I set it on the floor.
I grab my purse, phone, keys, and head outside, locking the door behind me. The air is cool and crisp this morning. I contemplate getting a jacket, but my auto pilot takes over and I’m sitting in my car before I can do anything about it. I fling my purse onto the passenger seat and when I turn to put the key in the ignition, I see a smudge of blood on the steering wheel.
Shit.
I didn’t even think to clean my car out.
I root around in my purse and find some hand sanitizer and a couple of tissues. This will have to do for now. I squirt some into my hand and then rub it all over my steering wheel. I use the tissues to wipe it up and then toss the tissues into my little garbage can I have in the backseat. I’ll have to burn that too.
The drive into work happens so fast that I don’t even realize that I’m there until I’m parking my car. At least my internal auto pilot knows where I’m going.
I carefully get out of my car, double checking to make sure I don’t have any blood on my blouse or pants. How would that look if I went into work with blood on me? This is ridiculous. I’m for sure going to get caught.
I grab my purse and slam the door behind me. I look around slowly, but something is missing… Mike’s truck! Where did it go? It was here a few hours ago when I left. I walk up to the building and notice a sign hanging next to the door that reads “Tow Zone. If your vehicle is left here overnight, McLeigh Publishing is not responsible for it being towed.”
No way.
When I open the door, the camera snaps a picture of me, marking my arrival time, like normal. I walk in half-expecting people to act weird. My heels make a dull thud-thud-thud across the floor, but it’s drowned out by everyone else working. Different people are talking on the phone, walking to the breakroom, getting coffee, even laughing in the corner by the maintenance closet. And miraculously, I don’t see any blood on the floor.
“Morning Effi,” Kendra smiles at me from behind the cubicle divider in front of me. “You look a little more rested but not by much.” She squinches up her face and then shrugs her shoulders in a very “ew, but sorry” motion.
“Yeah, I got a little sleep, but I could use a couple of days off.” I say as I bend over and put my purse in the bottom drawer of my desk. The drawer glides shut like it does every other day.
“Well lucky for you, we’re leaving on Thursday. I talked to Viv, and she said it was fine if we drove. She figures it’ll save her a little money, somehow.” Kendra keeps talking as I sit down at my desk and unlock my computer.
The screen comes up like normal. Everything is strangely normal.
Kendra stands up and leans over the cubicle wall between us. “OMG! You missed it this morning!”
My stomach immediately drops, and I can feel the color drain from my face. “Oh yeah? What’s that?” I look up at her but then go back to my computer, hoping that she won’t notice how pale I must look.
“Someone got that bleach spray on Viv’s new towels! Ya know, the one’s that she got last week that probably cost more than our whole trip?”
I try to look stunned as I look up at her and let my mouth drops open. “No way! Does she know who did it?”
Kendra crosses her arms on the top of the divider and leans her chin on her hands. “Nope, but I’m sure there’s going to be a memo.” She rolls her eyes, giggles, and then drops back down behind the wall to go back to work.
I fake a little laugh and open my to-do list on my computer. Okay. So that went the way I had hope it would, but I don’t want to get my hopes up. I decide to go and get a cup of coffee. First grabbing my mug from my desk, I slowly make my way over to the little breakroom. The floor actually looks really clean. I guess the tile needed a good bleaching after all. It probably shouldn’t have waited until someone was killed on it but hey, silver lining.
The coffee maker is nice, and shiny clean with hot dark coffee inside. No one is in the breakroom currently, so I act like I drop something. If only this room was an actual room with four complete walls instead of the open concept crap. Yeah, the bar makes it great to be able to talk to other people, but when you’re looking to see if you left any blood behind from killing your ex, you might be like me and want a little privacy.
I squat down and scan the floor, under the cupboards, and even inside the cupboard where I grabbed the bleach spray. There’s nothing. Not a trace of blood. Not even a little drip. When I stand back up, my head swoons a little. I turn on the faucet and wash my hands. It gives me a little longer to stand here without looking too suspicious. Even the spray faucet that I used multiple times last night is shiny. It’s almost like a clean-up crew came in after me and cleaned the office.
The coffee wafts up in a wonderful steam when I pour it into my mug. The creamer makes a gorgeous white swirl as I pour it in, and the aroma is a delight to my senses. I use one of the paper stirrers and then take a long sip, feeling the warmth rush down my throat and into my stomach. Wow, did I need this!
Cupping my warm mug in between my cold hands, I slowly take little sips as I make my way back to my desk. Just as I reach my chair, I have the bright idea of getting a box of tissues out of the maintenance closet. Ya know, just to see if that’s just as clean as the rest.
Setting my cup down, I turn and walk over to the closet. The people who were laughing by it earlier have long went back to work. I stare at the doorknob as I make my way over. I don’t see any blood or smears on it. When I open the closet, I nonchalantly scan the door frame, where I would’ve touched it last night, and nothing. Not a smear, a blotch, or a drip.
I grab a box of tissues from an upper shelf and see the mop and bucket where I left them. My right foot accidentally bumps into the bucket, I lose my balance, and knock the box of tissues inside the bucket. When I lean over and pick them up, I notice that the bucket and mop are dry.
Wait.
I didn’t dry out the bucket and there’s no way it would’ve dried out in that short amount of time. And everything is strangely clean.
Did I really kill him?