She lied in the trunk of Hank’s ancient sedan, as the two men stared down at her. Surrounding her are flakes of blue paint from the chipped exterior. Hank looks up at Brent with a proud grin. “So, whaddya think?” Hank asks. Brent runs his hand along the sleek cuts on her body, spelling out her name. 

“Betty” he mumbles, gently brushing the jagged letters.

“Just as ya requested, pal” Hank beams, “you sure we should be doing this out ‘ere though?” Brent removes his hand and looks Hank in the eyes.

“How much?” he asks, pulling out his wallet from his jeans. Hank regards Betty for a moment.

“I know we discussed two hundred, but you made me cut ‘er up so…” Hank pauses, “I’d say ‘bout two fifty.” Brent sighs and hands him three one hundred dollar bills.

“Keep the change,” he mutters. Hank grabs the money and tucks it away in his grimey plaid shirt. He shifts his silver aviators up his red nose and gestures at Betty.

“Treat ‘er well, yeah? Don’t wanna see ‘er with more cuts” he chuckles awkwardly. Brent leans into the musty trunk and pulls Betty out, brushing a couple stray paint flakes off of her. 

“Right” Brent grumbles, holding Betty by her slender body. Hank slams the trunk shut and extends out his calloused hand to Brent. Brent reciprocates, giving Hank’s hand a mediocre shake, before he turns away.

“Hey, Brent” Hank yips, “say hi to your wife for me, would ya?” Brent says nothing and continues to walk away, towards his car a few spots down the parking lot. As he approaches his SUV, an old couple glances at his direction. Their eyes widen when they spot what he is carrying in his arms. The couple retreats behind their car, but Brent keeps walking. He never even notices them. When he gets to his well polished vehicle, he carefully sets Betty on the black leather seats in the back. The old couple watches as he climbs into his car and drives away, out from the Walmart parking lot.

Brent drives out of the city limits, away from his home. He travels down a few dirt and gravel roads, bordered by dense forests of trees, young and old. The vehicle is completely silent from any music or sound, not even the air conditioning is on. Sometimes the back end bumps, but he ignores it. He drives the speed limit, never exceeding it at any point, despite never seeing another car on the road. Occasionally he passes by a small road here or there that leads into the forest, but he never even looks at them. He just watches the road ahead of him, watching it approach and disappear behind him. 

After driving for a while, Brent finally stops the car and sits for a moment. A single car passes by him and he watches. A happy family with two kids sing in union, not even glancing his way for a moment. When he finally sees the car disappear around a corner, Brent resumes driving down the rocky road. The forest grows ever denser around him, almost forming a tunnel. The setting sun still manages to light his way, until he turns down a dark path into the forest. His car barely fits down the muddy road, brushing against the stray branches of the trees. Sunlight no longer graces his path.

Brent drives deeper and deeper into the forest, until he reaches a poorly lit clearing by a small stream. He parks his car away from the stream and shuts it off, leaving the clearing even darker. The silence of his surroundings is almost deafening, until he hears a thump on the back of his car. He clambers out into the darkness, approaching the back of his dark grey vehicle. Another thump. Brent rips open the trunk and stares inside. Tied up in the spacious interior lies a woman. She shifts around uncomfortably, but doesn’t struggle. Her eyelids flutter, never quite opening to regard Brent. He grabs her by her bound arms and drops her onto the muddy ground. She thuds into the muck, but doesn’t make a sound.

When she finally comes to, she finds herself propped up on her knees in the dark. She struggles against her restraints, but can’t seem to move her legs or arms. Her screams are muffled by the tightly bound fabric muzzling her and the loud ringing in her ears. She shakes so much she falls to her side, but is quickly propped up again by someone she can’t quite see. 

“Stop” Brent whispers, but she doesn’t hear. He walks back around to his car and opens the back seat, pulling Betty out. He brandishes her before the bound woman, enough that she can make out the outline. She screams even louder and shakes her head, tears stream down her face. Somehow, through all her shaking, her gag comes loose.

“Please, don’t do this!” the woman screams, watching as the man turns around and opens a box in his SUV. He pulls a red and gold cylinder out and places it inside Betty, before turning back. The woman watches in horror. “No, no, no, no, you don’t have to do this! I have a family, I have a son!”

“No” Brent mumbles, approaching the woman. She whimpers and quietly pleads, but Brent doesn’t falter. He slowly walks towards her, holding Betty in his arms. When he stands a few feet from her, he stops.

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“Please…” she whispers through her sobs, “I don’t deserve this.” The ringing in her ears quiets and all she can hear is the soft trickle of the stream behind her. Brent kneels down in front of her, looking at her face cloaked by shadows.

“You do,” he whispers.

Suddenly the woman’s eyes shoot wide open, unknown to Brent in the darkness.  ‘Brent…” she mumbles. Brent stands back up and looks down at the woman. “Brent?” she yells out, “honey, why are you doing this?” He doesn’t respond, he just stands there. “Please, it’s me! It’s your wife! Betty!”

“I know” he mumbles, cocking the aptly named shotgun in his hands. He places the muzzle against her forehead.

“Please, Brent. I’m sor-”

“No.”

All the birds in the forest fly away. All the animals skitter into their holes. All the pleas and sobs go quiet. All, but the trickle of the stream as it turns red.

Brent stands over the mutilated corpse of his wife, unable to move. He stares at her. Not even an omnipotent God could describe the feeling boiling inside of him. It’s relentless and horrible, yet purposeful. His mind is so consumed that he doesn’t even see the flashing lights of the cop pulling into the clearing. The cop exits his car, weapon drawn directly towards Brent. His orders fall upon deaf ears, Brent isn’t even aware of his presence. It was as if everything else had faded from existence except for the mangled corpse before him. She was so still now. Maybe even at peace. Silent tears stream down his defeated face.

The cop took advantage of Brent’s stupor, disarming him and driving him into the ground. The impact into the dirt was enough to shake him back to reality, just enough that he could hear the relentless screaming of the cop. “God dammit, Brent!” he screams, “God fucking dammit! What have you done? Why did you do this?” He tightly clips the handcuffs around Brent’s wrists. “I’m gonna need an EMT a mile up Highway 56, down the left-hand dirt road coming south” he barks into his radio, while simultaneously lifting Brent out of the mud. He props Brent on the front of the police car and holds him by his shoulders. “Brent, why?” he asks again. Brent just stares at him. The cop shakes his head and approaches Betty, who lies on the ground in a crumpled mess. He gags at the sight, something that no man could possibly stomach. The cop just walks away, knowing that nothing he does can bring her back. She was dead the moment she ended up in the forest.

“I… had to” Brent mumbles, eyes wide open. The cop steps away with his head in his hands.

“No… no you didn’t, why did you do this, Brent?” he interrogates, his voice shaking as he does.

“For my son,” he sobs. The cop turns and looks Brent in the eyes. 

“Brent… no…” the cop sighs.

“She did it.” 

The cop slumps down onto the car beside Brent. He looks over at him, seeing his emotions plain on his face. Brent truly believed that Betty had killed his son. It had been ruled an accident, nothing even remotely implicated Betty. Yet despite all the sorrow in Brent’s face, the cop could see clearly that Brent believed he had done what he needed to. He believed that he had avenged his son.

The cop clears his throat, “look, Brent. I know you’re grieving your son, but it wasn’t Betty. There was no evidence.”

“I saw it,” Brent mutters, “I was there.” The cop grabs Brent by the face and locks eyes with him.

“Look at me. I was your friend. It’s me, Mike,” he explains, “please trust me when I tell you that you are wrong. It’s too late to change what you’ve done, but you need to accept the truth.” Brent pulls away.

“Mike…” he mumbles, looking off into the dark forest. “Mike, Betty killed my son. She drowned him. In the bathtub. I was there. I couldn’t stop her. I froze. I was scared, I didn’t understand.”

Mike shakes his head, “No, Brent. We found your son’s body far down the river, your wife was desperately searching for him the whole time he was missing.”

“She dumped him in the river,” Brent mumbles, “I could have stopped her. I wanted to call the police. But I was scared for her. I still loved her. I didn’t get why she did it. I could have stopped her.” Mike slams the hood of the car and stomps a few feet away.

“Dammit!” he screams, “listen to me! It. Wasn’t. Her!” Brent’s face contorts horridly, even Mike stumbles at the sight.

“Mike,” Brent seethes, “I watched Betty hold my son’s head under the bathtub water until he stopped breathing. I watched her dump his corpse into the river and stood there as he floated away. I watched as she fooled every single one of the officers. When I finally worked up the courage to tell you that she had done it, no one believed me. You told me there was no evidence.” Brent’s entire body tenses up. “I separated from her and thought that if I got away from her, I could get past this injustice. But as each day passed, my hatred only grew hotter and hotter. Today, I finally gave in. I drove to her apartment, drugged her, and brought her out here. I dropped her on her knees and executed her like the piece of shit she is. I hope she suffered in her last moments. I hope the darkest pit of hell has opened up to swallow her wretched soul. I hope hell exists so each and every cop that let this slide burns forever. Including you.”

Mike chuckles dryly and angrily stares at him. “Brent, grief has deluded your mind. Maybe there is a small chance that you are telling me the truth… but nothing supports that. You’re too far gone. You’re psychotic and dangerous.” Mike pulls out his revolver and he places the barrel directly against Brent’s head. “When you get to hell, I doubt you’ll see your wife. It goes against my moral code to let a sadistic fuck like you live. This ends here.” He pulls the hammer back.

“Fine.”