Yep, more death. Sorry. Blame Bree at ‘Read me my Writes’; this post was inspired by her. Er, in a good way. I’m not suggesting she did this. 🙂
* Contains swearing *
Til Death Us Do Part.
I have the most understanding wife. I really don’t deserve her. I thought when she saw Candy lying there, naked and bloody and dead, that she’d flip, but she didn’t. In fact, I’ve never seen her calmer.
She poured me a whisky then went to get a blanket and the plastic decorating sheets from underneath my toolbox. I watched her wrap Candy up, but it didn’t seem real until she’d finished and started pulling the bundle across the carpet, leaving a long, dark trail of half congealed blood. I threw up then.
Candy and I had been having an affair for some time. It started at work, and then spread to other places; the park, the cinema, my house. Susan never caught us, not until today, and then she walked in on me babbling at Candy’s naked body, shaking her by the shoulders. We’d been in bed, Candy and I, when she threw her head backwards and it smashed into the metal lampshade. I hadn’t realised at first just how much blood was pumping out of her skull, and then she’d collapsed onto the floor.
I helped Susan move Candy to the car. Susan never drives, but she did tonight, leaving me to drink my whisky and try to calm my nerves. When she came back she wouldn’t tell me where she’d been, just said that everything would be okay. She packed my suitcase, gave me the address of a cheap hotel several miles out of town, and said she’d see me there in the morning, once she’d finished cleaning up.
I’m at the hotel now, checked in and perched on the bed, staring at the cheaply framed print which sits at an angle on the wall, surrounded by horrible floral wallpaper. It smells bad in here, and I can hear music from somewhere. But it’s going to be okay, Susan said so. I’m so proud of her. She’s always been a quiet little thing, always needed me to tell her what to do. But tonight, she was amazing.
Jesus, this room really does stink. What is that? Something under the bed?
It’s Candy. It’s fucking Candy. Surrounded by rotting rubbish. With a note pinned to her chest. It says “Got you.”
And now I can hear the sirens.