She pulled the knife out slowly, wiping the blade on the nearest kitchen towel with gentle, precise strokes. The dead man stared at the ceiling with a look of frozen mock wonder and amazement.
She sighed, carefully carrying the knife and the towel to the back sink, making a futile attempt to rinse the blood out. What would her mother-in-law say when Christmas came without a call from her dear boy? Would she just chalk it up to the growing distance that had been progressing between them? Or would she take it as a sign for an overdue visit?
Either way Carol would have to do something with this corpse on the floor, staring above imploring God to intervene on his behalf. Too late, Darlin,’ she said quietly, still holding the crumpled red rag in one hand, the knife remaining balanced on the sink ledge, forgotten for a moment.
What do do now? She was not a pro at this sort of thing, but she knew from the TV shows that keeping blood soaked items was a no-no. They test for DNA traces in the carpet fibers, hair, and even use bugs. So many things can be traced, and there was always that one guy who never gives up on the case. And the spouse is always the number one suspect. Always.
She started to worry, sweat began to pour slowly from her anxious brow. She knew she couldn’t leave him laying here. She did know that much. Her stomach started to turn uneasy. She glanced back toward the sink in the backroom. No, she couldn’t bring herself to cut him up. But she had to do something.
She urgently looked around the kitchen. Maybe she could just disappear. Get a plane ticket to nowhere. Who would think to look for her in some small town in Arizona? Or better yet, she could flee to Canada, or Sri Lanka, or anywhere.
She drew the curtains closed in the small kitchen window, eyeing the outdoors with renewed suspicion. What if a neighbor had heard him yell? What if someone had called the police all ready? What if they were on their way right now? What if, indeed.
She tried to breathe normally, but found it difficult. She had to make a decision now. But he had always made all the decisions for her. She found herself paralyzed and unable to act. There were too many details, too many choices. She knelt down next to him, and began to cry.
“Tell me what to do, oh please, do get up, and tell me what I am supposed to do now?” This wasn’t how she pictured it in her head. This whole situation was all wrong and mixed up. She reached for his hand, and held it tenderly despite the fact it was now cold and offered her no comfort or solution. She knew then that she was truly alone.