Page 36 of The Hitch
Melody pouts and turns those big, brown eyes up to me. "Really?"
"Yes, really. And after that, I'll show you how to get rid of a body." I look to the top of the stairs where Roman stands with a blue plastic barrel. He rolls the barrel down the stairs and sets it up in front of the wire shelving unit lining the wall.
"That might be the most romantic thing you've ever said to me," Melody sighs. She puts on the gloves and grabs the hose from me, spraying down the floor. Frank's blood trails down into the grate, down into the sewers below. No one will ever know.
Unable to watch her struggle alone, I don some gloves as well and start wiping down the walls. Little bits of flesh and bone have already hardened there. Roman silently brings over some enzymatic cleaning spray. Between the three of us, the space returns to its usual orderly cleanliness.
With the exception, of course, of Frank's remains. Roman helps Melody roll it onto a tarp, tossing the head along with it. Together, we hoist the oozing roll of plastic into the barrel.
"How are we going to get that up the stairs?" Melody asks. Roman and I smile together.
"We don't." Roman grunts and shoves a bin away from the wall, revealing a little keypad we had installed. A seam in the concrete wall opens, revealing our own special tunnel under thecity. On the other side sits a hand truck and several bags of concrete mix.
I snag a knife from the table of implements and show Melody how to open the bags, and pour the powdery mix into the barrel, on top of Frank. Roman shows her the perfect ratio of water to powder, and soon we have an incredibly heavy barrel full of Frank. Once the lid is properly sealed, Roman and I load it onto the hand truck and motion for Melody to follow us into the tunnel.
"Where are we taking it—him?" she asks.
"To the river," I reply.
"What—on foot?" she squawks.
"It's only a few blocks. You won't even be pushing the thing," I laugh. "Don't think you can walk a few blocks?"
She grumbles something under her breath and crosses her arms but follows us anyway. The tunnel is dank and smells slightly of mildew. We hear more than one rat squeak in the distance. Roman flips a switch, illuminating the long distance between us and the termination. Melody follows in silence, only squeaking in disgust when a massive cockroach scuttles along the wall.
The walk isn't as long as she was making it out to be. A quick five-minute jaunt, and we reach a pool. River water gently laps at the stone sides of the pool.
"Where are we?" Melody whispers.
"Under the Race Street Pier," I reply. "This is just a private beach, you might say, on the Delaware River. No one can hear us. No one can see us. The city doesn't even know this tunnel exists."
"And it's going to stay that way, right?" Roman gives Melody a pointed look, and she nods vigorously.
She watches intently as Roman tips the hand truck forward at the water's edge, and the barrel goes splashing down, down,down, until we can't even see a faint shadow of the blue. In time, the current will wash it down the river, down past New Jersey, out into the open ocean. By then, the concrete will be set, and Francisco will be a distant memory.
I turn back to Melody. "Hungry?"
"Starved."
We return to the house and pop into the shower together. Melody scrubs the crusted blood from her hair, and I sneak peeks at her luscious body. She's a Venus. A goddess. I can't hide it from myself anymore. She is no longer a means to an end. No, she's the reason I've been neglecting my newly appointed Dantalion duties.
I don't know if I love her, not yet, but I definitely don't want to be without her.
Melody chews her lip as I scrub the remaining blood from her extremities. She wants to say something.
"Spit it out, Melody. What's the issue? Are you suddenly squeamish?"
"What? No. It's just… am I forced to stay here? Inside? And what happened to my job? What about my apartment? All my things?" she blurts. Ah, there it is.
"I'dhighlysuggest you not go gallivanting around town by yourself. If you want to go somewhere, tell Roman." I smirk at the thought of her shitty diner gig. "As for the rest, that's not important. If you recall, I own the building. Your lease was terminated. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but restaurants are usually accustomed to their employees leaving on short notice. Your resignation letter wasveryapologetic."
"My—what? You forged my signature? You quit my jobforme?" She shoves my hands away and glares at me. God, she'sgorgeous when she's angry. Though I can't imagine why she's so upset. I saved her from that pathetic hellhole. I've given her freedom, with a few strings.
"Sure did, love. A Goetic wife doesn't labor at a greasy spoon. If you'rereallythat upset, I'm sure I can find something for you to do." I smirk. "Until you're pregnant. Speaking of, you have a doctor's appointment at the end of the week. Full physical, blood testing, hormone tests. The works, really. I will, of course, accompany you."
"What if I tell the doctor I'm there under duress?" Melody snarls at me.
"Are you?" I spin her around and run the loofah over her shoulders. She resists at first but quickly relaxes into the luxurious lavender-scented foam. I watch her body quake as I scrub into the small of her back. I can't help but snicker as she stifles a satisfied groan.
