Page 101 of X Marks the Stalker
“Car,” I grunt, already feeling the strain in my shoulders.
“I can’t just leave him here while I get the car,” Xander protests. “Someone might see!”
“Who? The raccoons?”
“Raccoons have excellent night vision and notable curiosity. They’re?—”
“Xander! The car! Now!”
“Don’t move,” he says, as if I might decide to take the corpse for a quick stroll.
I stand guard beside my accidental victim, trying not to look at his face. The distant sound of an engine tells me Xander has started the car. Headlights sweep across the gravel lot as he pulls around to the back.
He opens the trunk, and I’m not surprised to see it’s immaculately clean, with what appears to be a plastic liner already in place.
The corpse’s head smacks against the bumper with a thud that makes me wince.
“Sorry,” I mutter, then feel ridiculous for apologizing to a dead guy.
With a final effort, we fold the body into the trunk.
“You’re remarkably calm for someone who just committed her first homicide.”
“I’m compartmentalizing,” I explain, surprising myself with the truth of it. “Complete breakdown scheduled for later. I’ve penciled it in right after we dispose of the body and before dinner.”
He studies my face for a moment, then nods. “We should clean up the bathroom, remove any obvious evidence.”
“Already on it.” I hold up the fish key. “This beauty needs to go back on its hook.”
“You’re returning the murder weapon to the scene?”
I shrug. “Pretty sure that’s expected when you borrow bathroom keys.”
I examine the fish key still in my hand, grab tissues from my pocket and wipe it clean, making sure to get every crevice.
A laugh escapes him. “This is insane.”
While Xander handles the bathroom cleanup, I slip back inside and return the fish to its hook by the register. The clerk doesn’t even look up from his phone.
We meet back at the car moments later.
“What now?” I ask, buckling my seatbelt as he pulls away from the gas station, our headlights cutting through the darkness.
“Now we have a body in the trunk and a three-hour drive ahead of us.”
“Just another Friday night, right?” I attempt a joke that falls flat.
We drive in silence for several miles, the weight of what happened settling between us. I stare out the window, watching the trees flash by in the darkness.
“How are you really doing?” Xander asks, his voice soft in the quiet car.
“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “I keep waiting for the guilt or horror to hit, but it’s like I’m watching someone else’s movie.”
“It’ll come,” he says with certainty. “The reality of it. Maybe not tonight or tomorrow, but it will.”
“You know what’s truly insane? I’ve known you for what? A month? And in that time, I’ve discovered you spying on me, helped you torture a man to death, almost gotten killed by Blackwell’s men, and now I’ve accidentallymurdered someone with a fish. Yet somehow, this—” I gesture between us. “This is the most functional relationship I’ve ever had.”
Xander coughs. “That’s...a concerning reflection on your dating history.”
