Page 91 of Soft Tissue Damage
I clutch his wrists. “After the mess I’ve made here and all you’ve done for me? I’m staying. We’re doing this together.”
He regards me with a somber expression. “This place is going to get grislier and bloodier before it gets cleaner. You knew these women. You won’t like what I have to do to them. I will not think less of you if you leave now. Shouldering this task for you would be my honor.”
It’s so loving of him to offer to spare me, but I won’t walk away from situations that I’ve caused, and I don’t want to dump all this on Cullan. “We’re in this together. I’m staying.”
He kisses me. “All right. Let’s get to work.”
As we survey the kitchen, I ask him, “Are you going to make it look like the Red Mask Killer did this?”
He shakes his head as he shrugs into his shirt. “If I tried, the police wouldn’t believe it. I do things cleanly with no chance for my prey to run from me. This crime scene wasn’t controlled by the killer, and this place is a mess.”
“Damn. I wasn’t expecting the murders I committed tonight to be critiqued by a professional.”
Cullan’s lips twitch. “No offence intended. It was pretty good for a beginner.”
The black humor of the situation breaks over me, and a hysterical laugh threatens to rise up my throat. “Don’t make me laugh, or I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”
He kisses me. “No laughing. Time to get to work. Helpme lay down garbage bags between here and the bathroom. We need to make sure this blood doesn’t spread. This place won’t pass a luminol test, but that doesn’t matter if no one gets suspicious.”
“Luminol?” I ask.
“It luminesces in contact with even tiny traces of blood. We can fool the naked eye, but not a luminol test. We’re going to make sure that no one ever thinks of doing one.”
After the bags are laid down, Cullan goes out to his truck and comes back with a hand saw and several spare serrated blades. One by one, he carries my aunts’ bodies over the plastic bags and through to the bathroom.
With Aunt Astrid in the tub, Cullan ties the shower curtain around himself like an apron and picks up the saw. “You don’t have to watch this.”
“I won’t. I’m going to clean the kitchen.” But I linger just long enough to see him get to work sawing through Aunt Astrid’s thigh bone. He works methodically, the tool slicing quickly through her flesh and then more slowly through her thigh bone.
“Could you please bring me any luggage that the women have and line the bags with plastic?” he calls over his shoulder. “And lay out two or three days’ worth of clothes and toiletries on the bed, along with their handbags and IDs.”
“You got it,” I tell him, going through to the bed to get to work. I have an inkling that I won’t be seeing my aunts’ murders on the news.
I fetch the luggage and lay out the belongings thatCullan asked for, and then I get to work cleaning the kitchen, starting with the cabinet doors and kitchen table, and then moving on to the puddles and streaks of blood on the floor.
It takes a lot of mopping and several buckets of hot, sudsy water before the floor, walls, and cabinets are clean. I feel no remorse as I wring bloody water from the washcloth. My only concerns are that I do a good enough job cleaning so that I get away with murder, and I don’t drag Cullan down with me.
When I’m certain that the kitchen is spotless, I go through to the bathroom. Cullan is zipping up the last of three large suitcases, and there’s not even one spot of blood in the tub. I glance into the bedroom and see that there’s nothing on the bed.
“Where are their belongings?” I ask.
“Inside the cases. Your dear aunts are going on vacation.”
Now I understand Cullan’s plan. Anyone who comes in here will see a normal but empty house. “Do you think I’m going to get away with what I did?”
Cullan smiles and kisses me. “That’s the plan, my partner in crime. Help me with these cases.”
It’s five minutes to four in the morning as we quietly load the suitcases into the back of Cullan’s truck. The street is dark and there are no passersby, and thankfully there’s a demolished lot across the street. No witnesses to what we’re doing.
“I’ll come back for their car later,” Cullan tells me. “Who would your aunts tell if they were going away for a little while?”
I consider this as we get into the truck and drive away. “Just Father Connell at the church.”
“I’ll handle him. In about six weeks, there’s going to be an accidental fire that destroys your aunts’ house, and then you’re going to report your aunts missing. You’ll have to speak with the police. I wish there was a way around that. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll be okay,” I promise him. I take a deep breath and examine my feelings. I really think I will be okay. I feel no regret or remorse over what I’ve done.
He kisses my knuckles as he drives.
