Chapter 4 Murder Really Limits Your Options
Murder Really Limits Your Options
RIPLEY
SOMEWHERE IN SASKATCHEWAN
I’m dripping with sweat, illuminated by the headlights of what used to be Gabriel’s car. He won it off Adonis in a game of poker long before I took it in our little game of death, so its plates couldn’t have been exactly clean.
I wonder if the cop figured out who it belonged to.
Reality is starting to sink in as I dig in silence, the stars the only witness to the brand new life I’m about to embark on, out in the middle of nowhere.
My guts wrench every time the shovel hits dirt.
I just killed a man in cold blood and I don’t have a plan beyond bury the body and fucking drive.
“Maybe I should have just left you in the fucking house,” I snarl at the corpse.
It might have been smarter, but I also know there’s potential evidence on his body that doesn’t point to Adonis being his killer. If he’s six feet under, at least all of that might dissolve into the earth before the cops manage to dig him up.
I heave a sigh, my stomach churning as my head swims with anxiety. Am I sure I can live a life on the run? How do people deal with the cold hand of dread on their shoulder the whole time? Who do you trust? Do you trust anyone? I wanted the blood and the action, but the consequences?
That shit’s always sucked.
“Alright, that’s enough philosophizing,” I mutter to myself.
I have to stay in the present. Bury Gabriel and keep fucking driving until I find a shitty motel where they won’t ask questions, and that takes cash.
From there, I don’t really know what the fuck I’m going to do.
I’ll need a few days to think, that’s for sure, but eventually I’m going to need money.
The little bit I managed to scrounge up isn’t going to go far, but for now…
My stomach growls.
It’ll put a shitty roof over my head and food in my belly.
“Focus, Ripley,” I mutter to myself. “One crisis at a time.”
I keep digging, sweating, and pushing only toward my end goal: to make this hole as deep as I can, but after about twenty more minutes I can feel my muscles shaking as my vision greys at the edges. I’ve gone about as far as I can go.
I really should have pulled into a gas station and at least gotten a granola bar or something. How embarrassing would it be if I passed out right next to a shallow grave with Gabriel’s body sitting in the trunk? I’d be on that World’s Dumbest Criminals show for sure.
I toss the shovel into the dirt and lumber toward the car, getting ready to lift a corpse with all the strength I have left.
I should have done more push-ups while I was locked in that godforsaken house but instead, I was busting my ass making meals, doing laundry, cleaning, and trying not to get my ass beat– on top of coming up with an escape plan.
“I swear, you make things harder on purpose,” I snarl. “Fucking dickhead, even from the grave.”
The logistics of the whole thing are much more annoying than I expected, and it takes a few minutes just to angle him correctly before I can actually begin. The black trash bag he’s wrapped in is slippery on my sweaty hands, making it impossible to keep a hold as I’m hauling the body out.
His shoulders slip right out of my grip and I drop him, taking a step back in surprise before nearly falling into the grave I’ve dug, but managing to catch myself at the last second.
I take a moment to reset, sitting on my haunches and gulping down humid air as sweat pours down my back, and I stare at a corpse in a bag.
“I can’t wait to dump you in this shitty hole and never think of you again.”
I know how crazy it sounds, but I kind of wish he’d say something. Then I’d have a reason to knock his teeth in all over again. Unfortunately, his head’s back at home.
Well, not home anymore.
Just one more step: all I have to do is put the body in the grave and I’m free.
“You can do this, Ripley. Just gotta shove him in.”
I drag the body the rest of the way to his makeshift grave, and a final few kicks are all it takes for him to topple in with a dull thud. My shoulders sag with relief. The hardest part is over, and all things considered, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be.
“Okay, now we just gotta fill the hole back in and—”
That’s when I notice the trail of blood illuminated by the headlights, leading all the way back to the car. I pick up the flashlight I stole from that cop and, sure enough, there’s a giant red stain right on the rear bumper.
“Goddammit, Gabriel!”
I stumble forward, shining the light into the trunk.
Blood’s already seeped into the fabric. I can’t take this to a body shop, unless I manage to run into the Russian mafia on the prairies.
I let out a pained sigh.
Murder really limits your options.
I pick up the shovel and start piling dirt onto the body, running on autopilot and humming Kokomo as I work. That son of a bitch needs to be buried in the ground before I turn the page to the next chapter of my life.
I’m pretty sure my brain is shutting down after everything it’s been through tonight… but something’s shifting and I start to feel oddly zen, like coming home to a hot bath after a long day’s work. I’m sweating, bloodied, bruised, and battered, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt more refreshed.
I could spend the rest of my life chasing this kind of euphoria, leaving men scattered across highways like leaves. I’d be so prolific it’d be impossible to ignore, but they'd never be able to catch me, and then when I finally decided my bloodlust had been quenched, I’d vanish without a trace.
Nothing but a ghost story.
Back in reality, I sling the final clump of dirt onto Gabriel’s grave, patting it down and shining the flashlight over the whole thing to make extra-sure he’s fully submerged. Then, content with the result, I start the rest of the cleanup.
I grab an old t-shirt out of my bag to wipe away the blood on the bumper, inspecting every inch of the exterior of the car with as much rigor as my exhausted eyes can muster. The last thing I need is someone spotting a bloodied hand print at a gas station.
Content as I can be in a situation like this, I change into a pair of black jeans and a matching tank top, and shove my filthy clothes into a plastic bag in the back of the trunk.
And now, sitting behind the wheel again, with all the slip-ups considered and dealt with, all the speed-bumps to this barely handled disaster…
I think I just got away with murder.