Chapter Two
It took Lee Holmes approximately four minutes of intense listening to come to the conclusion that her podcast episode “ At Your Disposal” was not in fact a how-to guide for disposing of bodies.
The voice carried through her phone's speaker as she exhaled almost viciously in the hallway, standing just outside the door to the living room.
As the podcast continued to play, so too did the sounds from behind the threshold that she was so hesitant to cross.
“You’ve already seen the body,” she said aloud, attempting to reason with her mind in order to push herself one step closer to entering the room.
Placing a hand against the door for support, she composed herself through means of steady breathing exercises.
“Just pretend that it’s one of your documentaries,” she continued aloud, inhaling for four seconds before exhaling for a further six.
She paused her podcast as if she was pausing her thoughts along with it, and counted down from five in her head, opening the door at the same time that the number one floated to the surface of her mind.
The scent of copper hit her nostrils before she could process the horrific visual scene splayed out before her.
She had known dead bodies to smell—her podcasts had made that abundantly clear—but what she hadn’t expected was just how undeniable the smell of blood could be from such an arguably small wound prior to any form of decay actually taking place.
The living room wasn’t too dissimilar to how she had left it previously, only, the body of the man whom of which was now deceased had been dragged closer to the hallway, and more importantly, closer towards her.
“I’m trying to get him to the bathroom,” Morgan chimed in, heaving with effort as she wiped sweat from her brow, thus adding more blood in its place.
Her voice seemed distant, as if underwater, despite being only a few feet away, and Lee deduced rather rapidly that her own body was potentially still in shock.
Documentary, documentary, documentary, she reminded herself internally, glancing over at her girlfriend for the first time since she had stared into two predatory pupils prior and made the rapid assumption that after witnessing a murder, she would be next.
Luckily for her, the predatory gaze had dulled, and whilst it was not enough to put Lee completely at ease in relation to her own wellbeing, it was enough to spur her forward in her faux documentary charade, donning an entirely new persona in the process.
“I presume that we’ll be putting him in the bath?
” she said, her tone sounding less like a strategy and more like a hesitant question.
Lee Holmes sighed and mustered up all of the conviction that she could.
“If so, we’ll likely need a saw of some kind.
Perhaps that electronic knife that your mom got us for Christmas that we never use.
The one we left to rust in the cupboard under the sink in the kitchen. ”
Morgan Finch stood in place now, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, her head cocked slightly to the right like an intently listening puppy.
Lee Holmes thought it would be rather endearing, had she not been covered in sweat and blood, whilst simultaneously standing beside a body.
With her eyes no longer predatory, they had a certain sadness in them that Lee couldn’t quite place.
“You don’t have to do this, you know. You can get out of that dress, which you look beautiful in by the way, and sit down in the bedroom, or even the kitchen, until this is all over. ”
Realistically speaking, Lee Holmes knew that she could do exactly that.
Better yet, she could phone Natalie and provide herself with a substantial alibi.
As a matter of fact, she had yet to do anything particularly incriminating besides verbally implying that the victim needed to be chopped into pieces, and she couldn’t imagine receiving jail time for that.
Essentially, she could wash her hands of the entire thing, figuratively speaking, or, she could help Morgan dispose of the body just as she had planned, and wash her hands very literally afterwards.
Lee Holmes took a deep breath and chose the latter.
“I know,” she offered, perhaps softer than Morgan deserved given the circumstances.
“We can talk about this afterwards. We’re wasting time.
Let’s get him into the tub first so that he stops bleeding onto the floorboards and we’ll get the electric knife afterwards.
There’s a tattoo on his right arm, so we’ll need to remove that, perhaps burn it, along with any other discernible features that could identify him.
We can leave his legs and torso as they are so long as there aren’t any other tattoos.
Do you still have the latest newspaper?”
Morgan Finch, avid newspaper reader, looked completely and utterly perplexed, biting the bottom of her lip whilst she scratched her head simultaneously. “I do. Why do you ask?”
Lee sighed in relief, grateful that Morgan’s hobbies were not too dissimilar to that of a sixty-year-old man, only now realizing, however, that she likely only read the newspaper in order to keep up with current news affairs, including her own, without leaving any electronic trace.
“We’ll need to take a look at the obituaries to see if there are any recent funerals that we can use to our advantage," she said, acknowledging internally that this was likely the first time that anyone had uttered such words on their anniversary, or perhaps, any time at all. "Rosehill Cemetery would be our safest bet as it’s closest to our apartment. We can use a freshly dug grave to place the unidentifiable remains underneath it.”
“Perfect.” Morgan nodded, her confusion suddenly replaced with determination as she stepped over the deceased's body, wrapping two hands around his shoulders, wasting no time in getting the plan into motion. “Grab his legs.”
This is it, no going back now, Lee thought.
Doing as instructed, she grabbed the man's legs as the weight of his body prompted her arms to shake. Wasting no time herself, she pivoted him vertically and stepped back towards the door frame, out into the hallway. Turning him again, this time horizontally, the pair huffed through each step towards the bathroom before placing him vertically a final time through the next doorway. They both grunted with exertion as they lifted the body into the bathtub. “Right,” Lee said, breathlessly. “We need the electric knife, a lighter, the latest newspaper, cleaning products, and some trash bags. I’ll get them.”
Morgan placed both hands on her sides, exhausted, staring down towards the tiled floor, her breathing ragged, as she regained her composure. “Do you want some help?” she offered, looking over at Lee now.
“No,” Lee responded immediately. “I could smell the blood from the bedroom, and we haven’t even started…” she paused. “Dismantling him yet. Someone is going to smell it on the way to their own apartment if we’re not careful. You’re going to give him a bath.”
Her girlfriend shook her head in disbelief, expelling a tired laugh in the process. “You can’t be fucking serious.”
Lee Holmes stared directly into Morgan’s eyes, her mouth a thin line of agitation. “Oh, I’m deadly serious, Morgan. We're standing here because of a situation that you created. Use the lavender bubble bath, it’s got the strongest scent.”
Before Morgan could argue, Lee took one step backwards, turned around in order to face the hallway, and prepared for the second, and likely worst phase of their disposal—the dismemberment.
When the act had been fulfilled to completion, Lee Holmes found herself kneeling in front of the toilet, emptying her stomach of the lunch that she’d indulged in hours prior, somewhat grateful that the pair of them hadn’t had the opportunity of partaking in their anniversary dinner, lest she give her body more ammunition to work with.
She felt Morgan stroking her hair ever so gently behind her, and the irony wasn’t lost on her that the same hand had been murdering and dismembering a body only half an hour prior.
Truth be told, this wasn’t exactly what Lee had previously had in mind for their five-year anniversary together, and yet, dare she say it, despite her current situation, between the putrid smell of blood occupying their apartment, and the previous sounds of a struggle that had occupied her living room, she felt oddly proud that the police hadn’t stormed the apartment just yet.
She was expecting it any moment now, and whilst she would never admit it aloud to Morgan, the longer the front door went unchallenged, the greater her pride swelled.
When the last of the vomit had made its exit, Morgan gave a final supportive squeeze of Lee’s shoulder before making her own exit out of the bathroom.
“I’m just going to grab us a fresh pair of clothes and clean myself up,” she said, as she took her leave.
Lee started to offer an affirmative nod in the process, halting midway as she gripped the edge of the toilet, her head spinning.
As she lay there for what felt like hours, whilst acknowledging in reality that it had only been minutes, she took gentle, yet frequent breaths in and out, before making an attempt to stand.
Upon doing so, the room spun, and her vision blurred, and she internally cursed her body for giving up when her brain was still in overdrive.
Turning on the tap above the sink, she splashed some water over her face and looked at the reflection staring back at her in the mirror.
The first thing she noticed was that she hadn’t grown horns, which was a good start.
The second thing she noticed was that she looked entirely the same.
Her nose still had the same sharp point to it that she had always hated.
Her face was still a little too round for her liking.
Her eyes were still the same shade of amber.
Despite her actions, the things she had seen, had done, her face was still hers.
If she could look at herself now, and see nothing of this night painted on her face, perhaps others would see nothing, either.
Whilst the thought comforted her, it also reminded Lee that if her own features remained unchanged, then surely others who had committed similar acts themselves would also look completely unchanged.
The face she knew better than her own, namely, Morgan’s, had perhaps aged slightly in the time that they had known one another, but it had never truly appeared any different to the face she had fallen in love with five years prior. How many secrets could one face hide?
With the sink still on, she placed her toothbrush underneath it and began brushing her teeth, savoring the taste of mint as it washed away the remains of her reaction to her previous activities.
Morgan Finch entered the room at the precise moment that she spat into the sink, holding a fresh pair of clothes for the both of them, as promised.
“Are you feeling any better?” she asked, placing a black T-shirt on the towel radiator, alongside a fresh pair of pajama pants.
“A little,” Lee offered back, taking in a sip of water from the tap afterwards. Upon facing Morgan, now, she glared at the clothes that had been left out for her, primarily the pajama pants, and adopted a questioning look in her direction, one eyebrow raised in confusion. “Are these for later?”
Morgan shook her head, albeit, with less dizziness, Lee would presume. “No, they’re for now. I think it might be best if you just get some rest. I’ll take it from here. You’re clearly struggling with this, which isn’t a weakness, by the way. I would expect nothing less.”
Lee Holmes pondered the idea of going to bed at that very moment.
She pondered it for all of thirty seconds before she walked the few steps required to cross the space in their tiny bathroom and retrieved the black T-shirt, and the black T-shirt alone.
“I’m coming with you, Morgan. We’re in this together, now, whether you like it or not. ”
Lee Holmes was unsure as to why such determination was coursing through her, challenging Morgan at every opportunity. It was hardly the same as insisting that she help Morgan do the dishes, and yet, regardless, she mastered the conviction of someone who was ready to scrub.
“Suit yourself. It’s your funeral. Except, not really, because it’s literally someone else’s funeral,” Morgan laughed, shaking her head in the process, smiling to herself afterwards as if pleased by her own remark.
Lee did not share the same look of humor in response, her mouth a thin line of agitation as she crossed her arms in defiance. “I’ve never felt more persuaded to call the police as I do right now.”