Chapter Five
After a day of rest on Saturday, Lee Holmes felt the farthest thing from rested.
Upon returning home from the cemetery on Friday, Morgan had taken a second trip with the rest of the body, which had also resulted in the disposal of both Lee’s favorite backpack, and one of the hold-all bags from their last vacation.
The location of the last-remaining identifiable parts continued to remain a mystery to Lee, and she found herself partially relieved, and partially terrified at the same time.
Body disposal wasn’t a school project, and yet, to Lee, it felt like she had handed her assignment in half-finished.
Only this time, she would prefer to receive none of the credit whatsoever.
A recollection of a documentary from Lee’s childhood had led both herself, and Morgan, to Jerry’s Diner on the Sunday; a short five-minute walk from the apartment that now made her lungs burn when she breathed, inhaling an excessive amount of cleaning product and three cans of spray-on deodorant to mask the smell.
The apartment that had once smelt of hyacinths and perfume now resembled a scent that wasn’t entirely dissimilar to a fraternity house.
The documentary in question followed a group of scientists conducting an experiment on a placebo drug in order to assess its effectiveness against genuine medication.
At present time, the diner, she proposed, was her placebo—a means of numbing the headache without actually treating the symptoms. Perhaps the distraction would be enough to temporarily hide in the monotony and normality of it all, as if she could drown her demons at the bottom of a coffee cup.
With her mind so preoccupied, Lee didn’t even notice the waitress heading towards their table until the swaying of her ponytail caught her peripherals.
Extending a hand into the pocket on the front of her apron, she pulled out a tattered notebook and a ballpoint pen.
“What can I get for you two lovely sisters today?”
Lee’s eyes were on Morgan now, a smirk at the corner of her girlfriend's lips. Upon approximately the fiftieth time of correcting strangers of their relationship with one another, they both came to an agreement to simply stop bothering altogether. Lee could hear Morgan’s previous aggravations in her head whilst she pretended to look through the menu.
Why do people always assume we’re sisters?
Why not friends? Or cousins? We don’t even have the same accent.
Pair that with the fact we look absolutely completely fucking different, you don’t need Sherlock Holmes to crack the case on this mystery.
Morgan Finch had not been wrong. Lee’s own naturally red hair was hardly comparable to that of her girlfriend’s naturally dark brown hair. In addition, her pale, freckled complexion was essentially the opposite of Morgan’s tanned, olive skin.
Her own mouth formed into a smirk now, as she set down the menu and ordered the same thing she always did. “Coffee, please. Black, two sugars. What would you like to drink, dear sister?"
Lee felt Morgan’s leg against her own as it bounced underneath the table in frustration. “Skinny vanilla latte, please. Sugar packets on the side. As many as you are willing to part with.”
For the briefest of moments whilst they ordered their regular beverages, it felt as if the placebo might truly be working.
And yet, like a pill to water, the feeling dissolved with every stare from the waitress that felt like just a second too long, as if she could reach inside Lee’s brain and pull out the reason for wanting a placebo in the first place.
Would every interaction with a stranger now feel as if she was being lobotomized?
Lee exhaled only when the waitress departed with a pleasant “coming right up,” and a curt nod.
There was an elephant in the room, Lee Holmes deduced, and it was becoming larger and larger the longer she waited to ask the question that had been on her mind for the last two days. “What now?”
When Morgan opened her mouth to speak, Lee could see the hesitation on her features, the crease in her eyebrows, pondering the best way to phrase what she was about to say next.
It was the equivalent of saying “bomb” on an airplane, the pair of them needing to decipher how to talk about the bombshell that was killing another human being without actually mentioning killing another human being.
“We could go back to the way things were,” Morgan said, leaning forward, understanding Lee’s question instantaneously.
“...or this could be a new chapter for us. This doesn’t have to be your swan song.
You don’t have to be…a one hit wonder. Do you understand? ”
Lee’s senses had become heightened within the last couple of days, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up when someone was in close proximity to her; her vision, not improved per se, but keener, more curious to her surroundings.
Perhaps it came with the territory of aiding a killer, or worse, being one.
With her newly found improvements, she practiced an angry whisper within the confines of Jerry’s Diner that was slowly beginning to feel like her tomb.
“Morgan, I watch the cooking channel, and my most worn outfit is my dinosaur pajamas. I disposed of one body and now you want to turn me into Jack the fucking Ripper?”
Somehow, amongst the loud whispering and the way their bodies leaned forward almost unnaturally towards one another in their seats, the mystery as to how the pair of them were sitting in a booth at a diner as opposed to a jail cell felt more puzzling to Lee now, at that moment in time, than the confusion she felt seconds prior to witnessing her girlfriend plunge a knife into a stranger in their living room.
Lee was grateful when the waitress returned so promptly with their drinks, allowing her to center herself back into the room, removing images she would rather keep towards the back of her mind as opposed to her eyelids.
Reality came and went in sputters—flashbacks like hand grenades as the waitress placed the cups onto the table.
The sound was deafening to Lee, as if the mugs weren’t made of porcelain at all, but concrete, placing her back into the apartment for just a moment, watching her girlfriend do what she did.
Watching herself do what she did as they stood side by side in the graveyard desecrating the memory of Margaret Spence.
If her mug was made of concrete, she would bury herself in it right now if she could.
Let it dry around her and silence her mind.
The waitress left without a word, and suddenly it was just the two of them once again. The two of them plus the elephant in the room that had yet to go away. Would it ever go away?
Morgan surveilled the room, her eyes hovering over a waitress cleaning a nearby table, focusing on Lee again only when the woman had become out of earshot.
“Jack the Ripper both murdered and disposed of bodies. Besides, he was shitty at the latter. I’m only asking you to help with the disposal part of the job.
You can’t deny that you have a certain aptitude for this.
I let you take the lead because I knew that you would. Turns out, you’re scarily good at it.”
Leaning forward on her elbows, Lee could smell the scent of Morgan’s perfume—a mock-up of a far more expensive brand.
Intoxicating, and yet somewhat devoid of something she couldn’t quite place.
“Honey, I’m good at pretending I like your mother, it doesn’t mean that I want to make a lifestyle out of it. ”
Was Morgan devoid of human emotion, intoxicating, and yet missing an intrinsic part of herself? Like a cartoon gimmick, Lee shook her head and allowed her mind to place itself back into the room with her body, as it sat in the diner booth.
Morgan extended her own hands forwards to place on top of Lee’s from across the booth.
Her girlfriend had a powerful way of quelling the tornado inside of her, dulling it to a gentle summer breeze, even now.
“Lee Victoria Holmes, I would never pressure you into doing something that you’re uncomfortable with.
Moreover, I would never in a million years risk your life or your freedom in favor of my own… extracurricular activities.”
Lee rolled her eyes at the description and centered herself again only when Morgan squeezed her hand gently. “But tell me, when you helped me do…what you did. How did it…feel?”
The question was a paradox—an absurd and yet completely rational query to make.
It seemed oddly fitting, because the way she felt about the situation was equally paradoxical.
There were a number of words she could use to describe the emotion coursing inside her—nauseous potentially being at the top of that list. Yet, what scared her most, was that underneath the dizzy spell, the sickness, the fear, the worry, was something that felt vaguely like… power.
As if instinctually, Lee retracted her hands from the table, wrapping one around the steaming hot cup of coffee as she took a sip, as if the act would buy her anything longer than a single second before she would inevitably have to answer her girlfriend’s question.
The scalding liquid burnt as it touched her lips, but she didn’t mind.
She didn’t mind much of anything apparently, not anymore, much less the fact that Morgan had murdered somebody.
She downed the beverage as it singed the skin at the top of her mouth, and placed the ceramic mug on the table, leaning forward once again as she whispered. “When I’m ready to tell you how it felt, I’ll let you know. See you later.”
Lee placed a gentle kiss on Morgan's cheek and a ten-dollar bill on the table as she vacated the booth, smiling only when her girlfriend was unable to see her face, and suddenly, her power didn’t seem so vague after all.