The wind howled and threw debris against my window. I laid in bed listening to the storm rage outside, it was as loud as the storm raging inside my head. It had been a year almost to the day that my husband killed that girl. She was blackmailing him, so he said. She wanted money to keep quiet. They argued at the top of her stairs. She fell. She disappeared.
In the year that passed, the police never came knocking. They never knew a thing, but I know. I know it all.
He came home that night drenched to the bone and crying. He told me everything, he needed my help and I obliged. We went back to the old brownstone, through the God awful wind and the torrential rain. It was the dead of night and we parked many streets away. No one saw us go in, no one saw us come out.
Inside, I saw her blonde hair strewn about her face, her neck twisted at an odd angle. Her lips were blue and her eyes looked up at me. She was so young. Too young to be here in this predicament. I handed my husband some trash bags, the hand saw and he set to work. I started cleaning and packing. I grabbed some clothes, her purse, cell phone, laptop, some pictures and searched the house for anything else that may have incriminated my husband or at least put him under suspicion. I took her sheets and put on fresh ones from the linen closet. I bagged the old ones to take with us. I wiped down every surface of the house and checked all the furniture seat cushions. I washed the dishes that were piled in the sink, dried them and put them away. The house was decidedly cleaner then when I entered it.
Then, I went about the task of making it look like someone had just up and left. By the time I was done, my husband had completed his gory task. He changed out of his clothes, sat on the floor by the door and waited as I cleaned the bathroom from floor to ceiling, freezing from the open window so the smell of bleach wouldn’t linger. Then we grabbed our bags, like a shopper determined to only make one trip, and high tailed it to our car. The sun would be up in a few hours and we had to hurry. We drove for hours in silence. Until we made it to our destination deep in mountains on an old trail no one used anymore. We grabbed our bags and went deep in the woods. We must have walked for two hours before we found a spot. Here is where we buried his secret and there is where it stayed.
For six months things were good, my husband was attentive and caring but I knew it was all a façade. He was afraid I would break and tell someone or scared we would get caught. We never did. They never even suspected foul play. It was almost a month before anyone even knew she was missing and even then no one came knocking. In the seventh month, my husband starting working late again, being secretive, having another affair. I followed him and her most nights. I watched him laugh in his carefree manner and open doors. I saw him kiss her passionately. He would smile that smile I never saw. An anger grew inside of me and it festered.
Our anniversary came around and we ordered take out, sat in bed like old times and ate Chinese out of boxes. It was romantic, on the surface. I knew his heart wasn’t in it. He would never change. I would have to change. That’s why I did it. Two weeks prior, I went to the store and bought a bottle of Fish sauce. My husband was deathly allergic to seafood. I poured some of it into the Soy sauce bottle. I would only need a little bit. Then I discarded the bottle of fish sauce in the trash and it was picked up, hauled away. The evening of our dinner, I put the Soy sauce out and watched him use it liberally on his fried rice. He started to cough, then he started to choke. He looked at me with knowing eyes, he knew his fate was sealed. I waited until he turned a nice shade of blue before I called the ambulance, they took their time. They worked on him as best they could but it was to no avail. The cause of death was ruled as anaphylaxis. I took his ashes out to the spot where we left the girl and dumped them there.
Now tonight I sit in bed, haunted. I see them everywhere I go. They are always there, waiting in the shadows. Taunting me. Calling my name. I tell myself, it must be my guilty conscience manifesting itself but on nights like this, I’m not so sure. I can see their eyes in the dark.