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The Accident

How good of a friend are you?

I returned home with a smile on my face. A lovely date, it had been. As I had imagined, she was a beautiful girl; one of my dreams. Her laugh gives my chest a flutter and my fist clenches. I've always been a shy sort.

I turned my key in the lock and the door thrust open with a shutter. Flimsy piece of shit. I was greeted to my roommate in hysterics. Adrenaline coursed through him, his pupils dilated to reveal no iris. Blood wore him, more than he wore blood. I did it. Again. He speaks, bouncing around from foot to foot. I turn to the living room and peek into the kitchen. Blood thick, everywhere. I look at him and he holds his hand to his mouth, bouncing still. Shifting his weight frantically back and forth.

It's out back, in… in the car, he stammers. Has he any idea what he has done? I question him, but he gives no answers. It's in the car. The car. I already put it in there. He leaves for the backdoor, no regard for the mess he has left behind. I think rationally. I knew how to do this, I had thought. I am a college student of Forensics. The perfect crime... The perfect... it doesn't exist. There is no perfect crime. Closest to the perfect crime? It will have to do. Blood, rid of it. Bleach is a method to sweep it away, but it is not a method to go undetected by UV. I lost reason. I began to throw foods all over the kitchen, smearing it into the curves of the tiles, under the fridge. Anything to dirty the house and clean it, so it could be claimed as something it's not, were there a drop missed.

He runs back into the kitchen and slides, barely swift enough to catch himself. He questions me and I retaliate with insults. If you hadn't done this, I wouldn't have done this! I shake my head and continue to clean. Hours pass and we have been seemingly successful. With ease, I approach him and grab onto his shoulders to comfort. Calm. Calm yourself. He comprises a strong posture and we leave the house. Aim for the car, do not run. Do not seem suspicious.

I pull out of the driveway and stop before the house. I get out and do a check of the car before continuing. Break lights, no broken windows, no expired tags — we're good. We continue on and drive the length it takes to get to where we are going. An hour and a half of him staring at me, eyes widened. I grow irritated and attempt to ignore him, until the car begins to jolt. Low on gasoline. I pull to the side and give him a mutual met hate-glare, get out and push. His mouth drops open, as if stunned I would have him push. He suggests, instead, we drag the body from here to the destination. We weren't far off. The struggle it seemed, however, was getting the body out of the trunk without being seen by cars passing by. The dark assisted, but cars are equipped with lights and a tarp is seemingly reflective.

We wait for a car to pass by and leap for the trunk in a quick haze. Pop the trunk and grab the body before another car rounds the turn. We are stunned by the lights approaching and drop the body back into the trunk, attempting to tuck it under the clothes he had in it. They sped by without a concern to stop for us and we looked at each other with a hesitant chuckle of nervousness. Close. We grabbed for the body and begin to pull until it thuds on the gravel. I slam the trunk and grab ahold of the tarp, pulling the body as quickly as I could across into the treeline. I let out a sigh of relief as we won't be seen back here, but as I look up, we have a hill to climb.

We took turns dragging the body and I begin to question whom it is that I am pulling. He refused to answer, when the realization struck me. You murdered your father? I stop in mid-pull and look at him. It couldn't be that he would do such a thing. Though it all made sense. His father had arranged a meeting between the two of them. My friend, being an adopted child, was raised without knowing his biological parent. He had chosen someone he was not only unattached to, but someone that he could still hold enough resentment for to murder. I squinted at him in disbelief and dropped the tarp from my hand. He looks at me with questioning and concern, as I walk around the body, peeling the tarp from it. It is his father! I wrap the body in the tarp and give him a subtle pat on the shoulder. I understood.

We arrived to the abandoned warehouse that laid at the top of the hill. Hidden behind the trees, no one comes here anymore. A building that was once operated as a science lab, used for experiments and related labors. Though it had been closed and remodeled as a morgue, it had lacked the resources and funds necessary to keep it, therefore closing again. No one knows what more has occurred beyond those doors, but we entered into the first level and dropped the body as much as we dropped our own, panting and to the cold floor. I gave him a kick, just as a reminder no more of this. He returned a weakened slap that I assumed was an agreement.

We were jumpy to the sound of a voice greeting us. A short, stout elder man, as he neared. We looked at each other, preparing to explain ourselves, but only stumbled upon stuttered words. Annoyed, I cast out. Screw it, you tell him. He looked at me in hesitation and stepped forward, closer to the man, explaining to him that he had not murdered his father on purpose, but rather, by mistake and he sought out to rid of the body. The short, stout man nodded with a slight and spoke, I see... I know how to handle this. My heart raced, what had he just done? He was stupid to have told the man this! I was not prepared to go down for his ignorance and sad scale of honesty. Lie, damn it. You could have lied! I whisper.

The man returns with two and they retrieve the body, pulling it toward an elevator. They vanish behind steel doors and we look to the stout man. I give out a sigh of relief, no law for us today, as the stout man takes from my friend his card and stamps it. You're done for the year, he speaks and hands him an envelope of money. He exchanges a look of exhaust and turns to head toward the car as we left it.

You got lucky, I told him, and he gave a frantic nod in agreement. I guess you don't just get one kill in a year. If it's an “accident,” you get two. I think parents are double, but you should have waited towards the end of the year. Like I do, I spoke. 

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The Accident
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