They will always stay with me.
I sat and rocked where I was, transfixed and petrified. The body began to weaken. The noises were the last to fade and then there was the final rattle. Richard held the pillow in place for a further minute of silence.
Stillness.
The quietness of an aftermath.
Then he ripped the pillow away and looked down, aghast at what he had done. He raised his head and cried, with a violent moan.
I scrambled up, just making it to the bathroom as I emptied my stomach.
***
I prayed that I had undergone some kind of episode and that when I re-entered the room, everything would be different. Richard wouldn’t be there, the room would be undisturbed. And most importantly, Ivan wouldn’t be dead on my floor.
But instead, everything was exactly the same.
“He was going for a walk and was mugged.”
“What?” I said, my mind jumbled.
Richard was quite composed again and was standing looking at me, with heavy eyes. I stepped fully into the room.
“He can’t be found here. We’ll have to move him.”
“What?” I asked again.
My eyes fluttered and I tried to make my heart slow down. I was dizzy and had a vile taste of vomit remaining in my mouth.
“He can’t be found in your room,” he said absently, looking through me.
I dropped down onto the sofa and rubbed a hand over my face.
What the fuck?
“What are you actually saying?” My mind was slower than my words, “We don’t tell the police at all?”
He gave me a withering look, “Of course not,” then softening, “I mean – how can we? Think about it Vicky.”
I shot a look down at Ivan once, then looked away. I retched again, held my stomach, getting myself under control. But I could still taste bile on my tongue.
“I don’t know, how can we not tell them?” I said flatly.
Then there was only silence. The dreadful weight of it all crept up on me and then over me. I had to speak, if only to prevent it engulfing me.
What if there was another way?
“What are you saying we should do?”
18
When Richard left me alone in the apartment with Ivan, it was almost too much to bear. It was only going to be for a short time, but I almost ran out the door screaming. I cried again and had to stifle further vomiting.
Richard and I had sat on the bed in my room, both needing physical distance from the body on the floor. We sat just apart, backs against the wall. I placed a cushion behind my head. There wasn’t one for Richard. His cushion had just asphyxiated his husband.
Richard did most of the talking. Looking back, in those moments, I was in total panic. I let him carry me along, clinging on to him. If I hadn’t done, I might have sunk under, never to resurface. He told me that he was going to go and get some things and that he wouldn’t be long. He would take items from housekeeping that couldn’t be traced back to us – sheets to help lift the body, cleaning products, gloves. I just had to sit tight. We’d get rid of it all afterwards. ‘It’ll be alright’, he said. But it would have to look like a mugging gone bad. They couldn’t find it all afterwards. We would both be the primary suspects if it looked like a murder had been covered up.
As soon as he left, I scrambled past the body and double locked the front door. I shivered, grabbed my smoking stuff and went out to the terrace. I shuddered as a cool breeze came off the sea, out of the darkness. Everything had turned black. My hands shook as I tried to spread out the tobacco onto the papers. I managed enough to roll and smoke three cigarettes, one after another. I sat on one of the chairs, hitched up my knees and stared into nothingness. The smoke drifted upwards, off towards the volcanoes that only smoked now too. They hadn’t erupted for hundreds of years, but I was much closer. I stayed very still, almost trance-like and longed for my senses to all desert me. When I was done, I crept back inside, passed the living room and lay on the bed and waited.
After what seemed like a day and a night, he returned.
“Did you get everything you needed?” I asked, after we both came and sat down at the table. I didn’t like being close to the body again. I certainly couldn’t bear it when alone.
“Yeah I think so,” he answered, still wearing the face he had put on for the outside world, “It’ll be alright Vicky.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“No.”
I checked my watch, it was two twenty-six.
“I’ll make you a coffee,” I said, ignoring his affirmation.
Even the mundane procedure of doing that had felt surreal to me. Everything felt alien. It was like I was seeing the world after downing a bag of mushrooms and a pipe of salvia.
“Thanks,” he said and his expression sobered.
He looked nervous. We sat in silence, sipping our coffees.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” I blurted out suddenly and began to weep. My heart pounded fast again and I thought I might faint. I put my hands over my eyes as if to plug the flow, but it was futile–
This must be a panic attack.
Richard shot up and pulled me out of my chair and hugged me tightly, my head against his chest.
“I’m so sorry,” I whimpered, feeling his shirt soaked once more from my tears.
“You don’t need to be sorry. It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault. Well, maybe Ivan’s,” he sighed. “Ivan was made a bit differently from the rest of us.”
I nodded, my breathing slowing, feeling comfort from our bodies touching and being held. My ear was pressed tight against him, listening to his heart beat calmed me; it was strong and steady.
The next part was awful.
