There was nothing to connect us.
Nothing except for the fact that his body’s here and his car is sitting out front.
If it was just him, maybe I would have called the cops, but the other body. That was the one that really troubled me.
That is the one I’m responsible for, I know it.
I peeked through the side of the blinds. My neighbor Fran usually went to bed around nine or ten which meant I had about an hour to make plans.
It had been years since I’d gone down to the grimy old cellar underneath our house. But slowly, I descended the steps, the slaps of my bare feet echoing grimly in the hollow space. Using the flashlight app on my phone, I shone it around in the dark. The dank space smelled earthy and was filthier than I remembered. Cobwebs clung to the corners, glistening eerily in the dark, and my heart skipped a beat as a cockroach scuttled across my bare foot.
I held the phone out, looking for more creepy crawlies. I had no doubt they were there, those beady eyes and fat, bulging bodies hiding in the rafters, watching me from the musty black corners of the room…
My light hovered over three black shapes in the corner.
Three long bags were propped against the wall – Michael’s old golf bags. There was a time when he just had to have them, but just like his interest in me, his obsession with golfing waned, then fizzled out completely. Now I was stuck with his clubs, taking up space, collecting dust in every crevice of my life...
One by one, I laid the clunky, black bags on their sides, and started unloading the clubs. They clanked on the concrete floor, hopefully scaring away any nearby critters.
When all three bags were empty, I tugged them up the stairs, one by one. Even empty, the thick, glossy leather was heavy. Back in my room, I laid the bags on the floor beside the bodies.
What seemed like a good idea at first now seemed silly. Each bag was over five feet, Robin Regal was nearly six.
This isn’t going to work.
Nice plan, Ivy.
My face paled, my stomach twisting in knots, as the realization kicked in: if I wanted to fit the bodies into the bags, I’d have to cut them into pieces to do it.
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Carissa Ann Lynch is a USA Today-bestselling author. She resides in Floyds Knobs, Indiana with her husband, children, and collection of books. She’s always loved to read and never considered herself a “writer” until a few years ago when she couldn’t find a book to read and decided to try writing her own story. With a background in psychology, she’s always been a little obsessed with the darker areas of the mind and social problems.
carissaannlynch.wordpress.com
Also by Carissa Ann Lynch
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Without a Trace
Like, Follow, Kill
The One Night Stand
Whisper Island
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