butt.
I stared for a few moments collecting my thoughts. I stopped the Sony recorder and placed it back on my cellarette. I took a long swig from the thick glass tumbler, which until now sat untouched next to my notepad. The strong whisky ran down my throat. I enjoyed the burning sensation, the fumes rising out my nostrils making my eyes water. I didn’t even remembering getting up to pour it.
I couldn’t put it off any longer. I had to manhandle the hooker’s body outside. I stood over the slumped corpse, repulsion rising in me. Her flabby greyish skin showing in far too many places. Red swollen welts circled her neck. I was deciding on what part to grab. As I suspected, when I gripped under her hairy armpits they were stone cold and rigid. With a lot of effort I managed to get my hands under her arms and pull her along. Her feet scraping along the wooden floor. The two red shoes lay next to each other. I will sort them out in a minute I decided.
When I got to the front door I dropped her as I was fumbling with the handle. She went down with a thud. Her head made a sickening noise as it came in contact with my concrete doorstep – it sounded like someone dropping an overripe melon.
It wasn’t long before I was back beside the roaring fire, trying to put some heat back into my frozen hands. In one swig I drained the remainder of my drink. I sat motionless deciding whether I should have another. But walking over to the drinks cabinet seemed like too much effort. Then as I went to stand I noticed my hands, they were covered in blood!
I stood perplexed, wondering where it could have come from. Yes she had hit her head, but I didn’t remember there being any blood, that had congealed hours ago. I was suddenly washed over with tiredness. I decided against going through the minicorder, deciding to start first thing in the morning when I was refreshed.
I ran a hot steaming bath. Unusual for me, normally I preferred a quick hot shower; I’m not one who likes wallowing in my own dirt. But tonight was different. I felt like I needed one. Didn’t prostitutes bathe after to wash the night’s work from their skin? Was I doing the same?
That’s when I got my second shock. My clothes were splattered in blood – smothered completely. I now stood naked, the bathroom filling with steam, looking down at my saturated red trousers and jumper. Was it the same jumper from yesterday? I thought I had changed it. I swear I had put on my dark blue one with the triangle pattern across the front. Obviously not. A bloody handprint marked a spot on the chest. I must be more tired than I realized. I kicked the clothes into the corner behind the toilet. Out of sight out of mind. Slowly I sunk down into the hot bubbly water that smelt of coconut.
I ran the conversation over in my head. Each time it came out different. I decided tomorrow I would review the tape and make some notes. But for now, I would relax in the hot steaming bath and close my eyes and feel my pores release their accumulated dirt. The mysteries would come to light in the morning, after a good night sleep.
If only I looked closer at things then, it might have turned out different. I knew of nothing else until the morning, when I awoke, finding myself lying in a bath of freezing red tinted water.
4
Oh Boy
I could hardly move. My joints felt frozen together. I had never fallen asleep in the bath before. But what was most puzzling was the colour of the water, blood red. Confusion was the order of the day. Something I seemed to be getting use too.
All I could remember from the night before was the interview. If it could be called that? As I sat there listening to his words, his story. Or should I say she – as he had appeared last night.
I struggled out of the cold red water. Slipping once or twice because my cold hands couldn’t gain purchase on the wet surface of the bath sides. No more bubbles this morning, just a cold oily residue on the
I stared for a few moments collecting my thoughts. I stopped the Sony recorder and placed it back on my cellarette. I took a long swig from the thick glass tumbler, which until now sat untouched next to my notepad. The strong whisky ran down my throat. I enjoyed the burning sensation, the fumes rising out my nostrils making my eyes water. I didn’t even remembering getting up to pour it.
I couldn’t put it off any longer. I had to manhandle the hooker’s body outside. I stood over the slumped corpse, repulsion rising in me. Her flabby greyish skin showing in far too many places. Red swollen welts circled her neck. I was deciding on what part to grab. As I suspected, when I gripped under her hairy armpits they were stone cold and rigid. With a lot of effort I managed to get my hands under her arms and pull her along. Her feet scraping along the wooden floor. The two red shoes lay next to each other. I will sort them out in a minute I decided.
When I got to the front door I dropped her as I was fumbling with the handle. She went down with a thud. Her head made a sickening noise as it came in contact with my concrete doorstep – it sounded like someone dropping an overripe melon.
It wasn’t long before I was back beside the roaring fire, trying to put some heat back into my frozen hands. In one swig I drained the remainder of my drink. I sat motionless deciding whether I should have another. But walking over to the drinks cabinet seemed like too much effort. Then as I went to stand I noticed my hands, they were covered in blood!
I stood perplexed, wondering where it could have come from. Yes she had hit her head, but I didn’t remember there being any blood, that had congealed hours ago. I was suddenly washed over with tiredness. I decided against going through the minicorder, deciding to start first thing in the morning when I was refreshed.
I ran a hot steaming bath. Unusual for me, normally I preferred a quick hot shower; I’m not one who likes wallowing in my own dirt. But tonight was different. I felt like I needed one. Didn’t prostitutes bathe after to wash the night’s work from their skin? Was I doing the same?
That’s when I got my second shock. My clothes were splattered in blood – smothered completely. I now stood naked, the bathroom filling with steam, looking down at my saturated red trousers and jumper. Was it the same jumper from yesterday? I thought I had changed it. I swear I had put on my dark blue one with the triangle pattern across the front. Obviously not. A bloody handprint marked a spot on the chest. I must be more tired than I realized. I kicked the clothes into the corner behind the toilet. Out of sight out of mind. Slowly I sunk down into the hot bubbly water that smelt of coconut.
I ran the conversation over in my head. Each time it came out different. I decided tomorrow I would review the tape and make some notes. But for now, I would relax in the hot steaming bath and close my eyes and feel my pores release their accumulated dirt. The mysteries would come to light in the morning, after a good night sleep.
If only I looked closer at things then, it might have turned out different. I knew of nothing else until the morning, when I awoke, finding myself lying in a bath of freezing red tinted water.
4
Oh Boy
I could hardly move. My joints felt frozen together. I had never fallen asleep in the bath before. But what was most puzzling was the colour of the water, blood red. Confusion was the order of the day. Something I seemed to be getting use too.
All I could remember from the night before was the interview. If it could be called that? As I sat there listening to his words, his story. Or should I say she – as he had appeared last night.
I struggled out of the cold red water. Slipping once or twice because my cold hands couldn’t gain purchase on the wet surface of the bath sides. No more bubbles this morning, just a cold oily residue on the
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