My next step on the list is to call the police and file a missing persons report. Everyone always suspects the husband, so I need to do whatever I can to persuade them otherwise. It’s been three days since I saw my wife.That’s the truth of the story.
I’ll tell the police, “She’s had days where she’s stayed with friends, but she’s never been gone this long.”What will Thalia say if she finds out my wife is missing? Did she even know that I was married? Shit, have I mentioned Ashley in any of my episodes? What will she think if she finds out that we fucked the same night I threw my dead wife’s body inside a dumpster? That’s a problem for another day. I can handle her anger. I would love to see what she looks like enraged, or how she fucks.
The house looks so much bigger without Ashley’s presence.Good. The lingering smell of infidelity is gone, although I can detect a scent of copper in the master bathroom.I walk straight tomy bedroomand remove my clothes. My black sweatpants and a lightgray shirt are my go-to outfit choices from the large walk-in closet. My portion has always stayed open across from Ashley’s.
Rows of pastel sweaters and dresses stare at me as if they’re personifying a feeling of guilt.Guilt for what? Murdering the spoiled, unfaithful bitch, or fucking the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen after disposing of Ashley’s body?
“I wonder if there is another entitled, cheating bitch that would want all of this useless shit.” I turn off the light and head to the hallway closet to retrieve the vacuum.
The vacuum runs effortlessly over the carpet about ten more times. I pour the dust and whatever remnants I have of Ashley’s existence into an empty black trash bag. Next, I move on to the marble and scrub over the same spot more times than I can count. My thorough cleaning causes tiny tears in my blue latex gloves. After I have finished with my obsessive cleaning, I throw the half-empty bottle of bleach and the contaminated rags in the bag with the dust and tie it off. It sits securely by the back door.
Next on the list–perhaps the most important–begins when I grab my phone from the nightstand next to my bed.
The phone rings in my ear, a sound that isn’t usually ominous, but now…
“Yes, hello. I need to file a report of a missing person… my wife. Her name? Ashley Jones. It’s been three days since I last saw her. What was she wearing? Last I know of…” My mind scans through the memories of when I saw her last alive. The last outfit she wore. Of course, I remember. It’s the small details that matter.I stood in my bedroom. Our bedroom, and pulled her black leggings down her toned legs.I folded her slender arms through the loose sleeves of her cropped white sweatshirt.I must be precise with this description. “Black leggings, and a short white sweatshirt… Yes, thank you… I understand.” The officer on the other end quickly hangs up the other line.Just another missing person in New York City. That was easier than expected.Check.
I take the pile of clothes that I stacked from that night into the kitchen and throw it down onto the floor, and begin to search through the drawer that contains a collection of nonsensical items we have gathered over the years. In this case, the book of matches stands out above the blank tablets of paper and random pens. I grab the matches with one hand and the bottle of wine her parents gave us with the other.It hasn’t been moved from the counter since that night. The irony in this is immaculate. This will be a good substitute for gasoline.
I throw her clothes in the porcelain tub and dump a good portion of wine on the evidence. The match lights nicely and makes a bright red flame on her white sweatshirt. The memory of my wife goes up in flames while I take sips from our wedding present. The warm liquid goes down my throat as the flashbacks from that night turn to ash.
Her expensive diamond ring shines perfectly next to my previous trophies on the shelf in front of me. I write Ashley’sname on a blank index card and place it in the space meant for her. Standing back, I look at the small collection in front of me. I stroke my chin and map out the spaces on the shelf.
Strategically, I sit a digital recording of that night next to her outlandish wedding ring—the positives of having a wealthy lifestyle and security cameras.
The fear in her eyes catches my attention when I replay it over and over again on my laptop. The sound of her voice makes my hair stand at attention . I love listening to the change of pitch in her voice. It was so fucking primal, and I can’t help the way it affects my body. The way she looks when she knows that night may have been her last. Her expression sends a signal to my nerve endings. The hair on my arms stand on end when I look closer into her big, blue eyes.Baby, I could watch you over and over again.
The white gold band gives a nice contrast to the cloudy sandwich bag and the not-so-empty spaghetti jar on the shelf. I wipe off the white diamonds on the fabric of my black sleeve. I never really paid attention to the way it shone when it was on her hand. The lack of attention we showed each other played a role in my lapse of clarity. It really is a beautiful piece of jewelry. The fluorescent light shines off the emerald cut, spotlighting the other pieces in my collection.
The fingers in the clear plastic bag are beginning to turn a darker shade of gray, accented with spots of dark green. I know I will have to eventually get rid of the evidence, but until then…
I grab the clear, plastic sandwich bag and slide it into the small pocket of my zip-up hoodie.At least I still have you.I pick up the jar and examine the eyes that move along with the alcohol, preserving what was inside.
Obsession
I park my car in the shadows across from The Neon Rose, and I watch. This new routine of mine has become more of an obsession than a safety precaution for Thalia. I come here every night around closing time and keep my eyes focused on the pretty, unsuspecting redhead while she helps close up.
Mentally, I’ve been a mess since our night together. She’s all I can think about. The perfect body of hers and the way she moves her hips are something I will never be able to forget. My pants get tighter at the thought.
Her melodic sounds replay over and over again in my mind.Fuck.I wish I had recorded the way she said my name when she came on my dick. I would play back the harmonies we made together so that everything else was tuned out and her moans were all I could hear.
Many text messages from Lee about upcoming podcast episodes have been overlooked. Thalia has clouded my mind and pushed out any information I had on the past serial killers of Manhattan.She’s my main focus now.My work ethic, as my boss would describe it, has gone “out the window.”If he only knew what I had been up to.
My stare only worsens as she wipes down the bar. The outline of her tits looks amazing pressed against the black surface. What I wouldn’t do to have those perfect tits in my face as fuck her in front of her co-workers. I adjust my dick in my black sweatpants at the thought of claiming what’s mine. Memories of the night we spent together plague me. Missing her and her body so fucking much is almost physically painful.
I observe Thalia, Janice, and Jace walk through the front door. The three of them have their ritualistic goodbyes, all of which I notice from afar. Thalia and Jace go in for a long hug, and when they’re finally finished, Thalia walks on the narrow sidewalk towards her apartment while Janice waves down a cab.
This night is different.
Janice waves to Jace and climbs into her cab alone, and Jace makes his way around to the back of the bar.Interesting.Instead of following my little crime solver, someone else has caught my attention.
I fidget with my keys in my pocket and contemplate my next move. I would love to watch my listener from the perfect view outside of her apartment windows, her sheer curtains painting her body in an immaculate silhouette. There is something about gawking up at her as she undresses from a distance that drives me fuckinginsane. On the other hand, the odd way Jace is acting just feels… off.Fuck it. I’ll be back tomorrow to drool over her body.
I get out of my car and carefully shut the door behind me, making sure I don’t create an echo loud enough for Jace to hear. Allowingmyself to walk close behind to see the outline of his figure, I am sure to stay far enough back that I can still hide in the shadows.
I catch up to him, spotting him standing under a single lamp post at the other end of the alley. In the samealley, I killed the asshole who tried to touch Thalia.No one fucking learns, do they?
My shadow stands in a spot that is far enough of a distance away where he can’t seeme,but where I am able to get a perfect view ofhim. I zero in on his hands, scrolling through his phone. He puts his phone against his ear and suspiciously looks around the area he thinks is empty.
