TITLE: Black Friday
Walter Carol murdered Sarah Could-not-bear-to-ask-her-last-name fifty-one minutes ago. Though a person’s heart only lasted so long after it stopped beating, he allowed himself another eighty seconds to loosen the tube cinched tightly around her neck.
He considered closing the large, aluminum door at the other end of the garage. Maybe he’d shut the windows, too, if it’d help soften the once pliable knot that lay at the base of her throat. Perhaps he’d just keep trying, and do nothing different. As selfish as it may have been, the idea of being locked inside Sarah’s temporary tomb set his teeth on edge.
It wasn’t her scent that bothered him. She smelled of the white chocolate latte he’d purchased on her behalf, and the cucumber lotion she’d insisted she reapply before going on a joyride.
Exposure to the rest of the world didn’t worry him, either. In the last half hour, the wind alone had passed by, picking up in sound and speed. Twin rows of evergreens planted the length of his driveway swayed under this duress. Storm-damaged vinyl siding clattered against the walls.
No, there was something about the look in Sarah’s eyes right before he snuffed the light from them that vexed him so much. She’d been crying; they always cried. But Sarah’s tears had carried the glint of mischief in them, as if she were keeping a secret.
Despite his abrupt shortness of breath, he continued to work.