In Tarot the Death card merely represents transition and change. I like that interpretation.
I was going to have to die. Again. And everyone was going to have to believe it. Even, for now, Jake, though I did believe I could trust him. He was just going to have to sell it to the people he worked with because even if they were on my side, they were dragging me into something I didn’t want to be a part of. Maybe some day I would learn what this was all about, I certainly hoped so. But for now, I was content to leave it a mystery and get out with my hide intact.
I needed a few things to complete the plan, so I stopped by a local store and picked up a large men’s flannel shirt, a pair of men’s jeans and a pair of size 11 sneakers. At the last minute I also grabbed a bag of trash bags and a pair of kitchen rubber gloves, because I couldn’t recall if there were any in the apartment. I made sure to pay with cash. This was one purchase it would be damming to have traced.
When I got back to the apartment, I sat in the car for awhile, staring into space. My plan would only work if there wasn’t already someone there waiting for me. I finally pulled myself out of the car and crept up to my apartment door, putting my ear to the wood and listening. I didn’t hear anything. Why hadn’t I thought to put a hair across the door or any such trick to see if someone had been inside? Too late for that now, but that’s a trick I’d have to remember. Except, of course, I was getting out of the spy business.
I slowly pushed open the door and peered in. Nothing appeared to be out of order. I flipped on the light, and nothing moved. I shut and locked the door behind me, then systematically went through the apartment searching for anyone or anything. Mostly I was worried about hidden surveillance, though the detector I still had with me didn’t show any evidence of bugs. I scoured the walls and ceilings, all the fixtures and smoke detectors, looking for hidden cameras. I didn’t find any.
I went to the kitchen and filled the sink with warm water. Then I pulled the blood out of the freezer and set it into the water to thaw. I watched the frozen red crystals start to liquefy, and really hoped this would work. I pulled the industrial size jug of bleach out from under the sink and poured most of it into a bucket, then re-filled the container with water. I only hoped this would work. I had no idea if I could pull it off, but it was my only hope. I quickly gathered up the few belongings I was going to take with me and stuffed them into a bag. I included the gun that had killed the crime boss, though I made sure to leave it wrapped up in the handkerchief. That was going in the river as soon as I could get it there. No need for it to be found in the apartment, especially if this didn’t work. I set the bag I was keeping by the door, then started tossing the place. Clothes were roughly pulled from their hangers, drawers pulled out and overturned, cushions ripped open and stuffing pulled out – all the things you see in the movies. I was glad, as I broke a few vases, that none of this was really my stuff. It would have been hard to destroy everything I loved even though it was necessary. I suppose I had to have a little luck through all of this.
I pulled the shirt, jeans and shoes from the bag, catching the receipt and stuffing it in my purse. I folded up the plastic bag and put it with the others, and put away the trash bags after I’d taken one out, which I used to protect my stuff by the door. Then I thought about it a little, and went back and pulled out half of the bags. I had to make it look as if enough had been taken to be used to wrap up a body. I took a moment to congratulate myself on that smart thinking, putting off the part of the plan I really did not want to do. I pulled all of the ice out of the freezer and filled the bathroom sink with cold water, adding the ice. I changed into the men’s clothing, stashing my clothes under the plastic by the front door. I pulled the necklace out of my pocket and put it in the jean pocket. I had one more thing to do before the part I really was not looking forward to.
When the blood bags were thawed out I pulled them out of the water, put on the gloves, and grabbed the largest kitchen knife I owned. Then I went into the center of the living room, facing the door. I played the scene as if I’d walked in on someone tossing the apartment. I stabbed the bag of blood and flung the knife over my head, coming back down to stab it again and again. The arch of blood spatter along the wall and up the ceiling looked convincing enough, though I didn’t get any spray from the body. I wondered if that only occurred when someone was stabbed in the neck. Maybe this would work for a chest wound. When the first bag was empty, I went on to the others, this time from the ground, as if I’d fallen to the floor and they’d jumped on top of me. More stabbing and slashing, more blood thrown everywhere.
I got up and tracked blood into the kitchen towards drawers, opening them in order and leaving smears of blood on the handles. I got to the one with the trash bags and pulled them out roughly, spilling them all over the counter. Then I opened the cabinet under the sink, leaving tell-tale smudges of blood there, too. I picked up the container of bleach and brought it back to the living room, where I liberally sloshed it over the blood. I went to the linen closet and gathered up towels, which I used to try to soak up the sodden mess. I dumped the towels into a trash bag, then went back to the kitchen , poured more of the bleach into the container, added water, and repeated the process. When I was done it looked like a very clumsy attempt to clean up a horrific murder scene. Hopefully the bleach had destroyed the blood enough to make it impossible to tell it had been frozen, I didn’t know. Maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn’t. But I also needed to provide them with an easy sample of non-tampered-with, fresh blood. And this was the part I wasn’t looking forward to.
I dragged myself back to the bathroom, still leaving bloody, bleachy shoe prints on the carpet. I submerged my arm into the icy water until it went past the point of pain and into numb. I drained the water out of the sink, running hot water to melt the ice. And, I admit, putting off what came next.
I took the knife and made a deep gash in my arm. Despite the numbing effect of the ice, it hurt. A lot. I let a bit of blood drip into the sink, then sloshed some water around, hopefully simulating someone washing up. Then, holding the bleeding wound tightly, I went out into the living room and let the blood drip onto the knife, when I smeared it around, covering both the blade and the handle. I squatted down and tossed the knife under the couch, still dripping fresh blood everywhere. I pulled the necklace out of my pocket, and pulled on the chain with both hands until the clasp gave way. I tossed it into a fresh pile of blood next to the couch. I ripped the bottom of the shirt and bound my arm tightly. I realized I was going to need stitches, but there’s no way I could go to a hospital. I couldn’t have anything they might connect to me on record. If there was any doubt, any clue, they might suspect something. I put off thinking about what else the night was going to hold and finished cleaning up my crime scene.
I pulled out another trash bag and, after dragging the one full of towels a few feet to produce a streaked pattern on the floor, I carefully bagged it up and set it next to my bag. Then I pulled off all my bloody clothes and carefully put them in another trash bag. I changed into some light casual clothes and my own shoes, but slipped the men’s sneakers back on over them. It was a good thing I had small feet. I still had blood spattered all over me, but it was still dark, so I had a little time. I dragged the bag of towels to the end of the hall and dumped them down the garbage shoot. I grabbed my stuff and the bag containing the bloody clothes, then I closed, but did not lock, the apartment door.
I left the building and walked a quite a few blocks before depositing the bag of bloody clothes in the dumpster. I tossed the leftover trash bags in another dumpster a block away. Then I set off to Jake’s apartment, hoping he wasn’t home yet. There were still a few things I needed to do.
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