Under a Silent Moon

43

Chapter Forty-Three: Scare Tactic

LANA

How to get rid of a body. I type it into the search engine on my phone, but quickly erase it. Too incriminating.

Zack appears simultaneously frightening and vulnerable as he hunches over the corpse of his friend, my assaultant. I don't know how to feel about it. On one hand, this is the guy who forced me into doing something I didn't want to do. He touched me where I didn't want to be touched. He told me things I never wanted to hear. His crimes are so deplorable, that I should feel relieved by this. Joyous, even.

But all I really feel is an emptiness, a nothingness. I've never seen a dead body in real life before, but I can firmly attest to the fact that it isn't what it looks like in the movies.

This isn't a prop in a horror film. This isn't a Halloween decoration. This isn't a scare tactic on a television show. This is the lifeless body of a teenager who made many mistakes. It isn't frightening at all. It's sad, and . . . disgusting.

Who knew the human body contained this much blood?

"What do we do now?" I ask, feeling extremely unhelpful. But what does Zack expect from me? I'm not an expert in homicide. And it's at that moment that it hits me: Zack just committed a murder.

I've seen enough true crime documentaries to know that the killer is almost always caught. Whether it's a cigarette butt left at the scene or the ping of a cell phone at a nearby tower, the evidence is always damning. I'm not sure what the site of the murder looks like, but by the condition Grayson's in, I can only imagine the horrors that stain the inside of his house.

"We have to go back in and clean up," I say, the contents of my stomach threatening to expel themselves once again. I keep my eyes planted on Zack--on his pale, hollow face.

"I don't think I can."

"You have to." I'm surprised at how demanding I sound. But we can't just flee the scene, and now that he's got me involved, I need to think clearly if either of us is going to make it out of this without a jail sentence.

My eyes flit to Grayson's body, and I realize the first thing we need to do is dispose of his body. I'm not sure how much assistance I can provide with this, given my current upper body strength, so I insist that Zack take care of that task while I focus my attention on the house.

The back door is ajar, and I shimmy between it and the frame, being careful not to touch anything with my bare hands. Once inside the sprawling marble-countered kitchen, I use a dish towel to open the doors beneath the sink. After rummaging for a moment, I find latex gloves and slip a pair on. The laundry room sits adjacent to the kitchen, and I determine that this room is the most likely to contain bleach.

With fresh towels, a bucket, and a bottle of bleach in tow, I investigate the first floor. It doesn't take long for me to stumble upon the crime scene.

Grayson's body must have been drained of all blood, I decide, as I behold the majority of it pooled in sporadic puddles, coating the foyer almost in its entirety.

I clutch my stomach and swallow back bile, leaving an acrid taste on my tongue. Rolling up my sleeves, I get to work, and morbidly acknowledge the fact that I probably would make a good nurse. I scrub for what seems like hours, working through the gore and focusing not on the gravity of this situation, but more on a list I've fabricated in my mind.

Step one: Obtain cleaning supplies

Step two: Evaluate the situation

Step three: Absorb the larger puddles with the thick towels

Step four: Use thinner towels to scrub the bleach into the tiles

Step five: Sweep the glass and dispose of the shards

Step six--

Unbeknownst to me, Zack's been watching me from the shadows for an undisclosed amount of time. When I notice him from my peripherals, I check his eyes immediately, but am relieved to see green instead of black.

"It's done," he tells me quietly.

"I'm almost done. Will his parents be back soon?"

He only shakes his head.

I finish my task in silence as Zack lingers in the threshold, running an anxious hand through his hair to the point where it looks like he just rolled out of bed. His eyes dart around the room, verifying that I haven't left a trace behind.

"They'll never know what happened to him," he says, but I can't decipher what emotions are behind his words.

"Hopefully they never will." I throw the last of the sullied rags into the bucket. "Do they have security cameras here?" I ask in a panic. How did I not think of that before, especially with this magnificent home? Was all this covering up for nothing?

"No. They have them, but they don't work. His dad never replaced them."

I nod and walk towards him, deciding that he's out of the frenzied state and therefore less dangerous. I pull off the gloves and toss them into the bucket on top of the towels. Gently, I take Zack's cold hands in mine and say, "I'm sorry."

He sucks in a steadying breath, but pulls away. "Let's get out of here."