The Terrible Trial of Kennedy Abrams (Treadmill II)

XXII

Kennedy didn't finish her sentence before Rebecca clapped a hand over her mouth, stopping the yell before it could finish. She struggled against Rebecca's hand for a second before beginning to calm down—but not all the way. She looked around the room frantically—were they planning to kill her too? Lydia was sitting in a chair, staring at Kennedy, covered from head to toe in someone's blood.

            Was the man on the floor ADA Karl?

            Rebecca let go of Kennedy after a few seconds of silence. Kennedy turned around quickly and grabbed Rebecca by the front of her nasty yellow t-shirt, pinning her against the door.

            "What the hell is going on here."

            "Kennedy, there's an explanation—"

            "Then explain, and explain quickly." Kennedy growled, "I'm not in the mood to be murdered tonight."

            Rebecca's eyes widened and she shook her head.

            "No, no, we—Lydia needs your help. Jaxson attacked her and she tried defending herself but kind of ending up...killing him. But it looks really bad, and you've covered up a murder before, and we—"

            "You thought you'd call your resident homicide expert?" Kennedy rolled her eyes and dropped her grip from Rebecca's shirt. "You dragged me into the murder of the dude who's trying to get me thrown in prison for killing his friend? Because that wouldn't look bad at all?"

            Rebecca shrugged.

            "I didn't think about that." She walked past Kennedy and towards Lydia, "She was in shock when I got here, but she's coming around. We need to make this place look like it did before, and we need to get rid of his body somewhere where it won't be found."

            "Lake Keowee," Lydia said quietly, "I was thinking about it. It would wash off any DNA and hopefully be deep enough that they don't find the body for a while, if at all."

            "Alright," Kennedy muttered, "I'll help. But only because you dragged me into this. I didn't want to be involved in the first place."

            "I know." Lydia spoke, a bit louder this time, "I appreciate you coming here, and you being willing to help. I know it's probably not how you want to spend the night before your last day of trial."

            "Well, I'm sure that's going to be postponed, since the attorney giving the first closing statement is currently lying on the floor with his head bashed in." Kennedy replied, her voice ice. "What did you do?"

            "We'll explain that later." Rebecca interjected, "Right now, we need to clean up."

            "Well, at least I planned for my murder," Kennedy mumbled under her breath. She looked around the hotel room, taking in everything she was seeing and trying to think of all the true crime documentaries she had watched in her life. "Rebecca, I'm sending you to the store. Buy some random groceries, a good chunk of them, and then get two bottles of bleach, the biggest ones you can find, a dozen dish rags, two big tarps or blankets, latex gloves, a pack of black trash bags, not the white, see-through ones, drain cleaner, a lamp, a dustpan, a pack of shower caps, a bottle of wine, three pairs of pajamas, all-purpose cleaner, and a roll of duct tape."

            "Do I get to ask—"

            "No." Kennedy interrupted, "Wear gloves the entire time you're shopping—it's December, so it shouldn't look weird—go to self-checkout to pay and use cash. If you use a card, you're the next one in this sick little group that's dying."