Crimson Creek

{five}

Tyler's p.o.v

I took a much need breath, my shakiness subsiding. Thank goodness  Daniel left.
Trying to make myself look less guilty by telling him he could come in was very risky, and very stupid.

I slumped to the floor, my exhausted body aching and begging for rest. Sleep was something I hadn't gotten since that day. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw her. I saw the blood.

My eyes were transfixed on the sharp, dirty object that sat on a table nearby, bile boiling in my stomach.
If Joshua had come in, he would've seen it, and that would've been the end of me.

I couldn't get caught, I just couldn't. I'd gone over it in my head plenty of times, trying to justify what I did, and trying to convince myself that the police would see things the same way.

The truth was a punch to the gut, knocking that hope right out of me. Of course the police wouldn't justify a murder.

I blinked, trying to tear my eyes away from the knife; or more specifically, the murder weapon. It was time I got rid of it, and the bloody clothes I'd been wearing when I killed her.
The only problem was that I couldn't decide where to hide them.

This was all so messed up. Why the hell was I in the town where I dumped her body? My thinking had been that I couldn't move to far from Lindin. After all, it would be suspicious for Martha to turn up dead, and then for me to disappear.
But to move to the town where I brought Martha's body? That was definitely a moronic decision. I wanted to stay close to the case, but I regretted it now.

This wasn't exactly something I knew how to handle, considering I'd never harmed a fly before what happened with her. Even if it wasn't against my religion, I'm a gentle person. I hate the thought of hurting people.

That's why I can't explain what happened that night. It was as if I'd turned into a vicious animal, something I didn't know I was harboring. Every time I think about it, which is often, I want to vomit.

"Tyler? What are you doing with that knife?" Martha gulped, one hand held out in front of her as she backed away from me.

"I fucking told you he was off limits!" I yelled, salivating at the mouth as my vision went red with rage.

"Now just wait a minute, I c-can explain," she said, and it was the first time I'd ever seen her truly afraid. Good. I wanted her to be afraid; as afraid as she had made me and my brother.
"I'll even give you some of the money we made, if that's what you want."

Was she really offering that money to me? The money which had been in the hands of monsters, exchanged for the worst of things?

That's all it took. I lunged forward, her pleads falling on deaf ears, and plunged the blade into her stomach.
After the first stab, I couldn't stop.

"Help! Oh my God," she wailed as we fell to floor. I straddled her, continuing to jab the knife into her chest until her shouts turned to whimpers, and eventually, the whimpers turned into silence.

It felt so, so good.

"You, hurt, me," I said in between stabs.
"For so many years! So many years!" I screamed, tears clouding my eyes. I kept screaming until my throat was on fire.

I stopped to catch my breath, and suddenly realized what was happening. Or rather, what had already happened. Looking down at my crimson hands, I gasped.
I had killed her.

I let the knife clatter to the floor, shaking while my breath of quickened, and began to hyperventilate. Blood was everywhere; on the floor surrounding her, on the knife, and all over my pale skin.

I covered my face, not realizing I was smearing her warm blood all over my cheeks, and began to sob.

Yes, Martha had gotten what she deserved, but I had no right to take her life. That's God's job.

The longer I stared at Martha's motionless body, her face still twisted in anguish, the more I cried. This couldn't be happening.

"Tyler?" A small, terrified voice asked. I looked up, seeing my little brother in the doorway. His doe eyes were filled with tears, just like mine were, and his knees were wobbling.

I turned away, not being able to face him. All I ever wanted was to protect him, and now he needed to be protected from me.
Because I was a murderer.

"You can't tell anyone," I said quietly, standing to my feet as I regained my composure. I wanted to sob again when he took a fearful step back and nodded.

The blood never did wash off.

After I replayed that night's events for the thousandth time, I managed to get up and walk over to the table.
The knife, and other reminders of what happened, needed to be hidden.

I grabbed the garbage bag I'd used as a suitcase, dumping out the few articles of clothing I'd brought from Lindin onto the dusty floor. I then scooped up all of the evidence, and shoved it into the bag.

What was the best way to dispose of it? I could burn the clothes, but what about the knife?

After a while of pacing the creaky, wooden floor, I came to the conclusion id have to bury it. No one was going to come metal detecting around here anyway, right?

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, pulling aside the curtains to make sure Joshua's truck wasn't parked outside.
He was no where to be seen.

That evening, after burying the knife 3 feet down in the garden out back, I lit the pile of stained clothes ablaze.
I watched as it turned into ash and swirled into the air, no longer a threat to me.

Maybe I would get away with this.
But if I did, I would always carry this awful secret with me. A secret that would hold me captive in a way far worse than any prison could.