How To Hide A Body

Where Words Fail, Tenth Grade Shakespeare Speaks

"Who is it then?" Bart asked. 

"Or, who do you think it is?" Cléo corrected. Bart rolled his eyes. 

"Cléo, I'm so sorry, but I need to leave. ASAP," I said, shutting her laptop. 

"What? Where to?" she said, crawling off the couch and following me into her office. 

Well, her office wasn't really what you would call an office. Yes, it had the potential to become an office; a laptop and a desk with a bookshelf lined with volumes of some encyclopedia I'm sure she has read. But, the rest of the room was covered head to toe in plants. So, more of a greenhouse with a wi-fi connection. 

Cléo loved her plants. It's actually how we met. We encountered each other at an evening gala, which was a charity event to promote awareness of dying plant species, focusing on the beautiful Queen of the Night flower. She was hosting the party in a spectacular botanical garden. She had found my website and sent me the invitation via one of my fake e-mail addresses. The context was brief and short: 

Need help. Print out attached invite and meet me there, by the waterfall. 22:00.  

I was intrigued, to say the least. What could an environmentalist possibly want from a Private criminal? 

The gardens were lit up beautifully with fairy lanterns; the only natural light echoed from the celestial above our heads. It took me a while to find the waterfall while blending in like an average guest. I took a champagne glass with me, hoping that this call for help was not just a spam for me to donate money. The waterfall was a two-kilometre hike, which was not so easily done in high-heels and an ankle-reaching rose dress. 

The water cascaded thirteen metres into an azure pool, nestled between two grand cliffs. The only light found there was one illuminating the path and the figure standing by the water's edge. Her beauty hit me instantly. It was hard to formulate words after seeing her, and I kept on needing to remind myself to remain professional. It was beyond that of art, beyond that of mortality. Undying, ethereal. Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! The hem of her peach dress floated gracefully at the water's surface; her shoes were settled a little further away. Her ebony hair fell over her shoulders the same way the water tumbled over the cliff's edge. I couldn't use my own words to describe her. Did my heart love till now? For I never saw true beauty till this night. 

I interrupted this mystical scene by tripping over a rock on my way down to her. I tore my dress and broke my one heel of my shoe, my champagne glass shattered. What a way to make an entrance, I know. She spun around immediately floating out of the water and coming to my aid. She helped me up; her touch sent an electric buzz down my skin. 

"Thank you," I muttered clumsily, "I was never one for the outdoors." 

She smiled, which made me feel numb, "Oh, don't worry. I fell on my way down, too."

"I'm sure you're just saying that." 

"I would never," she giggled. Fireworks erupted inside my chest, "You're the one, right?" 

"The one and only," I curtsied. She giggled again. I wanted to kiss her. 

"You can do anything?" She asked. 

"Anything at all."

"You seem awfully confident for someone who just fell trying to climb down a hill." 

"So do you." 

"I need to kill someone." 

I was stunned. Someone so divine, so heavenly, had the wish to end someone's life. I pictured her ivory hands speckled with crimson blood, the reflection of a corpse in her olive eyes. Oh, heavenly mingle! 

"Don't seem so surprised," she said, walking towards the water once again, "I'm not doing it for myself. I'm doing it for my sister." 

She wanted to kill her sister's fiancé, a guy named Sarastro. She suspected that he would put her sister's life in danger and only wished her sister well. She had recently discovered he was in the middle of a drug trading ring -one I actually knew personally but was getting on my nerves at the moment, anyway. 

"I can do that," I said, "When do you want it done by? I'll send one of my guys over to kill him." 

"By next week?" she asked. 

I opened my phone calendar. That week was full, but I quickly deleted everything, "He'll be dead by Tuesday." 

She walked over to me, grabbing my hand. Such heavenly touches never touched earthly faces. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Make it stop! I told myself.

"Thank you, " she whispered, her lips faintly brushing my earlobe, "Now, enough plotting. Come swim with me." She pulled me, I fell (again) making us both splash into the water. Her laughter effervesced, her eyes sparkled angelically. 

That was when I knew; I loved her. 

"City of dreams," I said, typing my name in as her password. 

Access denied. 

"You changed your password?!" I spun around in my chair, almost destroying it. 

"You've been gone so long," she muttered, shyly. Rose tinged her freckled cheeks. 

"That's no excuse!" I yelled. 

She grabbed the keyboard, typed in some meaningless passcode and spun me around again to face the screen. 

Access granted. 

"I'm going to New York," I grumbled. 

"Why?" she asked. 

"To blow up Lady Liberty." 

"You've got to be joking," Bart said from the doorway, "Can't we have an easy task? I miss the days we were giving radio show hosts gastro. Just us two." He emphasised. 

"I know how to do it. I'm going to need pigeons. Lots and lots of pigeons." I told them while buying a first class ticket to New York.