Thanatophobia (fear of dying)

Consequences

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“Tensions in Sudan remain high as janjaweed groups continue to terrorize villagers in Darfur. The UN is…”

The newscaster held a hand to his headset, his eyes going wide as he paused in his sentence. “Breaking News. There’s been an account of murder in the East side of the city. Emily Quinn, a fifty year old was found in her bed early this morning where there was an apparent knife struggle. Her husband, Matt, spoke with reporters, saying that the knife found at the scene was her own, which she kept under her bed in case of emergency. Damage to her was minimal; however, with little blood around her various wounds. The cause of death appears to be a broken neck, though there were several cuts laced around her body- most of which the police investigators say were self-inflicted during the struggle. This is the first murder Nomecide’s seen in several months. Police investigators remain curious about what motive there could have been. Emily Quinn was described as, quote, “a small, gentle woman who brought a smile to the faces of all those around her,” unquote. Regardless, this event shows that no one is safe.  There is no information as of yet on the killer’s whereabouts.”

I gulped, my hand frozen on the remote, thankful that there were no pictures for the moment. Knife, blood, struggle – it all sounded familiar. Too familiar. I tried to count back the days in my head. Could he already be on q? It seemed impossible.

But then again, I’d found myself slowly losing touch with the fact that Elliot was a murderer. He killed people, yet he made it so easy for me to forget that.

Why was it all so confusing?

I shook my head and pushed myself off of the couch to make myself a cup of tea. Letting the tea brew, I leaned back against the counter and admired the immaculate kitchen. My eyes slowly drifted towards the knives which were locked up, making me feel like an errant child. I swear, I wasn’t that broken and dangerous- not now anyhow.

I thought back to Emily and chewed on my lip. Well at least she didn’t die from her own knife; that would have been so much longer, painful, and outright cruel.

When the tea had turned a nice dark color, I pulled the tea bag out, deposited it in the trash, and then blew on the hot liquid before taking a small sip. As I savored the way the warmth traveled down my throat and to the pit of my stomach, I had my epiphany.

My eyes widened. The place where knives hide and people lie.

Oh my god I’m such an idiot.

A mattress.

I took another sip while smirking to myself. There better be something good hidden under there, something to help me make sense out of all this craziness.

I just hoped it wasn’t anything more about Carlea. For some reason thoughts of her always unsettled me, and that feeling had increased since I’d found the ring and scrapbook yesterday.

Maybe it was because she died prematurely. Maybe it was because she had an uncanny resemblance to me. Maybe it was because Elliot loved her…

I shook my head. Why would Elliot’s feelings be of any concern to me? I had a quick flashback to the night when he’d come home raving drunk. Okay, maybe I did care, but certainly not where his love life was concerned. Definitely not, I assured myself. Besides, Carlea wasn’t even around anymore.

I pursed my lips and took one last gulp of my tea before trudging back upstairs to Elliot’s room. It was the first time I’d ever taken the chance to really look at his room. I found it very plain, all white with black furniture. It looked like something out of a catalog, not a home. I frowned at this revelation and approached the large bed which took up most of the space and kneeled down before tentatively lifting up the side of the mattress. And even though I’d cracked the riddle, I couldn’t help feeling surprised when I found a couple of file folders and photo albums lying there.