Elizabeth
16 October 2016
Monday: 2 Days before debate day
When Bill said 'get rid of the body' I never expected that he would reach into his box and pull out a transparent boiler suit, machete and a hatchet. The smell of Eleanor's disinfectant still burned my nostrils yet did nothing to remove the copper undertones of blood. Nobody ever imagines what sound metal makes carving through skin and bones, and nobody ever should. I could barely look Abby in the eye. Afraid of what she would see if she looked into me. Afraid I'd cave, as usual, and confess all and everything to her - no matter how inappropriate. Because, regardless of how little she thought of herself, I did trust her. I wanted to tell her.
But I couldn't.
I could still hear the whoosh and chink of the hatchet swinging and connecting with flesh, as it cut through the reporter's knees. The weight of a rubbery arm as I dropped it into a drum of sulphuric acid. The memory played out like a movie in strobe lighting - particularly, stuffing a body in a container and watching it drive off in Bill's green 'pest control' van.
The man was an anomaly. A surreal trick of the mind that I wasn't even sure existed. Before instructing us to place the chopped up pieces of human into a 20 litre, heavy duty drum, he'd casually finished a roast beef sandwich. Right above the orderly laid out body parts, without batting an eyelid. People like him were the ghosts that went bump in the night. He, was the boogeyman.
His wheat filled teeth had issued directives to the four of us - which we followed without question. You, go home and shower, get a goodnight's rest, I'll be there to make sure you don't lose your head. You two do the same, make sure you go over your notes for the debate - it will help calm you down, remind you of why this was the best option. You, go back to your girlfriend, you still have time, she'll be your alibi.
All of us had at some point lost our stomachs at the scene atop the plastic sheeting. All of us except Bill. One must wonder how many times you have to do something like this to get used to it. So we listened to him. Because that's what you do when you're out of your depth - you listen to those who are more knowledgeable, more experienced.
The morning breeze had already begun to whisper sweet redemption by the time we'd finished cleaning up. Sweaty, and dipped in sulphuric fumes we parted in heavy silence. Each left to reconcile with their own demons.
If it wasn't for Carlson at the door, I don't know how I would have explained my slinking back at the ungodly hour of seven thirty after a night of all-consuming lovemaking. Angelic and prone, my lover had burrowed her face deep into the pillows. All I could see were the mountainous yellow and white folds of the covers. I just wanted to curve into her back, etch myself onto her silky skin and disappear.
Instead I did as I was told and took a scalding hot shower. I tried my best to leave my clothes in a haphazard fashion, to erase suspicion. Me waking in a rush for the office was going to be difficult enough to explain as it was.
I had nothing to say to Abby. What would I even say to her?
So I left.
I wanted to stop her but she was safer behind the white bathroom door then she could ever be with me right now. Instead, answering Will's summons I made my way, once again, to the Mitchell's residence. At least in daylight, this time.
"And what do you get out of it?" I stare suspiciously at the gentleman with the round face. Or as we were told to call him: Bill. "We don't even know who you are. Waltzing in here, decreeing manifestos of how to get away with murder. Why the investment Bill? What do you get out of it? You've outright acknowledged Will as your president, so what's in it for you? Are you a spook?"
His posture is deceivingly nonchalant on the single, damask, Victorian sofa. Eleanor had moved everything back to its place, without a suspicion of blood to coat the room. The morning light casting a glorious, almost holy, glow on the criminals face makes me hate the innocently opened drapes. The white Lily centre-piece also compliments his relaxed posture as if he's waiting for his portrait to be taken.
"My interests are entirely for the greater good of the republic." He says clearing his throat and running the tip of his tongue on the inside of his mouth. "And if you've noticed, I'm not the one with a dead body hanging over my head here, you are. You called me." His legs fold as he emphasizes his words with a magpie crick of his neck. It seems to be an involuntary twitch, along with the strange twist of his jaw every few minutes. Almost as if he has Tourette's syndrome but in his muscles.
"And I won't have one of you risk my reputation, my career, over a sudden guilty conscious in let's say the next year, or two or 30 even. So no, the only way we do this is if everybody gets something out of this. If everybody has something to lose other than their moral repugnance that's how it works. I have nothing to lose here people." Another neck crick and adjustment. "But I do know people, and people are unpredictable so it's either all or nothing. These are my terms. If you want my help, if you want my expertise, it's all or nothing. If it helps, I still have our friend in storage out there, I can give her back for your disposal if you want?"
Motherfucker.
"You promised you disposed of it!" Andy gawks naively.
"I lied." He deadpans. "Call it, an insurance policy."
Suddenly everything explodes at once.
"You lying sack of shit." Andy launches himself across the room at an unbothered 'Bill', who whips out a taser from his jacket paralyzing the campaign manager. At the same time, the onyx marble top table jerks towards Eleanor causing her to release a small shriek. At which she seethes at her husband: "Who is this guy Will?"
"Seriously is this the guy we're trusting Will." I screech, ignoring the ensuing scuffle that has Andy's chipmunk cheek scraping the sparkling porcelain tiled floor.
"Alright, alright! Everybody calm down!" The bulging of Will's sockets is comical against the sleek backdrop of his seriously gelled hair. This was a circus.
"Liz," he looks at me pleading.
"No."
"Liz,"
"You've already drawn me into this far enough Will. I won't become part of your secret..." I pause in search of the correct word. "...cabal! This is where it ends William, right here, today. I promise to keep my mouth shut, and in return don't ever talk to me about this. Don't ever contact me for anything and sure as hell don't ever think you can use Abby to get me to do your dirty work ever again. We're done here. You and me, we're done."
The walls seem to give me a wide berth as I storm past the hallways and into the fresh autumn sun. I inhale the deep chill of a creeping winter while the sun's heat tickles my face. Eye's closed, I can barely see over the rush of blood that echoes in my ears. My vision vignettes before I close my eyes commanding my body back to me.
Breathe Elizabeth.
My mother's alto caresses the cracks of my memories but does nothing to ease the hammering in my chest. The tips of my right shoe find purchase on the sole of my left heel and I release my foot from its prison. Left shoe off. Somewhere in a far off distance my brain registers the soundless chasm of suburbia. I should be able to hear something. Right shoe off. My toes grasp onto the cold polished porch and at least I know that where I am, I am real - I just need to find myself.
Breathe my Lizzy.
A faded memory of a distant time when I knew love and security. Cuddled across my mother's bosom as she sung my fears away.
"Goddammit breathe Liz." I whisper out to myself between exhalations. My father must be turning in his grave at my weakness. I was always a highly strung child. Focusing on singular tasks and compartmentalizing information didn't take it away, it just helped me manage it very well. This hasn't happened to me in years.
"Breathe dammit." I remind myself.
Slowly, with a distant car horn, the world returns to me in technicolor. The rush of sensations hurts and leaves me doubled over and shaking for breath. But I'm here. The pads of my feet are standing on a porch. Yes, I can feel the fabric on knees is made of smooth linen. My behind is leaning against smooth hard wall. I am here.
I really should go to work.
