asked him twice (fiction)

When I came downstairs the next morning, the door to the master suite was ajar and there wasn't a noise to be heard. I called out Michael's name, but there was no answer. In the kitchen, I started a pot of coffee. I checked the fridge for creamer. Milk would do. Where was Michael?

I opened the door to the garage. Michael's car sat beside my own. I closed the door. The wonderful smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted me. Is there anything sweeter? I poured a cup, added milk, and gazed at the door to Michael's room. If he was awake, why didn't he answer?

Were you guys lovers still?

No. Well, yes, but not like before. I had my own room on the third floor. We agreed we could each date other guys. But we still fooled around occasionally.

But not that night?

No.

Go on.

So I walked over to his door and pushed it open. (pause) The first thing I saw was blood splatter on the wall above the headboard. Only I thought it was paint, and I wondered why Michael would do that. I decided to wake him up. I could see he was in the bed. There was a pillow on his head. I lifted it up and tried to make sense of what I was seeing. It was totally unrecognizable as a face. It was destroyed.

Is that when you left the house?

(Nodding) I panicked. I knew I needed to call the police. But we had weed and quaaludes and acid. I gathered it all up, jumped in my car and drove out to the lake and hid it under some rocks. Then I came back to the house and called the police.

Why did they arrest you?

The neighbors saw me leave and come back. The police were convinced I'd thrown away the murder weapon. I had to show them where I'd stashed the drugs before they believed me.

Paul, we've known each other a long time. I know you loved him. Are you sure you didn't snap and do this terrible thing?

(Long pause, then quietly) If I did do it, it wouldn't be good for you to know I did it, Jackie.