Page 23 of Hunter's Hidden Camera
Alessandra bends down to pick up her things. Nash grabs her ankle and pulls. She loses her balance and falls forward, her forehead slamming into the doorknob. She lands on her side, blood now trickling from a cut on her forehead.
By instinct, she extends her right leg, kicking Nash, the bottom of her sneaker smashing into his face. He releases a gust of air.
Nash’s eyes are closed at this point. He climbs onto Alessandra, pins her down on her back, and then grips both his hands around her neck. He tightens.
Alessandra’s eyes widen. She takes hold of Nash’s arms. She kicks her legs. She struggles, she struggles, she struggles.
With his eyes still closed, Nash looks like a man possessed. He’s been taken over by something inside him. Anger? Fear? Darkness?
He literally squeezes the life out of Alessandra. Her arms drop to her sides. Her legs stop moving. She’s completely still.
Nash slowly opens his eyes, while loosening his grip. He looks at Alessandra’s dead face. Then, an expression of immense worry seizes him. He realizes what he’s done. But it’s too late. It’s too late.
12
Clean
“Alessandra?” Nash says, quietly. Then: “Alessandra!”
He shakes her. No signs of life. He leans his ear next to her mouth, hoping to feel her breath. Nothing. He grabs her wrist and takes her pulse. There is none.
“Oh, God, oh, dear God.”
Nash starts crying. He doesn’t try to hold it back. He lets it flow.
But his sadness quickly turns into panic.
He stands up. He starts pacing, his eyes on Alessandra the whole time.
He mumbles to himself. It’s like he’s praying.
He takes out his phone. It looks and sounds like he presses two numbers—but then he stops. He thinks, he thinks, he thinks. He puts his phone back in his pocket.
His panic turns into determination. He looks like a man ready to take care of business.
He walks out of the bedroom.
The motion-activated camera cuts off.
I click the next video file, which I haven’t seen yet. The video starts when Nash comes back in the room, dragging the yellow vinyl shower curtain from our bathroom. He lays the shower curtain flat on the carpet, spreading the whole thing out. He pulls Alessandra’s body onto one end of the curtain.
He looks like he’s going to throw up. He waits. He lets it pass.
Nash rolls the body up inside the curtain, as if he’s wrapping the most gruesome burrito ever. Once he’s done, Alessandra’s rolled-up body is lying parallel to Nash’s bed, her head resting near the spot that was damp, which I noticed earlier.
Nash stands up again and paces, once more keeping his eyes on Alessandra’s lifeless body. He thinks, he thinks, he thinks.
He kneels down next to the body. He stares at it. He just sits there for about fifteen minutes, rocking back and forth, mumbling to himself. Occasionally, I hear him say, “Oh, my God.”
He eventually gets up, picks up the body, and leaves the bedroom with it.
Next video file: Nash comes back in the room and notices a blood stain on the carpet. He walks out.
Next video file: He returns with cleaning supplies: a bucket of water, a spray bottle of cleaning solution, a few scrubbing pads. And for the next twenty minutes or so, he cleans, all while choking back tears and vomit.
Despite his emotional state, he does a surprisingly good job.
He leaves with the cleaning supplies.
