Page 3 of Best Served Cold
Lee Holmes stared directly into Morgan’s eyes, her mouth a thin line of agitation. “Oh, I’m deadly serious, Morgan. We're standing here because of a situation thatyoucreated. Use the lavender bubble bath, it’s got the strongest scent.”
Before Morgan could argue, Lee took one step backwards, turned around in order to face the hallway, and prepared for the second, and likely worst phase of their disposal—the dismemberment.
When the act had been fulfilled to completion, Lee Holmes found herself kneeling in front of the toilet, emptying her stomach of the lunch that she’d indulged in hours prior, somewhat grateful that the pair of them hadn’t had the opportunity of partaking in their anniversary dinner, lest she give her body more ammunition to work with.
She felt Morgan stroking her hair ever so gently behind her, and the irony wasn’t lost on her that the same hand had been murdering and dismembering a body only half an hour prior.
Truth be told, this wasn’t exactly what Lee had previously had in mind for their five-year anniversary together, and yet, dare she say it, despite her current situation, between the putrid smell of blood occupying their apartment, and the previous sounds of a struggle that had occupied her living room, she felt oddly proud that the police hadn’t stormed the apartment just yet. Shewasexpecting it any moment now, and whilst she wouldnever admit it aloud to Morgan, the longer the front door went unchallenged, the greater her pride swelled.
When the last of the vomit had made its exit, Morgan gave a final supportive squeeze of Lee’s shoulder before making her own exit out of the bathroom. “I’m just going to grab us a fresh pair of clothes and clean myself up,” she said, as she took her leave. Lee started to offer an affirmative nod in the process, halting midway as she gripped the edge of the toilet, her head spinning.
As she lay there for what felt like hours, whilst acknowledging in reality that it had only been minutes, she took gentle, yet frequent breaths in and out, before making an attempt to stand. Upon doing so, the room spun, and her vision blurred, and she internally cursed her body for giving up when her brain was still in overdrive.
Turning on the tap above the sink, she splashed some water over her face and looked at the reflection staring back at her in the mirror. The first thing she noticed was that she hadn’t grown horns, which was a good start. The second thing she noticed was that she lookedentirelythe same. Her nose still had the same sharp point to it that she had always hated. Her face was still a little too round for her liking. Her eyes were still the same shade of amber. Despite her actions, the things she had seen, haddone, her face was still hers. If she could look at herself now, and see nothing of this night painted on her face, perhaps others would see nothing, either.
Whilst the thought comforted her, it also reminded Lee that if her own features remained unchanged, then surely others who had committed similar acts themselves would also look completely unchanged. The face she knew better than her own, namely, Morgan’s, had perhaps aged slightly in the time that they had known one another, but it had never truly appeared anydifferent to the face she had fallen in love with five years prior.How many secrets could one face hide?
With the sink still on, she placed her toothbrush underneath it and began brushing her teeth, savoring the taste of mint as it washed away the remains of her reaction to her previous activities. Morgan Finch entered the room at the precise moment that she spat into the sink, holding a fresh pair of clothes for the both of them, as promised. “Are you feeling any better?” she asked, placing a black T-shirt on the towel radiator, alongside a fresh pair of pajama pants.
“A little,” Lee offered back, taking in a sip of water from the tap afterwards. Upon facing Morgan, now, she glared at the clothes that had been left out for her, primarily the pajama pants, and adopted a questioning look in her direction, one eyebrow raised in confusion. “Are these for later?”
Morgan shook her head, albeit, with less dizziness, Lee would presume. “No, they’re for now. I think it might be best if you just get some rest. I’ll take it from here. You’re clearly struggling with this, which isn’t a weakness, by the way. I would expect nothing less.”
Lee Holmes pondered the idea of going to bed at that very moment. She pondered it for all of thirty seconds before she walked the few steps required to cross the space in their tiny bathroom and retrieved the black T-shirt, and the black T-shirt alone. “I’m coming with you, Morgan. We’re in this together, now, whether you like it or not.”
Lee Holmes was unsure as to why such determination was coursing through her, challenging Morgan at every opportunity. It was hardly the same as insisting that she help Morgan do the dishes, and yet, regardless, she mastered the conviction of someone who was ready to scrub.
“Suit yourself. It’s your funeral. Except, not really, because it’s literally someone else’s funeral,” Morgan laughed, shaking herhead in the process, smiling to herself afterwards as if pleased by her own remark.
Lee did not share the same look of humor in response, her mouth a thin line of agitation as she crossed her arms in defiance. “I’ve never felt more persuaded to call the police as I do right now.”
Chapter Three
It was 11:57pm when Morgan’s car rolled to a stop outside of Rosehill Cemetery. The air in the vehicle was cold, opting to avoid heating of any kind that might interfere with the decomposition of the partial body that was now presently sitting in their trunk in multiple cardboard boxes crudely labelled ‘Charity’ in thick black Sharpie.
Lee Holmes thought it likely that if a version of hell did exist, the pair of them would now be setting up residence there upon their deaths, regardless as to their method of disposal, and so, when Morgan had asked her how they were going to move a body out of their busy New York apartment close to midnight without raising any questions, Lee had simply responded with “people who donate to charity don’t often seem like the murderous type, so I suppose it’s time to become charitable,” and here they were, Morgan behind the wheel, and Lee in the passenger seat, the scent of blood still firmly attached to their nostrils as they drove out of the city and into the countryside towards the next stage of their plan.
The plan in question was simple, or as simple as it could be if either of them wanted to avoid prison. The now likely unidentifiable body would be transferred from the charity boxes and placed within the coffin of a freshly dug grave. The body would be sprayed with a concoction that Lee had crafted earlier at home consisting of vinegar, tea-tree, lemon and eucalyptus oil. Upon completion, the boxes labelled ‘Charity’ would be burned and replaced with new boxes that were currently sitting in the backseat that smelt less of blood and other bodily fluids. The new boxes were to be filled with various items from their apartment and placed outside of their local thrift store.
Lee Holmes deduced back at the apartment that this was a good idea for two reasons. “Firstly, should the police question our alibi, it would seem a little strange leaving the apartment at almost midnight with charity boxes without any actual evidence that we donated to charity; and secondly, we could both use the good karma.”
Upon asking Morgan Finch back at the apartment what they would be doing with the rest of the body, namely, the identifiable parts of him such as his tattoo’s and head, Morgan had simply held up her hands and said “don’t worry about those. I’ve got it covered.”
Lee Holmes didn’t exactly feel comforted by the remark, nor did it stop her from worrying just because Morgan had told her not to. If anything, the comment only made her worry further, allowing her mind to travel back to the apartment when Morgan had referred to her victim as “this one.” Perhaps Morgan was less phased by the rest of the plan because it was a plan she had carried out multiple times in the past with multiple other victims. Perhaps what had already been the craziest night of Lee’s life was just a regular Friday to Morgan. Regardless, now that they were at the cemetery, they had a job to do, and asa result, Lee put the thoughts of worry aside, not completely disregarding the anxiety, but rather, shelving it for a later date.
After arguing as to whether they would donate the traditional teapot that Lee had purchased approximately three years ago and used twice, they unclasped their seatbelts and shuffled out of the car. “All I’m saying is that I should be entitled to keep the teapot given what I’m doing for you right now.”
Morgan Finch was already around the back of the vehicle before Lee had even finished speaking, popping open the trunk to reveal the same boxes they had expertly carried down the elevator and out of their apartment approximately half an hour prior. To the right-hand side of the boxes sat two pairs of black leather gloves. She retrieved both, holding out one pair to Lee as her girlfriend made her way over towards her, before donning the other pair herself. “We can worry about your goddamn teapot later. Let’s just focus on not being arrested for now.”
Lee Holmes had never understood how a smell could ‘hit’ you until that very evening, both in their apartment, and now, at the cemetery. Upon stepping beside the trunk of the vehicle, the smell of blood just about knocked her senseless. If there was any silver lining in this scenario, it was that he also smelt of lavender.
She offered a simple nod in her girlfriend’s direction before retrieving one of the boxes that was beginning to leak into the carpeted trunk. The pair had ensured that the body be wrapped in multiple trash bags to avoid this very situation, and yet, it appeared that multiple was not enough. “We’ll sort out the mess later, right about the same time we circle back to my teapot,” she added. Morgan had barely registered her words it seemed, leaning over the trunk to assess the damage from the leakage. “Let’s just grab the shovel from the backseat and throw it over the fence. We can throw these bags over after, and then climb over it ourselves.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea” Morgan stated, grabbing a second box from the trunk with less leakage. “One of us jumps over the fence first. The other throws the shovel and the trash bags over after. If someone interrupts us it might be difficult to explain why random body parts alongside a shovel and a spray bottle filled with oils have been thrown over into the cemetery. Speaking of trash bags, we’ll need the extra ones in the backseat as well. We’ll wrap these bags again so they’re not leaking everywhere when we throw them over. I don’t particularly enjoy being showered with bodily fluids, unless of course they’re yours,” Morgan winked, making a clicking sound with her mouth at the same time.
Positioning the box back where it was in the trunk temporarily, Lee Holmes huffed, ignoring Morgan’s lewd comments as she made her way over to the backseat, returning with the concoction in a spray bottle she had made earlier for masking smells, a green-handled shovel and a collection of bags. She threw the latter alongside the spray bottle towards the fence in preparation, leaning the shovel against the trunk of the car. Replicating her previous movements, she retrieved the leaking cardboard box for a second time, huffing as she carried it knees-bent to the fence where the trash bags lay against the grass. “Who wants to go first?” she asked, placing the box down with a grunt.
Morgan followed shortly after, carrying her own box as similar sounds of exertion filled the newly formed silence. “I’ll go,” she offered rather breathlessly, placing the box down beside Lee’s own. “I realize that I’m probably giving you the harder job of trying to get the bags over the fence, but if there’s a gravedigger in the cemetery that we’ve not accounted for and one of us gets caught, realistically, it should be me.”
