Page 21 of Best Served Cold
An equally morbid sense of déjà vu creeped in as Morgan peeled back the casket, immediately placing her head into the crook of her elbow in a futile attempt at masking the smell.
“Seems like my concoction didn’t do much in ways of the stench, I see,” Lee observed, pinching her nose as she spoke, making her sound as if she had a cold.
Morgan Finch laughed into her elbow—a forced laugh as she attempted to offer a lightness to an otherwise incredibly dark situation. “Baby, I don’t think all the concoctions in the world could hide this smell. With that being said, I do commend your effort, and if I had a gold star, I would give you one.”
There was a sense of irony in the word ‘effort’, Lee thought, upon her failed attempt. There were many things in this world that one could do subpar, or even half-heartedly, but bodydisposal was not one of them. It was either done perfectly, and with precision, or it would come apart at the seams completely and result in the both of them being imprisoned. Her podcasts had never made it seem easy by any means, and yet a part of her cursed herself, being the perfectionist that she was, that she hadn’t managed to do the job correctly. The other half supposed that it was a good thing, and that her talents were more suited towards other activities that didn’t hold their freedom in the balance.
As she exhaled into her hand, she reminded herself that both fortunately, and unfortunately for her, Morgan had done this multiple times, and despite such a fact, she was still standing here to tell the tale, with an elbow to her face, making jokes, as opposed to rotting in a jail cell. “I’ll hold off on patting myself on the back at my attempt for now until we’re standing in a pool in a warm country when we’re old and gray.”
Morgan Finch removed her face from her elbow, revealing a glistening grin underneath. With her arms freed, she began taking off her backpack, unzipping it before it had even fallen off her shoulders. There, in a Ziplock bag, was Arthur Strickland’s driver’s license, now sitting in Morgan’s gloved hand. “If this all works out, drinks in said swimming pool will be on me,” Morgan said, unzipping the bag, wielding the driver’s license as she handed the open Ziplock bag to Lee. “Now, time to pretend this license is an ice cream scoop and get some extra servings.”
“I fucking hate you sometimes,” Lee muffled, jokingly, her hand still over her mouth and nose whilst the other held the Ziplock bag. “In all seriousness, I don’t know why you haven’t just been doing something along these lines this entire time. You don’t need to kill people to get justice. You could just use the power of DNA to give people their just desserts, no pun intended. Or, better yet, you could be a detective, like your mom, considering how good you are at solving crimes.”
When a silence filled the air alongside the stench, Lee Holmes didn’t need three guesses to understand why Morgan was yet to speak. Lee’s own denial, in theory, was only palpable when it was inside her own mind. Out in the open, her denial seemed like more of a spectacle—a joke to appease a crowd. Lee knew entirely why Morgan Finch used her own methods of justice—because she liked it.
And the most terrifying part of all of it, was that a part of Lee, however small, liked it too.
The scent of death lingered on their clothing, which Lee could only describe as an unpleasant mix of rotten eggs, and old cabbage that had been left out in the sun for far too long. It also strangely reminded Lee of stale teabags, and she made a mental note to herself to replace the ones currently sitting in a jar in their kitchen. Arthur Strickland’s home was the last stop on the agenda before the pair of them could discard their outfits entirely and jump underneath a warm, enticing shower.
The prospect of doing so felt exciting, whilst at the same time, Lee Holmes couldn’t deny the anticipation that coursed through her body at the idea of breaking and entering. She decided at that moment that dating Morgan Finch wasn’t like riding a rollercoaster—dating Morgan Finch was like jumping off of one in mid-air without a parachute.
Morgan Finch was presently crouched down upon the top concrete step in front of Arthur Strickland’s abode, a piece of metal wiring in one hand, and an equally matching piece in the other. Lee Holmes laughed to herself without even meaning to, finding humor in the fact that she had discovered a new way of being attracted to her partner, sporting a black baseball cap withblack gloves to complement the burglar-chique outfit. “I’m glad you find my lockpicking skills so hilarious,” Morgan grinned, her eyes still planted firmly on the lock in question.
“I’m not laughing at your lack of skills, babe, I’m laughing at…never mind,” Lee said, deciding it was better to leave the thoughts inside her head as to Morgan’s attractiveness where they belonged. “Do you need me to take a look? Perhaps I could—”
A gentleclickfollowed by a slight creak as the door opened halted any attempt at help from Lee. “You were saying?” Morgan jested, placing the two metallic wires into the back pocket of her black jeans. Another laugh escaped Lee’s mouth at the thought of having to remind Morgan later to take the wires out of her jeans so that they didn’t break the washing machine. She wondered at present time if other people thought similarly to her whilst committing felonies.
When her girlfriend stepped over the threshold, the laughter had dissipated, and the reality of the situation made itself known within the deep confines of Lee’s mind. Her girlfriend turned to face her, as if sensing her hesitation, and held out a gloved hand to meet her own. “You don’t have to come in with me, you know. I can place this driver’s license down where it can be easily found and we can leave in less than two minutes.”
As kind as the offer was, or as kind as it could be given the fact that Morgan had led her to this mess in the first place, Lee Holmes didn’t want to leave. Stepping into Arthur Strickland’s house was like stepping into one of her podcasts, something she had never experienced before from being on the sidelines. Always in the audience, never on the stage. “Thanks, but I’d like to go in. Besides, if we’re arrested for tampering with a body, I might as well add breaking and entering to my record.”
Morgan’s face revealed the predatory gaze she always kept hidden underneath as her white teeth added a vague sense ofbrightness to an otherwise darkened atmosphere. “Here I was thinking that I couldn’t possibly be more attracted to you, and then you make what we’re doing seem like nothing more than a traffic violation. Could you try to be less sexy whilst we’re committing felonies, please? It makes it hard for me to focus, otherwise.”
“I can try,” Lee said, huffing as if frustrated by her own beauty. “But it won’t be easy.”
After removing their shoes so as not to leave any impressions within the carpet, the pair made their way to the living room in their socks, treading with caution as not to disturb any discarded papers that lined the floor. The house was in what some might call a state of disarray, with empty food containers perched on every surface one could comfortably perch a food container on. Coffee-stained mugs littered the television stand, with dirty glasses to match on top of music speakers to the left of the television set. The walls were a smoker yellow, and it reminded Lee to never let Morgan indulge in cigarettes within their apartment. “Given the state of this house, we might need to be a little tactical as to where we place his driver’s license,” Lee deduced aloud, retrieving the Ziplock bag from her left pocket that housed the item in question.
“Agreed,” Morgan nodded, inclining her head towards the staircase. “Bedroom maybe?” she offered in suggestion, looking over at her girlfriend for confirmation.
Lee Holmes wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the situation. Her partner, a natural born killer, was seeking direction from her, an avid podcast listener. She supposed it was complementary, and yet at the same time, Lee couldn’t help but feel the pressure weigh upon her shoulders at the prospect of making just the slightest mistake. “I suppose there’s no harm in checking,” she offered, in a practical and non-committal way, shrugging her shoulders for emphasis.
They made their way up the stairs without a word, turning 180 degrees at the top in order to face the upper hallway. The bedroom's location was made clear before they had even taken a further step. At the end of the hall was a stained futon placed upon the floor behind a partially open door. Lee made the first step towards their destination, surprising herself as she pulled back the door to the bedroom and stepped inside.
The room had a foul odor, much like the room downstairs, only stronger. With the Ziplock bag still clutched between her fingers, she opened its contents and retrieved the driver’s license, wielding it with her gloved hand.
A rustic bedside table sat beside the futon, and it called out to Lee Holmes like a siren. Before her hesitation could get the better of her, she placed the driver’s license on top of it, turning it slightly diagonally across the surface with her gloved hand, as if it had been placed there with disregard in order to match the rest of the haphazardly placed items within the house.
“Perfect,” Morgan commented, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. "Although," she said, kicking the door frame with her boot as she pushed herself off it, positioning herself further into the room. "I thought we both agreed only minutes prior that you would at the very leasttryto be less sexy, but I have to say I’m rather attracted to you right now as you diligently ensure that you don’t contaminate the evidence that we already contaminated.”
Lee Holmes wasn’t exactly sure what spurred her on, it certainly wasn’t the ambiance, nor the lingering smell that haunted the room, but before she could second guess herself, she made her way over towards Morgan and placed a gentle kiss upon her lips. “How about now? Do you feel…contaminated?”
Her girlfriend’s eyes darkened in an already dimly lit room, illuminated only by the streetlights shining gently through the dirty windows. A silence lingered between them, which was thefarthest thing from uncomfortable. If anything, it was enticing, only deepening breaths separating them both. “Not even close,” Morgan replied, before wrapping her arms around Lee, bringing their bodies and mouths together in a haphazard collision of anticipation, as if the pressure had been building the second that Lee had chosen to help her.
Despite inviting Morgan’s advances, Lee knew that this was beyond a terrible idea, and yet terrible ideas were sometimes the most tempting. Lee Holmes would self-destruct just for the fun of it.
Wrapping her own arms around Morgan’s neck, she deepened the kiss, pressing her chest up against Morgan’s own as her girlfriend snaked a leg between her thighs, applying the perfect amount of pressure. Moaning at the contact, Lee craned her head back for a fraction of a second before their lips met once again.
They both knew at that moment that they could only indulge for so long, and yet it was the fleeting opportunity that struck a chord in them both, urging them forward. Lee broke the kiss once more, leaning forwards towards Morgan’s neck as she bit down hard enough to leave a mark, desiring for this moment to be etched into her body like a temporary tattoo. Morgan Finch winced in pain, laughing ever so slightly afterwards as if it was practically a whispered secret, as she lapped up the bottom of Lee’s lips with her teeth and pulled.
