Page 2 of Best Served Cold
Lee Holmes surmised that she could be furious later, because at present time, the dead body in her apartment seemed like the most pressing issue. Perhaps equally tied with the fact that the garlic bread in the oven was now likely four steps past crispy and one step away from burning their apartment down. “Let me go and turn the oven off. Afterwards, we can figure out what we do with…this,” she said, vaguely, gesturing towards the body.
She placed the shard of glass down upon the arm of the couch beside her and wiped the tears from her eyes, allowing no time to dwell on the situation that had unfolded before her. Dwelling meant leaving the blood to soak further into the floorboards.
As she padded out of the living room and towards the kitchen in order to turn the oven off, her mind pondered over that thought. Perhaps leaving the blood to pool into the floorboards and seep into the downstairs neighbours ceiling was for the best. Perhaps having her girlfriend arrested was the only logical conclusion to this night and thinking anything otherwise was nothing short of insanity.
Fire crisis averted, Lee turned out the kitchen light as she left; a trivial act for a less than trivial situation, and, whilst walking to the bedroom, realized the gravity of what had just unfolded, the shock finally setting in. She had seen bodies in movies, television shows, heard all the gory details in her murder podcasts, and yet, not a single one of them could prepare her for the true weight of it all—the scent of copper from the blood, the way his eyes rolled back in his head with nothing behind them, as if the lightinside him had been extinguished like the illumination from the kitchen.
Now in her bedroom, where a dress once sat upon the bed, there sat her phone in its place, instead. Her hand extended to wrap her fingers around it, whilst her thumb hovered over the number nine digit. Three numbers, that was all she needed to type. Three. Little. Numbers.
A notification pulled her out of her train of thought, the familiar ding making her body jump, as if even the slightest noise was enough to spook her now. It was her Spotify, alerting her to the latest installment in her favorite murder podcastBest Served Cold.
The newly uploaded episode, aptly titled “At Your Disposal” felt almost hauntingly appropriate. Lee didn’t believe in fate, and she wasn’t going to start now. After all, fate would have to be the murderous type in order to sway her decision in a way that suddenly meant she was truly considering helping her girlfriend dispose of a body.
Whilst she could try to tell herself that her mind was not going there, she couldn’t deny that her thumb was no longer hovering over the number nine digit. Hell, she was even tempted to call Natalie instead and ask if she reallywasavailable.
Feeling defeated, she sighed, relishing the feeling of ten minutes ago when her only problems involved the unattractive towel around her head, and getting her hair dry, as she swiped down on her phone and openedBest Served Cold.
Lee Holmes had asked for a storm, and she had, instead, been met with a tornado. She cracked her neck, rolled back her shoulders, and prepared herself for what would likely be the most strenuous, taxing night of her life, which, in turn, was likely to be followed by prison. “At least I look good in a jumpsuit,” she stated aloud into the empty space, shrugging to herself, as sheextinguished the light in the bedroom and pressed play on her podcast.
Chapter Two
It took Lee Holmes approximately four minutes of intense listening to come to the conclusion that her podcast episode “At Your Disposal”was not in fact a how-to guide for disposing of bodies. The voice carried through her phone's speaker as she exhaled almost viciously in the hallway, standing just outside the door to the living room.
As the podcast continued to play, so too did the sounds from behind the threshold that she was so hesitant to cross. “You’ve already seen the body,” she said aloud, attempting to reason with her mind in order to push herself one step closer to entering the room. Placing a hand against the door for support, she composed herself through means of steady breathing exercises. “Just pretend that it’s one of your documentaries,” she continued aloud, inhaling for four seconds before exhaling for a further six.
She paused her podcast as if she was pausing her thoughts along with it, and counted down from five in her head, opening the door at the same time that the number one floated to the surface of her mind. The scent of copper hit her nostrils beforeshe could process the horrific visual scene splayed out before her.
She had known dead bodies to smell—her podcasts had made that abundantly clear—but what she hadn’t expected was just how undeniable the smell of blood could be from such an arguably small wound prior to any form of decay actually taking place.
The living room wasn’t too dissimilar to how she had left it previously, only, the body of the man whom of which was now deceased had been dragged closer to the hallway, and more importantly, closer towards her.
“I’m trying to get him to the bathroom,” Morgan chimed in, heaving with effort as she wiped sweat from her brow, thus adding more blood in its place. Her voice seemed distant, as if underwater, despite being only a few feet away, and Lee deduced rather rapidly that her own body was potentially still in shock.
Documentary, documentary, documentary,she reminded herself internally, glancing over at her girlfriend for the first time since she had stared into two predatory pupils prior and made the rapid assumption that after witnessing a murder, she would be next.
Luckily for her, the predatory gaze had dulled, and whilst it was not enough to put Lee completely at ease in relation to her own wellbeing, it was enough to spur her forward in her faux documentary charade, donning an entirely new persona in the process. “I presume that we’ll be putting him in the bath?” she said, her tone sounding less like a strategy and more like a hesitant question. Lee Holmes sighed and mustered up all of the conviction that she could. “If so, we’ll likely need a saw of some kind. Perhaps that electronic knife that your mom got us for Christmas that we never use. The one we left to rust in the cupboard under the sink in the kitchen.”
Morgan Finch stood in place now, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, her head cocked slightly to the right like an intently listening puppy. Lee Holmes thought it would be rather endearing, had she not been covered in sweat and blood, whilst simultaneously standing beside a body. With her eyes no longer predatory, they had a certain sadness in them that Lee couldn’t quite place. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can get out of that dress, which you look beautiful in by the way, and sit down in the bedroom, or even the kitchen, until this is all over.”
Realistically speaking, Lee Holmes knew that she could do exactly that. Better yet, she could phone Natalie and provide herself with a substantial alibi. As a matter of fact, she had yet to do anything particularly incriminating besides verbally implying that the victim needed to be chopped into pieces, and she couldn’t imagine receiving jail time for that.
Essentially, she could wash her hands of the entire thing, figuratively speaking, or, she could help Morgan dispose of the body just as she had planned, and wash her hands very literally afterwards.
Lee Holmes took a deep breath and chose the latter. “I know,” she offered, perhaps softer than Morgan deserved given the circumstances. “We can talk about this afterwards. We’re wasting time. Let’s get him into the tub first so that he stops bleeding onto the floorboards and we’ll get the electric knife afterwards. There’s a tattoo on his right arm, so we’ll need to remove that, perhaps burn it, along with any other discernible features that could identify him. We can leave his legs and torso as they are so long as there aren’t any other tattoos. Do you still have the latest newspaper?”
Morgan Finch, avid newspaper reader, looked completely and utterly perplexed, biting the bottom of her lip whilst she scratched her head simultaneously. “I do. Why do you ask?”
Lee sighed in relief, grateful that Morgan’s hobbies were not too dissimilar to that of a sixty-year-old man, only now realizing, however, that she likely only read the newspaper in order to keep up with current news affairs, including her own, without leaving any electronic trace. “We’ll need to take a look at the obituaries to see if there are any recent funerals that we can use to our advantage," she said, acknowledging internally that this was likely the first time that anyone had uttered such words on their anniversary, or perhaps, any time at all. "Rosehill Cemetery would be our safest bet as it’s closest to our apartment. We can use a freshly dug grave to place the unidentifiable remains underneath it.”
“Perfect.” Morgan nodded, her confusion suddenly replaced with determination as she stepped over the deceased's body, wrapping two hands around his shoulders, wasting no time in getting the plan into motion. “Grab his legs.”
This is it, no going back now, Lee thought. Doing as instructed, she grabbed the man's legs as the weight of his body prompted her arms to shake. Wasting no time herself, she pivoted him vertically and stepped back towards the door frame, out into the hallway. Turning him again, this time horizontally, the pair huffed through each step towards the bathroom before placing him vertically a final time through the next doorway. They both grunted with exertion as they lifted the body into the bathtub. “Right,” Lee said, breathlessly. “We need the electric knife, a lighter, the latest newspaper, cleaning products, and some trash bags. I’ll get them.”
Morgan placed both hands on her sides, exhausted, staring down towards the tiled floor, her breathing ragged, as she regained her composure. “Do you want some help?” she offered, looking over at Lee now.
“No,” Lee responded immediately. “I could smell the blood from the bedroom, and we haven’t even started…” she paused.“Dismantlinghim yet. Someone is going to smell it on the way to their own apartment if we’re not careful. You’re going to give him a bath.”
Her girlfriend shook her head in disbelief, expelling a tired laugh in the process. “You can’t be fucking serious.”
