The Perfect Explanation | Rebecca Hadland

 


The Perfect Explanation

Rebecca Hadland

The Iron Clad Alias Award


Blood dripped from the curling tongs I’d just bludgeoned Bianca to death with. I didn’t feel anything akin to remorse or guilt. In fact I felt vindicated.

I could feel my scalp tighten under the hair mask I’d put on minutes before. Bianca’s conditioner was half dissolved from the blood pooling around her head, a grim halo of death.

I looked down at my curling iron, horribly misshapen from the contact with Bianca’s head.

“All those times you didn’t help with the chores because you had low iron,” I mused aloud, “now we’re both iron deficient.”

It was a pity really, the curling iron was expensive.

I glanced at the blood cast up onto the ceiling. What exactly was I going to do about  that? I’d seen enough crime shows to know there was no cleaning it up, a quick jiffy of luminol would light up the house like a Christmas tree. Not to mention the dead body. There was no way I had the core strength to drag Bianca’s cheeseburger heavy thighs anywhere, even if she had recently taken up hot yoga.

What else did I need to worry about… other than who would pay half the rent now?

I shouldn’t have even been here tonight. I had planned to stay at Sam’s, but when he’d passed out early after too many beers I’d come home instead. Still, I had a key to his apartment. I could sneak back in and say I’d been there all night. Boom. Alibi.

Fingerprints? Well, I lived here, so I didn’t need to worry about that. Except for those on the murder weapon. No point disposing of it though, someone might find it later. Better to destroy it.  Better to destroy everything. Looking down at my pyjamas I could see they had to go too. I added them to the pile of things which needed to stop existing, the biggest of which was Bianca.

I stood shivering in my underwear as I washed my hands and face in the bathroom sink. My body was reacting to the cold, but I felt mostly numb inside. I picked up the nail polish remover from the bathroom counter and returned to the problem at hand. Accelerant meet fire. Problem solved.

***

As the police cruiser pulls me over a block from my burning home I reflect on the clothes I’ve failed to secure in my haste. Semi-naked night joggers aren’t exactly the social norm. This probably looks suspicious. Still, they have nothing on me. All I need now is the perfect explanation.