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Heather
THE SUV HAS A SMELL. I can’t quite tell if it is Suzie’s stank ass rotting in the trunk or if it’s just the guilt of killing my best friend and driving her body to a lake to dump her in. It probably doesn’t matter. What’s done, now, is done. I can’t go back, and even if I could, I’m not sure I would. At least this way—with her dead and gone—I don’t have to worry about what that idiot is up to and how she’ll get us caught. With Suzie around, I’d have had a stroke. She’d have wanted to visit Grant at the prison, gotten goo-goo eyed and would have somehow messed it all up. I’m tired of cleaning up her messes. His, too. Frankly, I’ve just had enough.
I reach for a travel-sized bottle of Febreeze in the glove compartment. I can’t help but think about the deadly needles that were in there beside it only hours ago before I shoved the last of them into Suzie’s arm. I tell myself I had no other choice. I’ve known the bitch long enough to know that she wasn’t about to let it go. The idea of me—more than anyone—sleeping with her man would be just too much for her to take. After you’ve seen that chick work a corpse, you smarten up enough to know not to mess with her. She is, after all, the one who first came up with the idea for The Ranch.
God, I’ll miss that place. Sure, it’s true that too many bodies to count bled out on that old barn floor. I won’t deny that it was starting to stink—a little like this car. But there was something about the peacefulness of the place. There, at The Ranch of Moving On, Suzie and I were truly in our element. Fuck, if I’m entirely honest with you, Grant was too. It’s complicated, like most things are.
There, on The Ranch, with Grant locked up in his cage and Suzie running around making herself feel better by helping other pissed off wives to move on, there was something simple about it. At The Ranch, everyone knew where they stood. It was Suzie’s job to call the shots. Or, at least, I made her think so. Meantime, Grant and I had our own little thing going. I can’t say seeing him locked up like that didn’t give me a thrill too. I mean, he is the guy who kept me locked away in my tiny, tidy apartment while he lived the whole other life with Suzie on the side.
It wasn’t easy being the other woman you know. And, in the end, Grant got his justice too—whether Suzie would see it that way or not. There, at The Ranch, he was no longer number one and unable to have his cake and eat it too. No. That was my job. I had my best friend all to myself for the most part. When I wasn’t prying the phone away or trying to talk sense into her, we had our good times too. Something about Suzie is—or was—contagious. Anyway, I can’t think much about it now. I’ve got one last job to do.
With my eyes on the road and my left hand tight to the leather steering wheel, I reach back and spray long mists of Orange Mango into the backseat. I press as hard as I can, shaking the bottle to empty it. Then, I roll the window down so I can breathe. Hopefully, it will be enough to keep the stench away. I’ve only got another hour to go before I reach the lake. Where I go from there, I don’t really know. What I do know is that I need to get as far away from here as possible without being obvious.
Sure, there’s a part of me that thinks I should stay. If I head back to the city and my old apartment, it will look less obvious. But then again, who really pays attention to the ugly fat friend. There was a kid in school who called it a D.U.F.F.—Designated Ugly Fat Friend. Yep. He nailed it. That’s what I was. Still am. Well, would be, if Suzie’s body wasn’t banging around in the trunk.
I drop the empty spray bottle on the floor of the front seat. It rolls gracefully toward the front of the car, only stopping when it bumps into an old coffee cup and empty pack of cigs. Looking at the mess on the floor—left, of course, by sleeping beauty—only pisses me off more. Suzie could never respect my things. Sure. Technically, this was her and Grant’s car. But still, I drove it. She was always making a mess of things and expecting me to clean them up.
The car. What will I do with it? My mind races back into my current predicament faster than Suzie could ever get me to execute a gig. At first, I thought about rolling it into the lake with her in it. I could wait until dark, position her at the wheel, and just drive her in. It’d look like a suicide by a woman married to a man with one too many secrets. It wouldn’t matter if Grant squealed. Who would really be there to listen and believe him? And, by then, I’d be far away from here.
But Suzie had a point. Grant was a lot of things but he wasn’t the narky type. I can’t really see him squawking. Instead, I bet he will be a little relieved when he catches wind of this. Whether he believes she did it to herself or not—no, he will know it was me—he isn’t about to speak up. With Suzie gone, it’s one less stress for him. I mean, that’s what he was always saying. “Someday, babe. I’ll make this right. Just trust me. You know Suzie. She’s not stable. Eventually, she’ll lose her shit and they’ll probably lock her up,” and “It will all work out, babe. You’ve just got to trust me. The kids really need a good mom.” Bullshit. All of it. Both of them.
I press on the gas just enough to make myself feel better but not enough to get pulled over. A run-in with the law is the last thing I need right now. None of this makes sense and I don’t have the time to think things out. I tilt the rearview mirror, so I can glimpse into the backseat without turning around. There lies the black binder, four fat bundles of cash, our laptops and pretty much anything they’d need to send my ass to death row if Grant decides to talk. Not happening.
Determined to come up with a way out, I spend the rest of the drive to Lake Sackendega going over my options. With the radio turned all the way up, I allow The Doors to chase away the fears or doubts. And when I finally arrive, I drive down a long dirt road to the public boating docks where I park the car—unnoticed as usual—and forge a plan to wait it out. There’s nothing I can do for now, not until dark.
I watch families come and go, some with picnic baskets and all with smiles, as I tell my grumbling stomach to shut up. I reach for a coffee cup on the passenger’s side floor and contemplate pissing in it. Tired of the weight and sure that I’ll somehow miss and make more of a mess than I’m already in, I finally leave the car. I walk into the woods at the far end of the parking lot—never taking my eyes off the vehicle that serves as Suzie’s temporary coffin. She always loved to swim. She’ll be relieved when she’s finally out of that trunk, I think. Then, on thinking it, I remind myself to take my meds.
First things first. I squat behind the fattest tree, watching two teenaged boys three football fields away toss a volley ball in the air—batting it with both hands and chasing each other. They scream profanities that would make a trucker blush, and no one around even bothers to look up. Only feet away a family plays in the water. I can’t stop staring at the little girl in the pink bikini with the ruffles on the ass. She reminds me of Ceilia—Suzie’s stepdaughter.
Pissing as fast as I can so as not to be seen and to get back to the SUV, I wonder if I’ll truly be able to live with never seeing her kids again. Maybe it’s karma. I mean, it’s not like she’ll see them either. I tell myself that Grant said I’d make a better mother. Of course, he never did seem to remember that I was one and that my own grown kids were disgusted by me and my relationship with him.
Fuck. That’s going to be a problem. If the law come looking for me and get to the kids, well, they know everything. Amelia will call me a homewrecker like she did the last time I saw her—the time she came home to do laundry and caught Grant in the shower. Great. Another thing to worry about. Maybe it’s time to go back to Option C. Maybe I need to visit Grant and find a way to come up with another plan. I mean, the man’s gonna thank me. He’s not going to be too upset that I finally got rid of precious Suzie. Is he?
***
FINALLY, THE DARKNESS comes. Suzie always said it had a smell. Tonight, it smells like bullshit. It’s bullshit that I’m even in this predicament. I throw the car into drive and head to the other side of the lake. The last thing I need is the lifeguards at the public beach seeing me dump this bitch in the water.
Suzie
She did it. This insane lady—my “best friend” tried to kill me. She tried to kill me after she got caught in her lies and I find out she had an affair with my husband. Heather of all people should know that is a monumental bad idea. I don’t share, or play well with others. I thought she understood that when I fed the last girl he cheated with to the rats. If that wasn’t a sign that said “don’t fuck with me” then she’s dumber than I thought.
Attempting to roll to my side proves to be harder than I thought it would be, but with this damn thing on my head I can’t see. I want nothing more than to go back to sleep, but the rage of knowing what she is doing—plans to do to me, is enough to keep me trying to focus. Damn these drugs are good. No wonder we had such a high success rate with them.
Feeling something on my neck almost sends me into a panic. My heart speeds up while my anxiety and drug riddled mind starts envisioning all the possible things that could be crawling across my throat right now. As I move my hands slowly to my neck, I feel the bindings start to come lose. Enough that I can slip my wrist out of one. Idiot thinks I can’t do anything right...she couldn’t even tie me up. Still terrified of what’s on my neck, I slowly touch it and a shiver runs through my core. Oh, thank God. It’s a string.
It’s a string, to the sack, that she has my head covered up in. Holy shit, Heather! You must have thought you killed me, because you left a lot of loose ends here. Literally.
Removing one dark cloak over my eyes, simply produced another and it takes even longer for my eyes to adjust to the difference. Once they do, it doesn’t take long to understand my situation. This bitch has me in her trunk.
The last twenty-four hours come back to me, while I am trying to figure out how to get my mouth to produce more saliva. I don’t think I truly understood the term “cotton mouth” until right now. With the drugs slowly wearing off, I am hit with the realization that everything I thought I knew about my best friend is fucked. Right along with everything I thought I knew about Grant. I can get over him. I don’t need him. But, it’s been Heather and Suzie since high school. Why would she think this is okay?
I think what confuses me the most, is why people are all over him. Sure, when we met he was handsome, hot even. Great smile, bright green eyes, and built like a brick house. But after the kids, and “happy weight” the man is huge. He’s not tiny by any means, and for some reason the weight made his nose stick out even more. He has a Mediterranean nose, for sure.
This trunk is so freaking hot. I am swiping sweat from my eyes every five seconds. Bouncing up and down while this idiot drives has given me a couple of bruised ribs, I am sure of it. Covered in an amount of sweat that I haven’t felt since high school basketball games, I kick the trunk lid as hard as I can. I know she hears it because she slows a little bit. I debate on kicking harder to really get her attention. I watched this movie once with Grant where a girl gets kidnapped and somehow manages to remove the taillight and stick her hand out enough to wave for help. Obviously, someone waving from a trunk would trigger some red flags—but getting her pulled over will do me no good either. I have a better idea. I am going to play this out. Stay in the trunk, if I don’t die from this heat, let her think she is getting rid of me. What does she think she’s going to accomplish here? Get rid of the wife and Grant and Heather can ride off into the sunset? He’s in prison,
My best friend has become my favorite type of kill. Justice kill. She is the “other woman” and if I can pull this off...she will get the same justice that I have enjoyed serving to people just like her. This one, will even be for free.
***
2007
“HEATHER! I MET SOMEONE, and I want you to meet him.” I tell my best friend. Heather has always been more like a sister to me, than a friend. The only thing I have been able to think about since I started messaging this guy on a dating app was telling her all about him. The look she gives me when the words left my mouth tell me she is less than thrilled at the news. I may be crazy, but she always acts this way as soon as she thinks she will no longer have me to herself. She just stands there in her off-the-shoulder sweatshirt and ripped up jeans she spent a fortune on. We barely have the money to pay our water bill, but whatever.
She stares at me, looking at me like she’s trying to be interested, but her eyes tell a whole other story.
“What? When the hell did you have time to meet someone?”
“Well, we haven’t actually met yet. But, we’ve been talking.”
“Please tell me you did not sign up for a dating website.”
“Maybe...”
“Suzie—why in the world would you be online? Go somewhere. Get out of this apartment and you’ll be bombarded with guys that want to date you. And you chose to talk to chumps that are probably twenty-five years older, a foot shorter, and one hundred pounds heavier than they say.”
“It’s not like that anymore, I swear. There a bunch of pictures and with cellphones now you can video chat. And we have. So, I know it’s him. Stop worrying so much. I told you because I am going to meet him tonight. I wanted to tell you where I was going to be that way, if I don’t come home you know where I am, and who I am with.”
“I’ll know who he says he is. How do you know he even gave you his real name?”
“Oh my god. You’re ruining my excitement. Shut up for a minute.”
“Fine,” she sighs in defeat.
“His name is Grant Matthews. I pulled him up on social media, and public records. He’s legit. We are going to The Bull Saloon for a drink. If we go anywhere else I’ll text you the address. Unless you want to come along and be my spy? Then if he is hideous, I can act like I ran into you, and make you join us to be the third wheel.”
“Nope. No thank you. I am not going to save you on your date. You’ll text me the 911 just like every other person in America.”
“He has friends...single ones!”
“Suzie, I said no.”
