She had reeled to one side and he crashed down, head first, hitting one of the stairs with another sickening thump. The sheet followed his ankle, drifting down the stairwell with delicate grace. As in the Plan. She stood, shaking, listening. The silence was total. She took a deep breath and turned to get on with the next part of the Plan when she heard it.
A snore.
No, no, no, no….
Her knees refused to keep her upright. She folded, face down onto the landing, her fingernails scrabbling on the wooden floor, her heart thunderous in her ears. Breathe. In and out. Just as planned. It’s okay. Okay. You thought of this. It’s become necessary, that next part of the Plan. That’s all. She waited for her heart to settle, there on the landing, and only when it did could she cautiously lift her head. Except for those snores from the bottom of the stairs, silence. Gloom. She glanced down. It looked just as she’d imagined it. Once more the numbness covered her like a caul.
She mustn’t disturb the natural looking accident scene. Mustn’t. She swung one leg over the balustrade, followed by the other. She dared not look at the floor so far below. Clutching tightly, her bare toes finding purchase on the little ledge protruding out from the treads, she slowly made her way down the outside of the stairs to where she had left the cricket bat. Pete was lying against the newel post, his head on one side. Awkward. She hefted the bat up to her shoulder, closing her eyes once more for just a second of calm determination. The Plan. This is necessary for the Plan. Don’t think. Do.
DO.
She raised the bat over her head and, flat side facing, WHACK! Brought it down as hard as she could onto his temple, the bat cracking against the newel post as well as his head. The sound echoed around the hallway.
She could see blood welling up where she hit him. Instinctively, she turned his head so the damaged area was facing away. She shoved the cricket bat underneath and used a bit of the bedding to smudge any fingerprints on the handle.
There.
Done. Exactly as in the Plan.
Poor man must have tripped on the bat at the top of the stairs, sending it tumbling downstairs. Then fallen after it, fatally injuring himself. How sad.
That was her last coherent thought before collapsing onto the hallway carpet, her bones soft. She tried to get up. Couldn’t make her legs work. Up. She had to get up. One foot in position. The other. Heave.
Quiet.
No snoring.
Breathing? Only the sound of her own, harsh in the darkness. Heart beat? With trembling fingers she reached for his neck. Warm. Creepy. She snatched her hand away. She’d felt nothing. But blood was slowly seeping down around his face. Soon it would puddle enough to drip onto the carpet. She turned away, nauseous.
Phase two. Go upstairs again to dress. With renewed energy she scurried up the outside of the stairway. Her outfit had been planned for months. Plain black slacks, beige and black top, designer of course. Flat-heeled shoes. She took the clothes into the bathroom ready to put on after her shower. She removed the plastic bag from the waste basket under the sink and put her pyjamas into it. Her shower was long and hot. She brushed her teeth. Toothbrush in hand, she checked the upper floor. Stripped bed with neat duvet. Bathroom clean. She needed nothing more from this place. She picked up the bag containing her pyjamas.
She balanced her way back down the outside of the stairs yet again. Easy-peasy this time. Her little flat shoes gave her good purchase. At least she didn’t have to worry about fingerprints. Her house. They were everywhere anyway.