Page 121 of One Spicy Summer

Standing here, sweat-soaked, bloodied, breathing in the rot of this place, ending him feels like the right thing to do.

In a way, Keifer killed Presely, just like he killed our son.

The guilt has eaten me alive every night since I found out the truth.

No more.

I kneel down slowly. Close enough to see the madness flickering in his remaining eye. Close enough to smell the metallic tang of blood on his breath.

“You were wrong about one thing.” I say, my voice low. “It ends withus!”Keifer blinks. Confused. “Right now.”

Then the blade went in, clean, deliberate, final. Right under the rib cage. I pause until I feel the resistance break, until Keifer’s mouth opens in surprise, in pain, in something like understanding.

He gasps once.

Then again.

Then stops.

Silence.

For a long time, I stayed there, crouched in the blood, eyes locked on Keifer’s face as the light drained from it.

No last words.

No poetic justice

Just the end.

I drop the knife, listening as it clatters to the floor, sticky and red.

I stand slowly, every part of me aching, not just the body, but deeper.

The soul. If I still had one.

I don’t look back.

Outside, the rain is still falling, harder now, as if the sky wanted to wash the blood off the world. I walk out into it without flinching. The water hits hot wounds, but I welcome it.

The motel door shut behind me with a hollow click.

Presley was free now.

It’s a long drive home.

The storm broke somewhere outside the city limits, leaving the road damp and quiet. The world smelled like wet dirt and asphalt, cleaner than anything I had felt in years.

My hands are still red, knuckles torn open, the ache of the fight living under my skin. But the knife is gone.

So was Keifer.

Dead.

Finally.

No coming back this time.

My phone buzzes in the passenger seat.

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