Page 62 of Keeping Her Under
She walks across the carpark. I start my engine, preparing to follow her. Even though I know where she lives, the plan of killing her there is a messy one. She has a new husband and an eight-year-old stepdaughter. Then I would have to stage it to look like a robbery. That would take too much time when Asher is on his way to stop me.
When I didn’t answer his call, he immediately texted me Autumn’s location on the burner phone. He knew that would break through whatever self-destructive tendencies that were making me avoid him. I’d be forced to keep the phone on and nearby rather than toss it so he couldn’t track me – which is exactly what I did.
Now I’m watching her get off work, waiting for an opportunity to kill her before she gets home.
When she crosses the entire carpark, I perk up a little more. She’s not getting into a car, which means she’s walking somewhere. I scan the shops along the way, hoping the one she’s aiming for is across the street.
Most of them are closed at this hour. But there are two restaurants within view. One is on her side of the road. The other is not.
My heart racing, I pull out of the parking lot. I drive away from her for a few blocks, then turn around. Waiting… waiting…
She gets to the T-section.
Come on. Come on.
She looks over her shoulder as if assessing the traffic.
That’s it. Cross the –
Fuck! She stays on the sidewalk, then slips into the restaurant on that side. But I refuse to wait until she’s finished eating.
After turning the burner phone off, I toss it in the seat beside me. As I drive towards the slums, I keep an eye out for my cousin. He might not be able to track me via the cell towers now, but he knows me. He knows how I think. How destructive I can be.
I’m going to break into her house and kill her husband. I’ll scare his daughter into hiding under her bed. I’ll drop her dad’s phone nearby, gloating about how even the cops can’t stop me as I leave. So who can she call but her mom?
Autumn will race home, staying on the line with her, unable to call the police. And when she runs through the door like an idiot, I’ll stab her in the heart.
A simple burglary gone wrong, case closed – as long as I get some DNA from a Black man.
There’s no way I’ll be able to leave no trace of myself behind, and I don’t want Summer to know I killed her mom. As strained as their relationship is, she still had her number in her phone. That means she still loves her. She might even blame herself for her mother’s death. How much of an ass would I be if I forced her to carry that guilt?
But if I frame a Black man, the likelihood of any other evidence being dismissed is higher than it should be. Even if he’s proven to be innocent, he’ll still be believed to be guilty. No one will care about any trace evidence of little, ol’ me.
Sixty percent of wrongful convictions in the US are made about a Black person – of those, 50% are due to police misconduct. They’re seven times more likely to be falsely convicted for serious crimes, like murder. Eight times more for rape. Nineteen times more for drugs.
And if the victim is white, like Summer’s family?
It’s the perfect way for me to not have to worry about any trace DNA, especially since I’m not in any system.
Unless it makes national news…
Fuck!
If that happens, it will spread like wildfire. Then Summer will be assaulted by it every time she goes online, forced to relive her mother’s murder. And with no true suspect, the case will drag on, fanning the flames forever.
Pulling over onto the curb, I slap my hands on the wheel.
Maybe I should just kill myself now.
All I seem to be doing is hurting her.
I cry out in frustration. In rage and self-disgust. Crawling into the backseat, I grab the packet of kitchen knives I bought on the way to Autumn’s place of work.
I didn’t plan on using them on myself. I’m not entirely sure how I was going to do it. I didn’t want it to be messy though because Asher would have to see my body after.
But I can’t put it off any longer. All I’m doing is hurting the woman I love.
“What about me?” Asher’s plea resonates in my head. I can almost hear the phantom ring of the phone.
