Page 59 of Caution Tape

It is going to be really, really hard to kill her.

Chapter Twenty-One

Cora

Michael’s shower, like the rest of his house, looks like no one has ever stepped foot in there. The gleaming tile makes our bloody footprints shockingly bright as Nolan ushers me into the shower and uses the extendable head to hose me off, spraying warm water up and down my body.

There’s a moment afterwards where I’m worried that the mood will disintegrate. That we’ll slip into some awkward small talk, a crazy, fake version of normalcy playing out while we stand in blood.

Almost desperately, I ask him to help me get rid of the body. I have a sense that there’s a very brief window here in which I can ask more of him; I can ask him for anything with the way he’s looking at me now.

I ask him to take me to the shipping container.

“Please, show me how.”

He lathers some shampoo into his hair, ignoring me for a while. He is lost in his own world. What was it he said before? That killing made things quiet down for him? He seems to be enjoying that.

Over the sound of the water, he says, “Okay. I’ll show you.”

I smile. I can feel the trap I’m laying for him beginning to tighten.

Still quiet, still serene, he dollops a palmful of shampoo onto the top of my head, and then begins rubbing it in, massaging my roots with a calm smirk on his face.

Again, with the oddly caring gestures.

I guess it makes sense; how many people does he have some sort of connection to? Beyond manipulating them, beyond drifting between them and holding back violent urges?

The water on the floor of the shower flashes red as another splash of blood runs off our naked bodies. Then foamy soap mixes in as he rinses my hair out.

We stay in there for a long time, until the water starts to turn lukewarm. I turn to get out, and he embraces me, hugging me very tightly.

“Whichever way this ends,” he says, “I just wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?” I ask, bewildered.

His lips are on my neck as he speaks. “I would’ve been waiting for years. Waiting to lash out. Telling myself it was too soon. You set it all on fire. I appreciate that.”

He snaps the water off. He gets out and hands me a towel.

“Now, let’s get rid of the body, sweetheart.”

Nolan

Everything is easier with an extra pair of hands.

Wrapping the body in one of the stained, bloody comforters is easier with someone holding the other corner of the fabric. Carrying the body to the car takes half the time. She even holds the door to the garage open with one foot while we drag Ryan down the steps.

When we get to the trainyard, she asks what I’ve been doing with the bodies.

Instead of going to the shipping container, I steer the car between a loose collection of rusted train cars, half-sunk into the soft earth. I get out of the car and click on a flashlight. It’s almost five in the morning; the first soft glow of the sun is beginning to light the horizon, but it is still very dark.

The train car I want is black, with yellow, faded paint decorating the sides and the rolling metal door. From what I can tell, it used to haul for a chemical manufacturing plant.

I pull open the door and shine the light on the rows of metal barrels, waist high, lined up like obedient soldiers.

“They’re empty,” I tell Cora. “Well, mostly.”

I lean down and pick up a metal rod and slide it under one of the barrel lids. I hand Cora the flashlight, and with a grunt, I pop the lid off.

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