[ WP ] Faking Your Demise ( replies must be 1,000 words or more )

I drained a bottle of Chateau sitting on the large plastic bin. Looking around the living room I recalled the parties she had thrown as a way of honing her sociality. 
 
 “ Oh yes this one we got from an auction in London vacationing across Europe, ” I always imagined her describing every last piece of furniture in the house as if it had a personality of its own. The vases were dashing, colorful pieces while the ballerina sculpture was a beautiful depiction of extraordinary contortion. In reality though this kind of talk was reserved for earlier in the night and as it drew on she would grow more flirty and fond of talking of our personal life. 
 
 She was the one who began to display jealously first, it took less than two years from our marriage: a prime display of what I am capable of shelling out. She would question my business gathering and also how I was capable of spending a week talking to people about investments. This is coming from someone who has the high school education of a western private Catholic high school- or piss cash drops as I like to call them. Indulge in the creationist ’ s method of teaching and you end up with this idea of interaction that could not be more skewed: people only talk to other people because they want something. This would even support her understanding of my business meetings, but I digress. 
 One day I come home from New York and she immediately accuses me of having an affair. “ What kind of man goes and cheats on a woman like me with some city whores. ” 
 
 “ Whoa, ” is the only response I could muster. “ Would you like to look at my transcripts? ” This is the degree of trust but verify we have devolved to, I thought. 
 
 With the bottle perpendicular to my skull I moved to the next room, knocking over our- my- adornments at this point: the Mongolian soldier replicas, the glass zoo, the year round nativity scene. I justified this as I moved across the second floor- better to make it look like an act of passion. I almost forget about the planted body in my bedroom as I wobble towards the end of the corridor. 
 
 My brother was the one who helped me when I killed her; I swear it was an accident. I didn ’ t mean to push her over the rail. Chance would have it that she would land directly on her head, she might not have even been dead but I couldn ’ t risk it, I wasn ’ t going to court for someone who only made my life hard to bear. So my brother made the suggestion of a second life. I had enough assets to live comfortably for a while somewhere where no one would find me. On the phone with him I panicked, asking whether I should hire him or cover it up. “ Do you have a sturdy plastic container? ” he responded, “ Alright I ’ ll be right over be ready to do some nasty stuff. ” My brother enters my house with a black duffel bag and pulls out a large bottle and pairs of rubber gloves and gas masks. 
 
 What happened next I was not ready to do. “ What kind of man cuts up bodies on his own floor?! ” I imagined her yelling at me. As I put on the gloves and mask I thought about this room, the entranceway to the posh linoleum and marble counters. “ What are we going to do with the house? ” I asked. “ Burn it down, or something ” he chuckled dumping in a leg. “ You know, you ’ re very sentimental for someone who just committed murder, even if it was an accident. First we ’ ll have to kidnap a homeless man. ” That detail bothered me the most. 
 He chose three am on the following night and had me pick him up in my SUV, which I would have to kiss goodbye anyways. “ I have a few different drugs here so this should be easy, ” he said. I drove circles in downtown until we found someone in an alley on an empty street. I watched as he motioned to the man to get in our car waving the baggie in front of him. Poor guy, I thought. He used the hypodermic needle in the backseat of my car, not much for talking was this one. The smell of trash was so rank by the time we got back to my house that we opted to spraying him down in the yard before putting him in my bed. 
 Setting up my room was the hardest part for me emotionally, dragging the body up the stairs and into the bed I had spent many nights with what was now disintegrating flesh and blood. 
 
 “ I have a passport for you, ” he said to me two days later over the phone. I hadn ’ t slept but three hours the entire time. I didn ’ t realize it was foreign at first, the blue all too familiar for me. “ I have a place in Quebec you can stay at, your new name is Joseph Harving, and I bought you a Prius. ” 
 
 I set up the accident, lit a candle in my room and set all the burners to leak gas while I made a trail of it in the hallway. Driving away was the most nervous I had ever felt, every second I thought if someone had seen me over the past few days what would happen. 
 
 “ What is your business in Canada, ” border patrol eyed me suspiciously. 
 
 “ I ’ m returning home, ” I said in the best relieved voice I could fake. I received a smile as I was waved through. 
 When making your getaway, always travel light. 
 
 “ Here we see where the trail of gasoline started, ” says one officer, “ and it ends right in front of this room where the body was found. ” 
 
 “ Did we get a positive match? ” asks the other. 
 
 “ It ’ s inconclusive, some things just don ’ t add up, such as height, and who would want to burn to death? ” 
 
 “ Well we ’ ve got neighbors saying he was acting weird in and out and one said they saw a car leaving the day of the fire. ” 
 
 “ We still haven ’ t gotten interviews from family members, ” says the other, looking in on the charred room. 
 
 Love what you guys do! First time poster.
