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"Moriah?" she asked. "It's me, Bethany. Open the door. What's wrong?"
The door slid open and Bethany sucked her breath in. Moriah stood shakily in
the center of the small room. She was naked, her pale body streaked with
blood. Around her neck were fresh bruises and her eyes looked dead.
"Moriah, what happened?" Bethany asked in a shocked whisper.
"I think I killed your father," Moriah said, her voice harsh and painful.
Bethany's mouth dropped.
"What do you mean?"
"He was strangling me," Moriah said. Her gaze fixed on a point somewhere over
Bethany's shoulder.
"I thought I was going to die. He was drunk and saying crazy things. He was
going to kill me," she added.
"I could hardly breathe. My arms were flailing around and then I felt
something& "
"What was it?"
"It was the lamp," she said tonelessly. "You know, the one in his
bedroom? Made out of plast-crete? I grabbed it and hit him over the head."
"Are you sure he's dead?" Bethany asked, filled with dread. "If you just
injured him, he might not remember what happened. We could tell him he had an
accident."
"No, I'm pretty sure he's dead," Moriah said, her tone flat. "I didn't stop
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hitting him until I could see parts of his brain. I splattered them."
Bethany gasped and swayed. She grabbed the door for support.
"I suppose you're going to turn me in now." Moriah said softly. "Will you let
me shower first, and get dressed? I don't want them taking me away while I'm
still naked."
Bethany nodded her head, stunned.
"Um, yes, you can shower," she said. "But we have to figure out what to do."
"What's there to figure out?"
"How we're going to get rid of the body. And explain his absence. I have to
admit, I don't have any ideas right off."
"You aren't going to turn me in?" Moriah asked, voice hollow. The woman was in
complete shock.
She didn't have a clue what she was saying.
"No, I'm not," Bethany said. "It's obvious that you did it self-defense. I
know what Bose is like. You aren't the first woman he's abused, and he's
certainly threatened my life more than once," she added with a bitter laugh.
"There's no way you'd get a fair hearing, though," she continued. "And in all
honesty, there's no reason they wouldn't blame me for what happened. With
Bose gone I won't even have anyone to live with. I wouldn't be surprised if
they punished me instead of you," she mused. "Makes a certain amount of sick
sense. If they blame me, they get to punish someone who doesn't have any value
to the community.
They won't want to kill you. You can still have children."
"So what do we do?" Moriah asked. "People are going to be looking for him
today. There's a body in the bedroom. What should we do?"
"Well, first you need to get cleaned up," Bethany replied. "I need you to go
home to your baby. I'll tell everyone that Bose is sick that will buy us some
time. Then we'll think of what to do next. Maybe we can rig some kind of
accident?" she muttered, thinking out loud. "If his body's destroyed in it,
they won't know when he died. He's been drinking a lot lately, more than
usual. They might blame the bakrah for the accident."
"What kind of accident could you rig?" Moriah asked. "How are you going to
pull that off?"
"I have no idea," Bethany said grimly. "If you have any suggestions I'd love
to hear them."
* * * * *
It took her hours to clean up the bedroom. It was the most horrible,
disgusting thing she'd ever had to do in her life. She wrapped his body in
some blankets and managed to shove it into one corner, then attacked the blood
in the floor and walls. She'd sent Moriah home as soon as she had showered.
It wouldn't do either of them any good if she were caught leaving the
apartment.
To her surprise, the lamp itself cleaned up easily enough. The plast-crete was
strong, far stronger than her father's head had been. She examined her
feelings as she cleaned, looking for grief. Her father was dead. It was his
blood staining her hands; shouldn't she feel something?
She felt fear. Fear she would be caught, fear that Moriah's child would be
left without a mother. She also felt anger. Anger at her father for bringing
her to this point. Anger for the drinking, the abuse.
But no matter how deep she looked within herself, she couldn't find any grief.
There was a secret exaltation in his death. He would never hurt her again;
never hurt any woman.
She was glad he was dead. There was a good chance it would lead to her own
end, but she didn't care. Seeing him dead was worth it, and for a brief moment [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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