all god's orphans

The man with the grey hair now had skin to match. He felt the bloo drain from his cheeks and starve his brain. If he stood, he would pass out, and he thought about simply crawling out of the room and shutting the door, but he needed to see her. He compelled his legs to stand and his knees threatened a boycott but acceded shakily. Leaning on the wall, he looked her over. She was wearing a white dress that stopped just below her knees and seemed like something more suited to a little girl than a woman. He noticed that she was younger than he and her brown skin was smooth in the places that his creased. Her legs were straight and premeditated, but her hands and arms lay haphazardly on the bed at strange angles. The simple dress bared her dark shoulders and that detail seemed to stir some unfocused memory in him, but nothing he could name.

On the floor was a silver gun lying in another small pool of dried blood making the shine of it all the brighter. Carefully he picked up the gun out of some insane concern that she might hurt herself further with it, and when he did so, the carpet clung to it, making a sickening ripping noise as the congealed blood relinquished its sticky grip. He left the room and shut the door quickly and then put the gun on the desk in the office before shutting that door, too. He walked back to the living room and sat on the sofa, now somehow even more lost than he had been before.

He might have stayed that way forever, such was the depth of his confusion and fear, but a loud knock at the door woke him from his haze. His blood froze in his veins and an animal panic gnawed at his gut. He knew the dead woman was bad. He couldn’t articulate the reasons why exactly, but he knew it. The knock at the door would let people in. They too, would know he was bad. He dropped to the floor and stayed out of sight of the front windows. More knocking. His heart ached from beating so fast and he wasn’t sure how much of this he could take.

He crawled into an adjoining room that held a table and chairs. There, from under the table, he could just make out the shape of two people standing on the porch in front of his door. Sheer drapes prevented any details from coming through, but he didn’t mind that. One of the shapes moved in front of the large window to the dining room and peered through. He froze in place trying to blend in with the legs of the chairs around him. He held his breath and became one with the rug beneath him. He wasn’t even sure what he thought would happen if they came in, but he was certain he didn’t want to find out.

The shape on the other side of the window said something muffled to the other shape and moved back towards the door. Momentary relief relaxed his shoulders, but then he heard them trying the doorknob. Gently at first, then more forcefully, twisting the brass that was keeping him safely away from them. In the stillness of the air the clanking of the metal pieces was deafening. He closed his eyes, but eventually, the sound stopped. He heard the thumping as their feet descended the front stairs of the porch and their voices got softer and softer until he could no longer hear them.

Finally he let out a sigh that could have filled a blimp. If he had been the self-reflective type, he might have wondered what he was so scared of, but instead, he resolved that he needed to hide the dead thing, just in case. Fuzzy outlines of an idea formed in what was left of his mind and he set about finding the necessary ingredients.

Slowly he approached the room where she lay and opened the door just enough to peer inside. He didn’t know what he expected to find, but everything was exactly as it had been before, only now the smell of putrefaction stabbed his sinuses and tickled the back of his throat with nausea. He opened the door wider and let the fresh air precede him. He entered the room slowly, still unsure as to the exact nature of his dread, and when he reached the corner of the bed, quickly threw the comforter over her. Once the body was covered, he felt better.

He moved to the side and wrapped her more tightly in the thick duvet, tucking it in so it wouldn’t open. He didn’t want to see her face again. He tried to lift her, but his muscles refused and she hit the carpet with a wet thud. Vomit pooled in the back of his throat but he pushed it back down. Grabbing her feet, he dragged her through the house towards the garage, struggling with every inch to keep his wits about him.

In the garage, the deep freezer hunkered in the corner humming away. He opened it and used every last drop of strength in his spine to heave her into the frozen cavern. When that was done, he found the lid wouldn’t shut all the way. Trying his best not to disturb her, he reached behind her and started pulling out boxes that he couldn’t read. Once he had removed enough of them, he slammed the lid shut and leaned against it, relieved to be done. He quickly went inside and shut the door to the bedroom, too. He was never going in there again.