Love Kills (Dnf Short Story)

Forgetting the Voice

Death Day

(Clay's pov)

He looked into my eyes with pure confusion, frustration, and most of all fear. His body collapsed onto mine and I kept him at eye level the best I could. However my body was weak enough from panic and stress, so the added on limp figure was enough to make us both fall to the ground. I kept his head in my lap with my now empty hand while he stared at me with such betrayal. I had to look away, tears heavily streaming down my face silently. Instead of his soul sucking eyes, my attention drifted to my hand which held the knife. The one I bought yesterday.

I watched as my hand shook violently, causing the knife to clatter to the laminate floor. My breathing intensely got worse as George's unevenly shallowed.

"No, No! George I'm sorry. I-I tried to tell you! I don't know what's happening to me or-" Suddenly whatever (or whoever) had whispered to me before I left my own home, spoke again. Forcing me to go quiet and listen to it's ever so haunting words.

He's fine. However, you're not. You need to follow the procedure. You'll end up forgetting all this happened anyway, so it's fine. Just listen to me now.

It spoke precariously through my mind. I nodded to the supernatural voice.

Okay then. Let go of George.

I couldn't just leave George. He's dying. I should call someone. My morals tried to say in the back of my mind, but the dark voice was too loud.

I said... Let. Go. Of. George.

I nod quietly to no one and rise from the bloodied ground, the knife being pushed aside by my foot. My legs were wobbly and I couldn't even count my heart beat. I know my body has gone into complete insanity, but what else can I do. Either I be death sentenced or stuck miserably in jail or I can live out my life simply listening to this oddly reassuring whisperer.

George's body lays lifelessly on the ground, although I'm saddened when I see he's still fighting for his life. His breathing now looked painful and he clutched his torso in utter disbelief of what was happening.

"W-why..." Was all George could barely force out before falling completely unconscious. I wince as his head and arms relaxed and he laid completely dead on the ground. He was gone. Forever. Guilt and fear poured into my already stressed and panicked brain. Comprehending everything that was happening was difficult, but the voice strangely kept me at ease.

Grab the knife. You forgot to wear the gloves... moron.. So this is going to be a little bit harder to do efficiently. You should start with getting your gloves on now and washing the knife clean of fingerprints. Then, I would put the knife in your buddy's hand and position him to look like he did it himself.

I'm completely disgusted by all this. I grab the bloodied knife and place it into the sink, before putting the latex gloves I had in my back pockets on. I watched as the red liquid rinsed off the chef's knife and down the drain, whirling and swirling till it was back to clear. Then I followed the voice's instructions, placing the knife into George's hands. I almost puked while re-stabbing the already made wound. The voice seemed terribly satisfied with my work.

Good... Good. Now, place the note we wrote-

I interrupted, realizing this nameless voice was thinking we were a team. That we did this together. That I even had a choice on killing my best friend and loved one or not.

"No, no, no. You wrote the note. I had no option or choice or freedom to whether I did any of this or not. So don't you even speak of us being a team or best buddies, because we are fucking not." I state very clearly to what someone would assume is no one. The voice goes quiet for a few moments before continuing like I said nothing.

Fine then, place the note that I wrote onto his desk in his room.

We continue this procedure until George's body starts to inflate and bloat. I'm leaving his apartment with no emotion, no concern. I'm already wearing a pair of George's larger clothes and I took out most of the food in his refrigerator to make it look like he wasn't eating, placing it all into the garbage bag that held my bloodied clothes. I exit his apartment building and throw the black bag into the trunk of my car.

I leave the property, not once looking back. First place I drive to is the dump to drop off the garbage. Then, I simply drive home. The voice has gone quiet and hasn't spoken since dropping off the trash and clothes at the dump.

Speaking of the voice, who is the voice?

----

I don't remember the night George died. I don't remember buying all the items I used to murder George at the store. I don't even know where the receipt went. The last thing I remember is getting a phone call in the morning from George's mom crying, telling me her son had committed suicide and was gone. I cried all day long, mourning my friend that was now dead. The voice I thought I knew had disappeared and left me alone to just my head. Nick had left over a week ago to visit family.

So, here I was. Alone and unable to remember anything. When the police came to talk to me, being a little worried that George's suicide could have been a homicide. However, when they investigated me thoroughly, they found nothing. I had nothing I could say to help them in any way and they couldn't link me to anything. Even though I had cried during the whole session, completely distraught, I felt an odd sense of glee at being told I was clear.

I would go to George's funeral in the United Kingdom in two weeks.