Elizabeth
16 October 2016
Will's eyes dilated to the size of quarters and I watched his heart trying to escape from the base of his neck. The eerily silent night did nothing to comfort the erratic tension that had built up on the walls of this residence.
"Who is that?" I furiously whisper with my eyes darting towards the door.
Exactly how many people were they going to expose to this mess. I'd only had a short time to process it but even I knew, that with something like this, you had to keep your circle small. Before Will can answer me however, Andy's phlegm-filled throat clearing punctuates the hallway as he rushes to open the front door.
"Andy?" "What are you doing?" Will and I say simultaneously.
"Don't worry," he answers while clearing his throat again. "I'm taking care of this."
Andy Bates, looked like a pompous douche-bag. It was written on his face. His hamster cheeks didn't match his tailored Armani suits and it was obvious that he was a man who cultivated the image of him being important, very thoroughly. You could see his underhanded bulldozing had gotten him in the right circles at the right time. He looked hungry; ambitious; someone who would do anything to get power. However, even for someone like him, murder seemed like a step too far - the man was unravelling.
The tousled-looking campaign manager makes no effort to acknowledge or explain what or who is at the door. Taking a deep breath and blowing his cheeks up he finally pulls the handle to let the newcomer in. I can hear the blood swirl in my temples as I imagine the cops or FBI busting down the white oak door.
"Hi." I hear him nervously stutter.
"Hello." A male drawl deadpans. It's hard to see through Andy's bulky form but the voice sends a chill down my spine and all the hairs on my back stand to attention. It was an oily tenor, spread with controlled menace. It was almost as if its owner existed in a constant tension of indifference and viper-like poise. I watched them interact with only the sound of my breath in my ears reminding me that I was in fact breathing. Finally, the campaign manager moves his body in a fluster to let the newcomer in.
"Right,uh, yeah. Sorry, come in, it's uhh...I mean she's, uhh...she's that way." He says.
Will and I stand rooted to the hallway in battle formation, muscles tense and ready for anything as we tracked an unassuming, middle-aged man walking into the house. This made him the fifth person to now be implicated in the crime and of the five of us, he seemed to be the most prepared. His left hand is dragging a black wheeled toolbox - about the size of a travelling case. You can see his balding as the curve of his hairline follows the same round contour of his head. The black rimmed glasses makes him look learned - like a mathematics professor. Perhaps, it's also the over-sized mauve cardigan and beige chinos he sports. The man looks unassuming, forgetful but something about his presence unsettles even the dust particles in the atmosphere.
He's too confident. No, Will was a confident man, that wasn't it. This guy is indifferent, cold, unfeeling.
"What's going on Andy? Who is this?" Will directs at the now slightly more relaxed but still sweaty faced manager.
"Where is she?" Says the man.
"Uh yeah," Andy bounces on his feet and points inside the hallway. "Right this way."
Before walking towards Will the stranger glances at me and I see the piercing eyes of a calculating killer. As states attorney, I've seen that look countless times in the eyes of murderers and I know not to look away. My eyes track him all the way to Will where he gives a respectful nod saying: "Mr. President."
Addressing him as if he were already in office.
"Right now I understand you are under a lot of stress and your adrenaline is telling you not to trust me. And for the most part, its right, you shouldn't. I'm a fox in your coop who now holds the power of your life in his hand. But I'd like to assure you Mr. President, that my services and my interests are only used to serve the future good for this country and I have no intention to shake the coo-coo's nest."
As reassurances go, this has to be the worst one I've ever heard. But something in the man's fast-talking, no-nonsense burr makes me believe that he was telling the truth. Will turned his eyes to me as if he was checking in. His jaw moved as it usually did when thinking - clenching and unclenching.
"Now, the answer to your question: who am I, is rather complex and unnecessary and quiet frankly if you figured it out, I'd probably have to kill you." He gives a tight-lipped, breath-filled, fake smile.
"However, I find it does calm people more when they think they know who they're working with, so for now, you can call me: Bill. As to your first question well that's rather simple: I'm here to clean up your mess."
The words hit me like a ton of bricks dropping into my stomach. They're a reminder that there is a rotting human rolled up in carpet on the floor of the Mitchell's pristine residence. My eye moves to the fallen sneaker and I feel my stomach lurch and roil at the memory of why it's there. Breathing through my nose does nothing to quell the contents of my vomit that threatens to come out.
"Will." I try pleading to his sanity one last time with a warning in my voice.
"Please don't vomit." The stranger says, barely looking in my direction.
I can see the governor's deep brown eyes twitching along with their thick eyebrows - thinking, calculating.
"Mr. President." He says.
The words are like a light switch and I already know the decision he is taking. Like a war hero accepting his chosen destiny, a fire burns inside Will's eyes at the title. His privileged entitlement shines through like a badge of forgiveness sponsored by himself.
"All right," he says nodding his head slightly towards the living room. "What do we do?"
Eleanor rises from the couch, as we shuffle in. All of us except 'Bill' who walks straight to the carpet and starts unclipping his suitcase toolbox. Seeing Eleanor displaces me for a second as I'm hypnotised by the pop and release of the fasteners on the toolbox. Her yellow gloves are an oddity to the scene. A false brightness in a room full of darkness.
We're standing around the body like altar boys awaiting communion. Will stands by Eleanor, seeking comfort from his companion by squeezing her shoulder and pulling her closer. Andy stares bug-eyed at Bill dismantling the box and its contents. Gloves, black bags, drills, saws, detergents and other things emerge from this Pandora's box of murder. Me, I can't feel my legs. My body breathes out of sheer existence. Rooted to the spot, I'm watching him finally pull out what seemed like his last item - a clear, large, plastic sheeting.
"So uh," Will stumbles with his words and bolsters them by clearing his throat. "So, how exactly are you going to help us?"
"Simple," He grunts as he begins to unroll the Persian rug:
"We're going to get rid of the body."
The announcement is met with the dead thud of a weighted object hitting the floor. He sniffles through his nose from the exertion and stands up towering over the bloodied corpse.
"Right," He says looking around at us. "Let's get started."
