Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
It’s all about the distance, the location, and making sure she’s weighted down.
If I don’t take her far enough out, she’ll wash back in.
If I take her to an easy diving area, people will find her if they dive.
I have to make sure wherever I take her there is little to no traffic or chance of anyone finding her.
I know the ocean well. I grew up on it, in it, and I love everything to do with it. Because of that, I’ve got a good chance of picking the right location.
Getting her onto the boat isn’t easy, and I stop twice to vomit over the side. It’s pitch black, and I’m lucky to live on the beach where I could just drag her down and throw her on. Carson’s boat is always pulled up near my house, and we used it to go out to different areas all the time. I’ve never pushed it as far as I’m about to push it, but it’s a quiet night. I’m hoping it’ll glide through the water with ease.
Once my mother is on, I check to make sure nothing has dropped off and then I climb onto the boat and start it up. It rumbles in the dead of the night, echoing through the silence. I get it out, and then I take off, roaring away into the night like the fucking murderer I am.
I didn’t mean to kill her.
I didn’t think I pushed her so hard. Lost it so bad.
But I did and now she’s gone.
All because of me.
I travel for hours, until I’m certain I’m in a location that is far enough, deep enough, and secluded enough that nobody will find her, or, at the very least, the chances will be slim. I take the two concrete blocks I loaded into the boat and secure them to her body. In a daze, I lift her up onto the side, placing the concrete blocks beside her on the boat. Then I stare at her, wrapped in plastic.
“I’m sorry, Momma,” I say, my voice harsh and low. “I didn’t mean to. You left me no choice.”
Then I push her off the side.
She disappears with a splash and the concrete blocks drag her beneath the calm surface. I wait for a few minutes, just staring into nothing, the light from the boat glowing across the water. When she doesn’t resurface, I turn the boat around and disappear home. In the morning, I’ll go back to the spot to make sure she isn’t anywhere to be seen, and I’ll make sure the beach is clean, tidy and not a trace of me dragging her will ever be seen.
When I arrive back at home, I spend the rest of my night scrubbing. I scrub her blood from the floor, I pick up broken pieces of furniture that she threw at me, I wash her sheets and clean her room. By the time morning rolls around, there is no evidence that my mother ever lived in this house. I have a few bags of her things that I’ll get rid of, and then that’ll be it. It’ll just be me. Me and nobody else.
She’s gone.
I sit down onto the couch, staring at the shack that’s cleaner than it has ever been. This is mine now. My home. Isla’s home. Nobody can take a single thing from me again.
The lump that has been building in my throat finally releases, and tears flow down my cheeks. I don’t know if I’m crying out of guilt, pain, or relief. Maybe it’s a little of everything. I killed someone. I disposed of them. I cleaned away the evidence. I’m a monster. The worst part is, I don’t feel bad about being a monster. I only feel bad that it ended how it did.
She didn’t deserve it.
But neither did I.
Who is the winner in that situation?
A knock at the door has me turning my head to see Isla standing at the screen, concern in her eyes. “I thought you might have done a runner. I’ve been calling you and texting you; I even came by last night but you weren’t here. I was getting worried.”
I exhale, thanking god she came over once I finished cleaning and had showered. An hour earlier, I would have had a lot of explaining to do.
“My mother disappeared,” I say, my voice flat. “Came home yesterday and all her things were gone. I was busy looking for her.”
“She’s gone?” Isla asks, glancing around. “Why would she leave?”
“She’s a junkie. She probably ran off with one of her junkie friends. She had been threatening it, I just didn’t take her seriously.”
“I’m so sorry, Bohdi. What are you going to do now?”
“This is my home, I pay for it, I’m staying in it. She isn’t welcome back here. I spent my night cleaning it, because you’re moving in with me.”