She lifted the knife as the thunder struck outside.
“You! You told me you loved me! LIAR!” she exclaimed as she began to stab the man.
Tears streaming down her face, she continued to violently thrust the weapon into his stomach until she could no longer hear his screams of pain. As she stared at his body, she began to weep even more profusely. She loved this man more than anything. More than herself. But, if she couldn’t have him, then no one could.
Realizing what she had done, the woman pulled herself together to dispose of the body. Putting the man’s corpse into a burlap sack, she called for her brother, Henry. Knowing he would keep this little secret, she asked for some help to drag him to the garden outside on the front lawn. Dragging the bag all throughout the house, they opened the door and made their way to the garden. They carefully placed his body near a bed of roses, hoping there was no evidence left.
The woman hurriedly ran inside, on the verge of tears, to the scene of the crime. Furiously cleaning the pool of blood on the wooden floor, she discovered some of the blood had stained the snow white cashmere rug. Rolling up the carpet, she placed it in a bag and continued cleaning the floor with the dirty rag, leaving no trace of evidence.
Henry suddenly appeared by the woman’s side, asking, “What do I need to do?” It was like he could read her mind.
She quickly remarked, “Take the bag to the dry cleaners. It has a stain on it. Make sure no one sees you. Leave no trace. And do not tell ANYONE.”
Grabbing the bag, he nodded and exited the room. He headed down the marble stairs, grabbed a credit card from the table on the foyer, and quietly left the mansion. The woman realized there was nothing more she could do. So she headed for her room quietly saying, “Playing with my feelings was a bad idea,” as she shut her door.
