Tables Turned

Dark blood dripped from my hands. “Where will I find forgiveness?” I said, staring Becca down. “I just killed a man.”
Becca’s narrow eyes turned to crinkled slits. “Oh, spare me the self-pity.”
“I wanna slit my wrist,” I said and swallowed hard.
Crickets perform their autumn songs, and her death stare cools my blood to a light-headed mush of repeated uninviting phrases. Why can’t I trust myself with anything but lies?
“I can read your lies under the lines curving your eyes,” Becca said, tapping her finger to my chest.
“Fine,” I said. “I hid the knife under the counter.”
“You were supposed to scare him, not kill him.”
“Woah… You said to kill him.”
“Did not.”
“Did fucking so!” I said. “I have the texts right here.” I pulled out my phone and scrolled and scrolled.
Becca folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot. “Find anything?”
“You erased my texts,” I said louder than I wanted to.
“You didn’t think I was going to take the fall for killing my ex, did you?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, but I did.”
“You’re going to turn me in?”
“Why not?”
“Because … you … you can’t. It’s just wrong.”
“With his life insurance, I’m a wealthy woman now.”
“Don’t you love me?”
“Not enough to go to jail for conspiracy.”
“I can’t believe this shit.”
“So, you’re going to have a long jail visit.”
“Nope.”
“For murder!” Becca said.
“I didn’t kill him. I used fake blood.” I unbuttoned my shirt and pulled out a wire.
Becca’s eyes bulged like Bugs Bunny. “You called the cops?” Panic frustrated her face.
The police rushed through the door and handcuffed Becca.
“I guess you’re not as smart as you look.”

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