Nicole reached to the night stand and picked up the half-empty pack of Marlboro Reds. She gingerly plucked a single cigarette out of the box and put it between her lips. She put the box down and then reached over to grab a Zippo lighter. She knocked the lid open with the side of her hand, and deftly guided the same hand down onto the wheel. Sparks shot from the flint to the wick and an orange flame leapt temporarily high above the wind guard before settling down. A tiny head of yellow wavered in plain sight, which Nicole put to the tip of the cigarette she held in her mouth. She looked down the end of the white stick to watch the flame set the tobacco to smolder while she puffed. She looked up from her cigarette and into my eyes. Nicole shook the lighter with a flourish to snap the lid shut. The bow-tie of the Chevrolet brand was acid-etched into the brushed steel of the lighter and light from the ceiling fan reflected off of it onto Nicole’s cheek.
“That fat pig of a cop called me a psycho,” Nicole said, exhaling smoke around her words.
“Nobody likes Hoskins but he gets the job done,” I lied.
“Do you think I’m crazy?”
“I have to admit, you look a little crazy right now. Sitting on your husband’s dead body and wearing one pink slipper, you aren’t exactly the paragon of sanity.”
“You always use big words when you’re nervous,” she said.
“I’m not nervous, just a little at a loss for normal words.”
“It’s not like you to be out of words.”
“Maybe not,” I said. “But right now I think you should be the one to talk. The risk of ruining evidence in an important case is the only thing that kept Hoskins from ordering you dragged off your bed and stuffed into a cruiser with your hands zip-tied behind your back.”
“Fuck that guy. I’ll give him all the evidence he needs as soon as I’m ready.”
“Okay, what are you waiting for?”
“Honestly, my original plan was to take his fucking truck and drive to Canada,” Nicole paused to take another drag off of her cigarette. “But when he stopped kicking, I sat here for a minute listening to my heart race. I saw his stupid Zippo on the table and realized how badly I wanted a smoke. So, I got comfortable and lit up the first cigarette I’ve had in 4 years. I can’t even begin to tell you how good that felt. I sat here and smoked it to the butt. That’s when I noticed the whiskey. A couple pulls off that bottle and I was ready to call someone. I almost called you, you know?”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, but for some reason I thought that might be inappropriate so I called 911. Can I have the whiskey back?”
“Sure,” I said, leaning forward so she could reach the bottle from where she was perched on the dead body.
“Thanks,” said Nicole and took a swig from the bottle.
She held it back out to me and arched an eyebrow. I shook my head.
“Suit yourself,” she said. “Anyways, when the 911 operator answered she said, ‘9-1-1, what’s your emergency,’ and I laughed. I mean, really, there was no emergency. Any cause for urgency had ended for me. My emergency was over the minute his heart stopped beating.”
Nicole jerked her thumb to the right, to the pillow next to her right elbow.
“The operator repeated her question and I was able to keep from laughing this time. I told her, ‘I just killed my husband,’ and tossed the phone into the chair. I really had nothing else to say. I must have forgotten to hang up because I could hear her trying to get me to say more. Instead, I just sat here and drank. The bottle was mostly full, the pack of smokes was just opened. I had plenty of both to keep me company until the cops arrived.”
“Well,” I said, spreading my hands. “To risk sounding redundant, why did you stay?”
Nicole glowered at me for a minute. She sat up straight for the first time in a few hours and I could hear her back pop as she arched her spine and stretched her arms above her head. A little of the whiskey spilled from the neck of the bottle when she tilted it to one side. Drops of the amber liquor pattered on the bed sheet next to her one pink slipper. The fabric of her t-shirt became taut across her chest while she continued to reach for the ceiling and I couldn’t stop myself from noticing the outline of her nipples through the soft cotton. As she relaxed again I could see a look of amusement on her face.
“Did you like that,” she asked with a smirk.
“I didn’t mean to look,” I said and looked ashamedly at my feet.
“Whatever,” she said dismissively and tossed her cigarette into the ashtray on the night stand. “The reason I stayed is because I wanted people to see him for what he really was. If I hopped into his truck and left for the Great White North, the news would report that my poor husband was found dead, bound cruelly to his bed. The main suspect would be his wife, who was known to have mental health issues and police record of domestic violence.”
Nicole’s voice grew wistful, “He would be gathered up by the ME and brought to the funeral home. His mom would bring his nicest suit and at the funeral there would be pictures of him in his football jersey. The whole town would gather to send their favorite son off to the hereafter with hymns and eulogies.”
Nicole stopped to wipe bloody mucus that started to drip from her nose. Tears started to fall from the corners of her eyes. Her left hand was choking the neck of the whiskey bottle and her right hand was clenched tight around the Zippo lighter. Her knuckles were as white as that of the corpse.
“Meanwhile, cops from here to the Canadian border would be looking for the red Chevy truck that was missing from the driveway. Court orders would be placed to monitor my debit card to track my purchases,” she said as her voice turned hard and frosty.
“Depending on how much of a lead I had, they might see a trail of purchases at convenience stores heading north on the highway. They would call the stores and ask for security camera footage that would show me leaving the store with a Freightliner trucker hat shielding my face and my arms full of beef jerky, Red Bull, and cigarettes. There would be a manhunt for this psycho bitch who killed a perfectly good man. They’d have my mugshot on the news and on the wall at the post office. Checkpoints would be set up on the US side of the border. If I had enough time, I’d already be on the Canadian side. I’d be drinking Molson in a shitty bar in Buttfuck, BC and people here would be hating me,” the word “me” came out with choked sob and the last of the air in her lungs.
Nicole took a deep breath and clenched her eyes shut in an attempt to stem the flow of tears that were streaming down her cheeks. She continued to breathe heavy, huffing and puffing until the urge to cry was abated and she regained her composure. She took another swig of whiskey.
“That is why I stayed,” she said in a cold, flat tone.
Why I Stayed by Joshua Kautzman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.