It’s a simple thing, really—killing a man. Reprehensible, perhaps, in most cases, but surely not hard. I’d never been properly motivated to find out, but as I sat in my friend’s living room pretending not to hear the argument that raged in the kitchen, I knew that was about to change.

“If you’d just mind your own damn business, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. Who gave you permission to rummage around in my drawers?” It wasn’t so much Dave’s words as the tone—that biting, belittling tone he always took with Tina that set my teeth to grinding.

I could almost feel her cringe, even from the other room. “Your health is my business. And I was just putting away the laundry when I noticed the bottle, still full. All I’m saying—”

“All you’re saying,” he cut in before she could finish, “is that you know best. You want me to take the damned horse pills and watch my liver rot away, probably so you can collect on the god-damned life insurance. So sorry to screw with your plans.”

“That’s not it,” she insisted, sounding close to tears. “If you’re not going to take the cholesterol medicine, there’s diet and exercise. We can substitute a few things—”

I tuned out Dave’s response, already aching for Tina. I’d known Dave for over fifteen years and he’d been a prick for at least ten of them. Probably more, but back in college, viewed through an alcoholic haze, his vicious wit had seemed amusing—a biting send-up of know-it-all profs and snooty sorority girls. After years of watching him browbeat Tina until her shining light had dimmed, I saw his wit for what it was—unadulterated cruelty. I’d have called it petty but for the casual and systematic destruction of such a beautiful soul. I couldn’t help but remember her as she was when Dave and I had met her senior year – beautiful, vital, brilliant, unafraid to speak her own mind without pleading to be heard.

The fact that she was fighting back for a change, however futilely, gave me hope that the old Tina was still there deep down. That was when I knew the deed had to be done, and soon, before that last spark could be extinguished. Deep down, I knew I’d been thinking about it for some time.

It was sheer agony watching Tina march out of the kitchen, eyes glowing with unshed tears and back military-straight, to flee to the solace of her garden. Dave, in contrast, ambled out as if he didn’t have a care in the world, carrying a beer in each hand—his third and my second. I had a tough time unclenching my fists to accept my beer as he settled in beside me to watch the play-offs.

The plan that formed as the game progressed was not elegant; it was not fool-proof, but it was a marvel of simplicity.

And so I waited through two commercial breaks until Dave, loopy from the beers consumed on a stomach empty but for chips and dip, weaved his way toward the door to “drain the snake.” Their first floor bathroom was torn up for remodeling, so I knew he’d have to brave their steep stairs to use the one on the second floor. That had been the inspiration for my plan. It seemed that fate had put both the means and motivation straight into my path.

Tina was puttering out front, so there was no need to even invent a pretext on which to follow Dave. All I had to do was creep silently up to the second floor landing after he’d disappeared, conceal myself and emerge behind Dave when he hit the top of the stairs to shove him off his mortal coil.

As planned, he appeared and two hands applied roughly to his back sent him careening down the stairs with a startled cry. His body bobbed and jerked as he went, his neck askew before he even hit the bottom. Tina heard the crash through the screen door and came running to see what had happened.

Of course she came running. Stupid, stupid me to be so wrapped up in the killing that I’d forgotten about the aftermath. She tore her gaze from the sight of her husband’s broken body to stare uncomprehendingly at me. I stared back in unfeigned horror.

“He fell,” I managed weakly. “He wasn’t very steady on his feet,” I added in explanation.

“I’ll call 911,” she answered, rushing off into the kitchen.

The next three hours were spent in a sort of haze. On the one hand, my brain worked furiously to fill in the answers to questions I was sure would be asked. I’d watched enough TV cop shows to know. On the other hand, my brain had trouble forming impressions, like of the time that passed waiting for the useless ambulance and the faces of the officers.

Tina and I met them on the front porch, though we hadn’t spoken since Dave had fallen. They separated us for questioning. I had no idea what she might be telling them or even if she suspected.

***

Though I’d offered Tina any help I could give with the funeral arrangements, she hadn’t taken me up on it. I didn’t see her again until the funeral a week later—after the body had finally been released following the autopsy. She looked the cliché of grief—pale, drawn, moving like an automaton. I was worried about her. And I wasn’t the only one, not the way that young detective watched her as she accepted condolences. I didn’t like that one bit and was stunned to realize that I’d confess in a second if it would remove her from suspicion.

It wasn’t until that moment that I understood I’d fallen in love with Tina, though I’d no idea when it had happened. I’d already been engaged to Lynn when Tina had entered my world—or rather Dave’s world, of which I was a satellite. I’d felt the same longing every other guy had felt when confronted with her presence, but I’d known that she was beyond my reach. I’d been content to be her friend and keep the status quo with Lynn up until her all-too-sudden death of colon-cancer last year. Tina had been a rock through all of that. Maybe in some way, I thought of Dave’s accident as returning the favor. It saddened me that I hadn’t seen as much of Tina since Lynn’s death, since I no longer seemed to do “couple things” with them, just “guy things” with Dave.

Tina certainly didn’t look grateful or even relived, not the way she failed to meet my eyes when I offered my sympathy or shook as if palsied when I took her hand.

I only wanted the chance to be her rock.

***

I was shocked when Tina appeared at my door later that night, black dress exchanged for black jeans and cardigan over a white T-shirt. Her thick chestnut hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail that made her face look too angular, not soft as it did when her hair was allowed to flow free.

“May I come in?” she asked as I opened the door. “I’ve been terrible ignoring you this past week. You knew Dave even longer than I did. I should have considered your grief.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing, stepping aside to let her enter.

It was strange. As long as we’d known each other, I could count on one hand the number of times we’d been in my house alone together—and those only for moments while we waited to be joined by the others. Suddenly, I had no idea how to act.

“Can I take your sweater?” I asked, dredging up manners from somewhere. “Or offer you something to drink?”

She hugged herself, pulling her cardigan tighter across her body. “I’ll keep the sweater, but I will take a drink. The stronger the better. Scotch, maybe. Dave always liked scotch.”

I got a queer feeling when she said it, like someone had tap-danced over my grave, but I shook it off and gestured her toward my eat-in kitchen.

“Take a seat,” I suggested, glad that social niceties gave me something to fall back on while I collected myself. “On the rocks? With soda?”

“Straight up,” she answered, choosing a chair.

I poured one for myself too, a double.

As I brought them to the table, Tina flashed me a wan smile. Both her elbows were planted on the table as she rubbed circular patterns into her temples. “Can I trouble you for some Tylenol as well? I’ve got a killer headache.”

“Have you eaten anything today?” That had often been Lynn’s problem; she’d get so busy she’d actually forget to eat.

“A little at the—jeez, reception sounds so celebrational—back at the house.”

Could she really be missing the bastard?

“Just let me know. The kitchen’s fully stocked with all the best microwaveable cuisine.”

Not so much as a twitch of the lips.

“I’ll get you that Tylenol.”

She raised her reddened eyes to mine. “Thanks.”

I slipped into our bathroom off the hallway to rifle through the medicine cabinet for those pills. Since I’d never gotten around to clearing out Lynn’s clutter, I had to push around a few things before I came upon a slightly dusty bottle of the stuff.

When I returned, Tina was slowly circling her glass around and around between her hands, staring at a spot on the wall where a picture of the four of us dressed to the nines one New Year’s Eve had hung.

“You’ve taken it down,” she stated as I rejoined her at the table.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t put it away after Lynn died.”

Damn, what was I to say to that? I took an overlarge sip of my drink to give myself time to think. Tina had always been smart, except in her choice of husband. Had she figured it out? Not that it would have taken a rocket scientist, but I couldn’t believe she’d think me capable of such a thing. The fact that I had been seemed irrelevant. What would I do if she had guessed? What would she do?

“I couldn’t bear to touch any of her things, but with them both gone…. Maybe it’s time to clean house.”

Our eyes met again, and I had a feeling that she could see right inside me.

Tina raised her glass. “A toast. To absent friends.”

I was surprised when she knocked it back, draining her glass in one gulp. Hoping it would do her good to get drunk and let it all out and afraid she wouldn’t continue to drink alone, I followed suit. The urge to choke warred with the need to maintain my image and finally lost out as the whiskey burned its way down my throat. My eyes watered.

We sat for a few moments in silence, allowing the whiskey to do its job, warming, distancing, numbing.

“Another?” I asked when my throat had recovered sufficiently for speech.

“Please.”

I swayed as I rose, but made it to my feet and managed to pour and carry two more drinks back to the table. My seat rose up to meet me.

“Here,” I said, thrusting one her way.

This time she took a dainty sip.

“Do you miss her?” she asked.

“Lynn?” As if there’d been any other.

She nodded.

“Yeah. ’Specially at night. She was so warm, soft.”

Tina’s eyes went misty. “I miss her too. She was a good person, but in a way I’m glad she’s gone.”

My interest perked, but Tina didn’t elaborate and it seemed a lot of effort to ask.

“When’s the last time you ate?” she queried to fill the silence.

I tried to think, but the information kept skittering away from me. Breakfast, maybe? Had I eaten breakfast? Visions of cereal bowls danced in my head. Since that’s what I’d eaten every day since Lynn’s death, I couldn’t be sure.

I shrugged.

“I could fix you something.”

Again I shrugged. I wasn’t hungry. Just hot. Scotch neat meant no ice cubes. I desperately wanted to roll a cool glass across my forehead or just skip the glass and go straight for the ice.

“You really haven’t eaten in a while, have you? I didn’t expect it to hit you so fast. Maybe you really do have a conscience.”

Something funny about that, about what she’d said. It took effort, but I jerked my head up so I could look her in the eye. Her face was—there was a word for it, I knew there was—arch. As in arch-fiend, arch-enemy. Arch.

The stomach pain hit me at the same time as the realization.

“Did it—for—you,” I managed.

Tina laughed mirthlessly. “For me. How fucking ironic.” It was a shock to hear her swear. “You killed my husband for me. Thanks a whole fucking lot. Like I’m some kind of damned damsel in distress. You must think a whole helluva lot of me to kill a friend. Either that or you’re psycho.”

She took a small sip of her whiskey, eying me all the while. “That must be it. Let me give you a tip—if you’re unhappy with someone, you confront him. You don’t kill him. Unless maybe you don’t have the balls for confrontation. Dave might have been a bastard, but he was my bastard.”

My hearing kept fading in and out on her little speech like a cheap cell phone, but I was sure there was something wrong with her reasoning.

“But you—”

“But I’m killing you? Well, yes, there is that. You see, that detective suspects that something’s wrong with Dave’s death; I’m certain of it. Sure, you were the one at the top of the stairs, but I was the one with something to gain. I can’t have you mooning about after me like you did at the funeral, giving him the idea that we were in it together or that you’re covering for me. I need to be sure that when he comes looking for a guilty conscience, he comes to the right place. But hey, at least I’m doing it to your face. I’m guessing Dave never saw it coming.”

My stomach was now in full revolt. My limbs felt leaden, but I couldn’t just sit and wait for death to come for me. Tina was delirious. She didn’t know…. The thought fled before me. Ah, didn’t know the toll killing would take on her. Besides, I didn’t want to die.

I let her go on as I gathered myself—something about not being much of a forger and finding typewritten suicide notes suspicious—then, trying not to telegraph the move, I lunged for the phone above the kitchen counter. Tina got there first and pinched the jack from the wall mount, waving it tauntingly in my face.

“Uh uh. No phone calls for the condemned man. No cavalry to the rescue.” She dropped the jack as I fell against the counter, using it as a prop to remain upright.

She stepped over me to head for the table, which she wiped down with the bottom of her T-shirt, then grabbed her glass and headed for the sink. My angle was such that I couldn’t see her there, but words kept trickling down to me.

“Don’t you worry about that jack. I’ll replace it before I go. Don’t want the police to find anything amiss.”

Tina finished what she was doing and rustled back toward me, dishtowel still in hand. I saw her legs first, then the rest as she squatted down beside me.

“In fact, you just slip away into that coma and don’t worry about a thing. You’ve had a nice toxic dose of acetaminophen and booze. So easy to overdose, especially when you’re overcome with remorse over killing your best friend. I came prepared with my own bottle and pre-pulverized pills to slip into your drink when you stepped out to the bathroom, but it was so considerate of you to supply your very own bottle, prints and all.”

She reached into her sweater with the dishtowel and brought out a newspaper, using either end of the cloth pinched between two fingers to rip a shred off the folded page. My eyes tracked, but my brain had stopped trying to make sense of things. Pain still rippled through my stomach, but it was a distant thing. She laid the smaller portion of the paper before me. I struggled to focus, but all I could see was a grainy picture with letters swarming like ants beneath.

“Dave’s obituary,” she said, sliding one of my hands over the article to ink my fingers before tossing the paper onto the counter and using the towel to wipe prints and replace the jack.

Then she took one final look around. Tina was hazy around the edges, but still coldly beautiful.

“Well then, I’ll leave you to your dying.”

I tried to respond, but no sound came out. The next thing I knew I was alone. Even in my own head. I waited for the home movie of my life to play out inside my mind, to highlight where I’d gone wrong, but the sum total of my thoughts consisted of two words, forming endless permutations on into oblivion.

Wrong, wrong, so wrong, so so wrong….

 

The End