Ava stared down at the man’s body, lying twisted on the road. She swallowed, trying not to be repulsed by the blood seeping from underneath his head. She looked up at Max. He was holding his hair with his hands and shaking his head in disbelief.
“I think he’s dead, Ava.”
Ava nodded and returned her gaze to the man. His eyes were open; they still held the same look of shock that they’d had the second before their car had hit him. His brown corduroy trousers and tatty green coat looked like the impact hadn’t made them any worse than they’d been previously. This was clearly a man who had no home.
She turned away and walked towards the edge of the deserted road. There was a wooden fence separating the road from the slight drop down to the ocean. The tide was high and fierce. The car headlights were the only source of light for miles around, apart from the moon which shone down and made the moving sea sparkle. She took some deep breaths, attempting to clear her head and think sensibly. She knew that she had to think quickly. Although the road was quiet, someone could drive along at any minute. Max’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“I’ll ring the police,” he said.
She spun around to face him. “What?”
“We have to. Ava, I’ve just killed someone.”
“You’ve been drinking, Max.”
“I know I’ve been drinking,” he snapped. “But what else do you suggest we do?”
Ava looked at the body. The blood was starting to run towards where she was standing. She looked back at the sea; it seemed to be whispering something that she couldn’t quite make out. She paused to listen, hoping to understand.
She looked at Max. “Can you lift him over this fence?”
Max’s face dropped even further as he realized what she was suggesting. “We can’t.”
“I don’t think we have a choice,” she replied, walking towards him. “We can put him in the sea and then forget this ever happened.” She wrapped her arms around her husband. “I don’t want to lose you, Max.”
He wiped a tear away from his face and nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “We don’t have a choice.”
Ava watched Max stoop down and gather the old man into his arms. He suddenly looked so small and frail against her husband’s muscular frame. Max strained with effort as he straightened up and carried the body to the fence. Ava followed him to where the road ended and the sea began.
Max turned to Ava. “This doesn’t feel right.”
She looked back at him. Her eyes were shining. “I know it doesn’t.”
Max pursed his lips and lifted the man up over the fence, wincing as his head tipped back onto the wood. Once he was clear of the fence, he let the body drop. There was an untidy splash as it hit the black of the ocean.
Max remained at the fence, watching the body floating away in the tides. Ava looked back at the road; there was a trail of blood where max had carried the body from the middle of the road to the fence. She went to their car and pulled out some bottled water and a blanket from the back. Then she set to work on the road, pouring water on the blood and scrubbing it with the blanket until there was no visible trace remaining.
Max watched her. “How can you be so detached? You look like this doesn’t even bother you.”
She didn’t answer him. She finished clearing the last drops off the fence. “Hold your hands under the bottle and I’ll pour water on them.”
Max held his bloodstained hands out and rubbed them together as the cool water washed away the crime.
“You’ve got blood on your trousers, too,” she said. “We’ll burn those as soon as we get home, along with this blanket.”
He nodded.
“Come on, darling,” she said. “Let’s go home.”
They both instinctively looked to where they had dropped the body, but there was no sight of it anymore.
The couple held hands and walked back to the car. Ava put the blanket and empty water bottle into a plastic bag, tied it up and placed it in the foot well in front of the passenger’s seat. Max climbed back in behind the wheel and started the engine. They drove home in silence.
All the houses on Maple Street were lulled into the night’s silence, amalgamating with the darkness which was interrupted only by a small string of lights leading to the end of the street. 73, Maple Street was a small house with an equally small garden, with white and dark pink primroses adorning the entrance to the porch. Of all the seven windows, only the smallest on the right was illuminated, but the thick green curtains refused to reveal anything to an outsider.
Ava was sitting on a carved, burgundy colored armchair. It was a high quality replica of an antique Louis VIII armchair which she once glanced at in a magazine and decided she had to own. However, since neither she nor her accountant husband were exactly where they wanted to be on the social ladder, she agreed to having a mere replica. For now.
Ava was resting her long, lean body. Her right hand fiddled with her golden bun which had lost the sleek look it had at the beginning of the evening. In her left hand, she twirled a small glass of whisky, listening to the ice cubes gently tinkling against the side. Her quick, intuitive eyes the color of Irish emeralds were not looking at her husband. She was looking around at the other furniture that adorned the room, appearing a true antiquity to the untrained eye, but she knew better. She was looking at the heavy, thick curtains that were drawn tightly together, at paintings on the walls, at the small fireplace that her husband lit a mere few minutes ago. The flames were already nibbling at the grey trousers that he had thrown on to them.
Ava was sure that they had done the right thing. Max would be put into prison if anyone knew what had happened, and she couldn’t be without him. Anyway, the silly old man must have been drunk – a sober and normal person wouldn’t have stumbled out in front of the car the in the middle of the night. If they hadn’t hit him, someone else definitely would have done.
Max was also lost in thought, but he did not share his wife’s outward sense of calm. The four shots of bourbon he’d already gulped down did not steady his nerves and he continued to pace up and down the room, repeatedly cracking the knuckles of each hand. It was the subconscious self-flagellation of a man who had just taken a life. He was a man of weak will and large appetites, and had never known himself as anything else. When he was offered a drink, he accepted it. Tonight, he might have overdone it, but it was a clear night which promised clear roads and perfect visibility. As he’d said to Ava earlier that evening, “It’s summer, for god’s sake!”
He buried his face in his palms: the palms that had, a few hours ago, controlled the steering wheel. The same hands had, of course, also lifted a corpse and dropped it into the sea. He turned towards the fireplace; the sight of the material gazing at him from the ashes made his heart jump. He rushed towards the poker and stabbed through the burning ashes, continuing to pierce the fabric until it was hanging from the poker. Then he made it hover over the flames until nothing was left of it but a throbbing memory.
Suddenly, he felt the gentle scent of lilies, and a hand on which a discrete diamond ring was glistening, rest on his shoulder.
“Darling, it’ll be alright.”
Her smooth, waterfall voice was interrupted by his trembling, barely audible reply. “You didn’t do anything. It was me.”
“I’m here, no matter what.” She squeezed his shoulder. “We’re in this together.”
He wanted her hand away from him. He didn’t want her intoxicating perfume right now, but he couldn’t bring himself to push her away. Instead, he tapped her fingers with his and closed his eyes.
She removed her hand and perched on the sofa. “It’s going to be fine, Max.”
He turned to face her. “But what if someone finds him?”
She shook her head. “The tide was rough – it will have washed him miles out by now. And, anyway, he was tramp. No one will even notice he’s gone.”
Max stared at her. “Just a tramp? Will you listen to yourself, Ava? Christ.” He turned away and poured a brandy from the drinks table.
“I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t,” she replied. “I just mean that homeless people go missing all the time, mostly because they’ve decided to move on and live somewhere else. Nobody will look for him.”
Max nodded, downed his brandy and poured another.
Ava looked at the fire. “The trousers are gone now.” She picked up the plastic bag with the bottle and blanket in and threw it onto the embers. Immediately the fire picked up again, greedily devouring the new offerings. “Once this is all burned I’ll empty the hearth, then there will be no trace.”
Max looked startled. “How are you so calm about all this?”
“One of us has to be, Max. If it wasn’t for me you’d be going to prison. What would you rather I did?” Her voice broke on the last few words. The events of the night had affected her, of course, and she was hurt that her husband could imply that they hadn’t.
“Yes, you’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m just in shock. I appreciate you helping me.”
He put his glass down and opened his arms to her. She stepped into them and hugged him close, pressing her face against his chest.
“I think I can still smell him,” she said.
“I know. I can too,” he replied.
“But we can’t do. We’ve showered and changed. It’s not possible.”
“I think I’ll always be able to smell him, Ava,” he said. “He is in my eyes, my nose, even my mouth. He’s under my skin.”
Ava nodded. “He’s part of us now.”
