Good Riddance

by Emer

Clearly terrified, my mother pushed open the door to the basement. She descended the stairs rapidly while I followed behind her. Before she even reached the bottom, she began screaming-which was quite appropriate under the circumstances.

My mother's fiancee, Miles Daven, was lying in a pool of his own blood, which showed black in the dim basement light. Since he was on his stomach, I couldn't tell if he was breathing, but I rather doubted it considering that the knife wounds on his back seemed deep enough to have punctured several major organs.

She didn't fall to her knees, or do anything so dramatic. In fact, she seemed utterly reluctant to go near him. I calmly knelt and took his pulse in three places.

"He's still breathing," I announced. It was a small lie. A quiet noise of distress came from my mother. "Go call an ambulance," I directed her. She stumbled clumsily backwards up the stairs and out the door.

When she had gone, I took the simple, silver knife-part of the wedding silverware-out from behind my back. I wiped it on the front of his black tuxedo, and hid it up inside my sleeve. Then I squatted near him, waiting. A few seconds later I watched him rapidly decay leaving only his bones.

"Good riddance," I muttered. Sirens approached in the distance and I went to offer comfort to my mother. His remains would be the policemen's worry now.