The Missing Wife. Sam Carrington
Chapter 14: The Disappearance
I can still feel the mud embedded deep under my fingernails, taste the dirt on my lips. I can still see the eyes: shining like glass, open and staring, deep in their sockets. Dead.
In my mind I watch the earth piling onto the body, slowly blotting out what’s been done. Finally covering those eyes, so they can’t judge anymore.
I’m confident no trace can lead back to me.
Part of me feels regret; a sadness that it came to such a drastic act.
For the moment, my conscience is telling me I’m guilty.
But that can be buried too.
Tuesday p.m.
The quiet murmurings that stopped as Louisa walked in the room, the closely guarded messages on his iPhone, the way he flitted about when Tiff was around – those were the little things that gave him away. He’d never been able to keep secrets. It’d been something Louisa had found endearing when she’d first met him on Millennium Eve at the party she shouldn’t have been at. But nineteen years later, his inability to hide anything despite believing he could – and that he was good at it – had