Now That's a Party

tw: murder

The red Solo cups on the table were another reminder of what was happening tonight. That and the blaring music, tables scattered with bowls of food, and bottles of who knows what on the counters. Florence diverted her attention away from where her boyfriend, Sawyer, and roommate, Blair, were singing Taylor Swift karaoke, rather poorly. 

She shot them a quick smile before looking back down at her favorite white t-shirt, tragically covered in marinara sauce after Blair tried cooking dinner. All it needed, luckily, was a bit of bleach to be good as new. 

Florence’s other roommate, Lucy, walking briskly out of her room, was talking on the phone. Florence heard pieces of conversation. Someone had been cheated on, apparently. But hey, that was college, wasn’t it?

“Is he coming to the party tonight?” Lucy asked, pouring a bottle of rum into the punch. “Well, we can just make him jealous then. I’m sure Sawyer could help you out.”

“I can?” Sawyer paused his belting as he heard his name. “Don’t you have anything to say about that, Flo?”

“I’m locking myself in my room for the duration of the party. Just know, actions have consequences and if you try anything Blair will most likely kill you.” She smiled sweetly, tipping the bleach over her shirt in the sink.

Lucy’s eyes scanned over her, then the bottle. “You better wrap this up if you want to retreat to your room in time, party’s starting soon.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Florence said, placing her shirt in a plastic bag and zipping it shut. As she did so, her elbow hit the uncapped bottle of bleach, spilling it over the countertop. The neck of the jug collided with the punch bowl, causing both to teeter loudly.

“You don’t think any of the bleach got in the punch, do you? I spent $5 on that rum,” Sawyer complained, taking the empty rum bottle and begrudgingly throwing it in the recycling.

“If you spent $5 on it, maybe it’s best we don’t drink it,” Florence commented, starting back down the hallway to her room. “Just dump it down the sink.”

She passed Blair who was trying to clean their living room, seeing as they weren’t always the neatest of people. 

“Is everything alright in there? I heard a crash,” she called over her shoulder.

“Everything’s fine,” Florence said. “Just dropped my bleach in the punch. Nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, okay—wait what?”

“Go ask Sawyer. My social switch is officially off.” She paused before reaching the door of her room. “Have fun! Make good decisions! I’m not helping you tomorrow when you’re all hungover!” She yelled before shutting and locking her door.

Florence knew, in reality, she would absolutely be taking care of them tomorrow, providing bottles of water and tons of Advil. Whenever they had a party, it was always the same, not that she minded. The period where they all slept their hangovers off could be rather peaceful; one of the only times the apartment was actually quiet.

Gradually, the thudding of the speakers grew more intense, and the voices in the hall grew louder. Having been skilled at the art of ignorance, Florence blocked it out and opened her textbooks. 

Nearly an hour had passed before she heard rapid knocking on her door. Rolling her eyes, she went to open it, expecting one of Sawyer’s drunken love confessions.

She was partially right: it was Sawyer. The look in his eye wasn’t the same as it normally was, no mischievous glint that only brightened when she told him they were already dating. She had never seen him look this way.

“Are you okay?” she asked, reaching a hand out to rest on his arm.

He was anxiously looking back over his shoulder. “Remember how you told us to dump the punch? We didn’t exactly do that.”

“Did someone—?”

“Yeah. Yeah, some guy drank it and now he’s dead in the middle of your kitchen!”

“Shh! Well, don’t say it so loud!” Florence scolded, pulling him inside the room. “What exactly happened?”

“We were focused on other things, and someone saw it on the counter and tried it and then they just—”

“Calm down, Sawyer, you need to take a breath.”

“I need to take a breath? No, you know who needs to take a breath? That guy out there. But he can’t. Because he’s dead. We killed him, Flo, how are you so calm about this?”

“For the record, you were left out there alone for an hour and I can only imagine the amount of alcohol you have consumed. For that reason, I believe you are drunk and hallucinating, but if it will make you feel better I’ll come look.”

Florence was dragged out of her room, pushing through masses of people to reach the empty kitchen. The sight made Florence pale.

Lying across the floor was a red Solo cup, punch pooling on the floor like a murder scene. Such a thought wasn’t an inaccurate observation, for to the right of the puddle was a body—true to Sawyer’s word—unmoving and unbreathing. Florence’s eyes widened.

“Flo! He just came back here and we found him on the floor and what the hell do we do?” Blair whisper-screamed, panic written clearly on her face. 

“Well, for starters dump the damn punch!” Florence exclaimed, taking the bowl and tipping it down the sink.

“That’s your priority?” Sawyer asked incredulously. “There is a dead body and you’re worried about the punch?”

“We don’t want to kill anyone else,” Florence reasoned.

“But that doesn’t help us with this problem!” Blair gestured to the floor and the body lying there.

“What’s the easiest way to get rid of a body?” Sawyer wondered aloud. 

“Burying,” suggested Blair.

 At the same time, Florence said, “burning.”

“No, that gets too messy. Remember the Hudson case?”

“Oh yeah, and we’d smell like smoke anyway. Burying would get us dirty too. And take too long.”

Sawyer looked between the two girls with an unreadable expression. “I wasn’t expecting such an informed response of how to get away with murder.”

“You don’t know what I do when you aren’t here,” Florence mumbled, squatting to get a closer look at the man.

“Are you off killing people?” Sawyer grew more and more concerned at Florence’s impassive gaze.

“No, just reading. Murder mysteries are fun.” Florence shrugged nonchalantly.

“And watching and listening,” Blair added. “By the way, this would be involuntary manslaughter, not murder. Just so we’re on the same page.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes. “Thanks, I was really concerned about that. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Did you see the documentary on the Breaker family? They chopped the guy up, put him in their dog’s food and made broth from the bones.”

Florence shook her head. “We don’t have a dog. We can’t get one because of the landlord’s rules.”

There was a beat of silence. “We could get a cat?”

“We live on the ocean, right?” Sawyer asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, were you unaware?”

“We aren’t going to have a beach bonfire right now.”

“What if we brought him there—the cliffs, we could throw him over. I’ll bet he drank some, if someone found him, it’d look like he got drunk and fell.” Sawyer looked as if he was connecting the dots as he explained.

“That’s… not a bad idea.”

“There’s been stories of that happening before, the tides would pull him out—”

“—no one would ever find him,” Blair finished, sharing a twisted smile with Florence.

“Wait, did I do something?” Sawyer’s eyes were wide, seeming partly proud of himself, but partly terrified.

“Yeah! Good job, Sawyer!” Florence smiled, giving him a thumbs-up.

“Not how I expected to spend my Saturday night, but when the need arises to dispose of a body with your girlfriend and her weird friend…”

“You shouldn’t say those things about Flo,” Blair chastised teasingly.

“I don’t really care what our relationships are,” Florence cut in, “can we focus on the body on my kitchen floor?”

“You don’t care about our relationship?” Sawyer asked, bringing a hand to his chest on mock offense. 

Florence ignored him, letting out a heavy sigh. “You know what? I’ll do it myself.”

She walked towards the body, looping her arms under his, and tried to drag him. She was, ultimately, unsuccessful.

“Ok… maybe I can’t do it myself. New plan, you stop talking and help me.”

“I’ll get a duffel bag or something to be less suspicious.” Blair ran out of the kitchen and was back in under a minute with a My Little Pony duffel bag. 

Seeing the strange looks she was getting from the other two, Blair said, “What? I like My Little Pony.”

With a slight shrug, the three set to work. They none too carefully stuffed the body in the bag, twisting limbs at angles they should not have gone if he were alive. His skin was already starting to turn purple.

“How are we getting him out?” They slowly looked up, eyes meeting before they moved to the door to the bulk of the party.

“Can we just push him out the kitchen window?” Blair asked, cringing as she already knew the answer.

“That’s even more conspicuous. Half the people are drunk anyway. It’ll—it’ll be fine.” Florence’s words were far from reassuring.

“So we just bring him… through the party?”

“That’s our only option.”

Sawyer shook his head at the duffel bag. “I’m not carrying it.”

“Yes, you are,” Florence argued. “Blair couldn’t even cook spaghetti, do you expect her to carry a body?”

“I don’t think those things are related, but if it gets me out of touching that duffel bag ever again, insult my cooking all you want.”

“Think of it as couples bonding!” Florence said with false positivity.

“Fine, but next time you want to bond we’re just eating a gallon of ice cream together.”

With that, the two each grabbed a handle of the bag, Blair walking ahead to get the door and clear a path for them. Much as Florence had predicted, no one paid them much attention. 

The music vibrated through the floor, beating in rhythm with the rapid pace of Florence’s heart. This was quite the opposite of peacefully hiding in her room for the night, as she had planned. She simply hoped no one would catch the panicked faces Sawyer and Blair were making, as well as very likely herself. 

… 

Somewhere else in the party, another person wore a very panicked expression themselves. Though it was not exactly for the same reason.

As they looked into the kitchen, they were driven into a state of fear as they saw what was lying on the floor.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing was there.

Not fifteen minutes before they had left the body of Tyler Klein laying there, choking as bleach had burned its way through his system. 

Rushing back into the living room, they saw headlights shining through the window. Two people shoving a My Little Pony duffel bag into the trunk of a car while one sat anxiously in the driver’s seat.

There was no doubt of what was in the duffel bag. Nor was there any doubt about the decision to follow the car.

…

It was a five-minute drive to reach the bluffs. In that time, no words had been spoken in the car, Blair driving slightly over the speed limit while the whole situation hit Florence.

If she hadn’t been so clumsy and knocked over that bottle of bleach, they wouldn’t have been in this mess. She wouldn’t have put her friends through this mess. She wouldn’t have to face the repercussions of this mess.

Never for a second did she consider calling the police. Perhaps before, but not now that Blair and Sawyer were dragged into everything. It couldn’t play off as an accident if all three of them were involved, and she wouldn’t be responsible for putting them in jail. This was just karma—the part of the deal where she had to throw a body over a cliff like it was a natural part of life.

The car pulled to a stop, the three jumping out and dragging the duffel bag out of the trunk.

“Do we leave him in the bag?” 

“We want it to look natural. Finding a body in a bag is far from natural.”

They unzipped the bag and brought the man out of it. The task was easier said than done, especially considering none of them wanted to get too close to him.

Hands shaking and breath caught in their throats, they moved to the edge of the rocky cliff.

“Good-bye mysterious man that died in our kitchen,” Blair said sadly as they dumped him into the tides below. “Sorry for killing you.”

Florence put a hand to her chest, feeling like she had just taken in her first breath. The salty air made her feel a bit nauseous, knowing what they had just done. Yet, it didn’t feel quite as revolutionary as one would expect killing a man to feel like.

“You think you killed him?” A familiar voice from behind laughed coldly. “Honey, you couldn’t kill a man if you tried.”

There it was, the dramatic revelation at the end of any crime documentary she had watched. Where everything turns on its head and suddenly you don’t think you’re a murderer anymore. 

Still, they spun around like lightning with hearts beating out of their chests. Lucy stood a distance away. Florence hadn’t heard her footsteps approach. 

“What do you mean we didn’t kill him?” she asked slowly.

“What does it sound like? You aren’t responsible for his death. I am. But you took care of all this for me,” she motioned to the cliff, “and now I guess you are partially responsible.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“That idiot, Tyler, cheated on my best friend. You heard me on the phone; she was heartbroken. So he had to go.” Lucy smiled devilishly, as if proud of herself. “It was a bit impulsive, but I saw Flo with the bleach, and I knew he’d be at the party…” Puzzle pieces began to fit together, painting a scene colored in red.

“You are psychotic!” Blair exclaimed, pausing as she considered the circumstances. “We can’t exactly go to the police, so I say we should hang out more. Sawyer if you ever do anything to Flo, I have back-up.”

“That is absolutely terrifying.”

Together, the four walked back to their cars, pausing in between them.

“You three aren’t allowed to throw parties anymore,” Florence decided, rubbing her temples as she leaned against her car. “When you do, murder happens.”

Lucy laughed. “Now that’s a party.”