Blood Cold

It’s what anyone would expect. That the homeless kid killed this beautiful, rich, young woman and left her here under the bridge for some police sniffing dog to find when she hasn’t returned home to her mansion. I’m the one who always hangs out here, so of course they would think I did it. My DNA is all over this place. And now, thanks to my own stupidity, all over the woman too.

It's what anyone would expect, so why not just take the money?

--

I had just gotten back to my spot under the bridge when I saw her. I’ve found this bridge to be one of the most peaceful places I’ve ever stayed, homeless or not. It’s sheltered from the wind, the rain. The screaming. The hitting.

But I don’t spend all day here and she wasn’t here when I left this morning, that’s for sure. It’s September now and I’m back at school for my last year of high school. As far as the school knows, I’m still living with my mom. In reality my mom hasn’t been sober for long enough to realize I’ve been gone all summer.

I was at Teddy’s place after school today. I’d stayed as long as I could and even got some dinner out of it. As many hints as I dropped that I wanted to stay the night, his mom insisted no sleepovers on school nights. She didn’t think my parents would approve anyway, which is a normal assumption. She doesn’t know my mom, though. Not many people know I don’t go home anymore, not even Teddy.

The days are getting shorter and the nights chillier with each week that passes. When I left Teddy’s, I pulled my hoodie up and jogged back to the bridge. I can stay warmer for longer when I get my blood flowing before bed.

I was looking forward to curling up into my little nest under the bridge if you can believe it. When I left home at the beginning of the summer, I didn’t leave with nothing – I brought my thickest blanket and a pillowcase stuffed with a few changes of shirts. I was prepared to be gone for a while.

My bridge is a small bridge over a walking path, unclaimed by anyone else. Every once in a while, some kids will scramble down, but they quickly scatter when they see me there.

There’s a kind of unspoken code amongst the other homeless people I’ve encountered. This is my spot, claimed by me, and anyone else who comes along will have to find their own.

A little river flows under the bridge and the left bank is wide and peaceful. My nest of clothes and blankets sits at the top of the bank, right up against the farthest beam of the bridge. It’s dry, even when it rains, and cozy. A place of my own.

When I got back from Teddy’s, I hopped over the railing and then shimmied down the little hill that takes me to the base of my bridge. It wasn’t too late, but the sky was dark and the streetlights had already been on for some hours. As I was about to round the corner I saw hair on the ground, peeking around the side.

I didn’t realize that it was an actual feeling – when your blood runs cold. I thought it was just something people said to express a particularly horrible type of horror. But I felt it all over, a cold liquid pulsing through my veins that made me stop dead in my tracks. I knew a body would be attached to that hair and I knew that whoever it belonged to wouldn’t be in good shape.

And then there she was. She was dressed in a suit and her eyelids were pressed shut, like she was in a deep sleep. It looked like she had been on her way home from work, with the fingers of her one hand still loosely curled around a brief case handle.

I ran to the woman and shook her gently.

Umm ma’am? Hello?

She was so obviously dead, but I felt the need to try. I shook her a bit more, and then put my ear to her chest. Of course, she wasn’t breathing.

The shirt around her neck had been stretched out, like it had been tugged, struggled against. I pulled it back and saw red marks in the shape of fingers around her throat. I ran my fingers over them, as though my blood cold hands could offer some relief. I could tell she was beautiful even though death had already started to consume her body and for a second I was overwhelmingly sad. Then I realized. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

I looked around me, suddenly aware that whoever did this could still be around. But the night was quiet and stiller than it had ever felt before. They’d probably fled. I didn’t know what to do.

My DNA was all over her. On her chest, where I had listened for her breath, on her throat. My hand was even still gripped on her forearm, I realized, in some bizarre sort of attempt to comfort this dead woman. I quickly released her.

I knew I should report this, but if I’d learned anything, it’s not to trust the police unless you’re rich and white. People will be looking for this woman and I needed to move quickly.

I paced back and forth a few steps. What. The. Fuck. Who is she and why would someone kill her and just leave her here?

Surely, I couldn’t get in any trouble for this. Why would I kill this woman and then report it to the police?

I had seen my friends go down for even more improbable things, though. I should take my stuff and get out of here, I thought.

I put on as many of my clothes as I can and then stuffed the blanket into my pillowcase. I took one last look at my spot under the bridge, the most at home I’ve ever felt. Then I looked at the woman.

For some reason, I wanted to know her name. No one deserves this, to be left here as the blackness of the night deepens around her without anyone knowing where she is. I hoped she had some ID so I could at least see if she was close to home. Maybe she’d be found quickly.

I looked for a purse or a wallet, but there was nothing but the briefcase. It must be in there, I thought. I uncurled her fingers gently and it sent chills through my body.

I unclipped the briefcase and lifted the lid, careful to not spill the contents.

I stared down in disbelief. There were hundreds, if not thousands of $100 dollar bills stacked perfectly to fill the entire briefcase. As if it was designed for it.

I was frozen in place.

This couldn’t be random. Whoever killed her was coming back for the money. And why wouldn’t they have taken it in the first place.  

I had to get out of there. But like I said, my DNA was all over the place. No matter what, they’ll be looking for me.

--

I can get far with this money. Change everything. I’ll have a roof, a bed.

It’s what anyone would expect, so I’m getting out of here. And I’m taking the money.