Cleanup on aisle murder

You check the time. Perfect. As intended, you've arrived fashionably late. You didn't want to help in the murder, that isn't what you signed up for. You had signed up for cleanup. Dumping the body somewhere, cleaning the blood, making it look like nothing happened and the victim had just went missing. But, that didn't happen. You were told to be there, be present for the actual murder. You hate the thought of even taking someone's life, but you need the money. So when you were told to help assist in the murder and not just the cleanup, you were mortified. Now, sitting in your car as you watch through the window, rain pouring down, you see them. Your "buddies". They were the ones who had originally signed up for the killing part, and they didn't jump at the idea of you helping. So, naturally, you arrived late. But not late enough. You walked into the victims house, and watched him take his last breath.

"You're late." One guy said, wiping the blood on a towel.

"Sorry."

"Yeah, sure you are. Anyway," He clears his throat, "Clean this up, dump his body, and report back to the boss."

"Understood." You sigh as you bend down to pick up the man. Without the blood on his face, he would have looked decent. His hair was blond, now stained red, and he was muscular. He seemed like the type of guy wouldn't go down without a fight.

"He really did get me good, didn't he?" Another man calls from another room.

"Yeah, he did, you're gonna have that black eye for at least a week or two."

"Sick."

You roll your eyes. Sloppy, unprepared, and under trained men always leads to this kind of cleanup. It's the kind that takes twice as long as it normally should. Therefore, twice the chance of getting caught.

First, you have to wrap up the body in a waterproof body bag, so the blood doesn't get in your car when you eventually throw the corpse in your trunk. Of course, it takes a lot of work to drag him out of the house, get him in your car without being caught, and then go clean up the house.

You grumble to yourself as you hide in the bushes and wait for a car to pass. As soon as it turns the corner, you drag the body across the street as fast as the deadweight will let you, and you prop open your trunk.

With a grunt, you heave the body into the trunk and slam the door. Now it's time to cleanup. You grab the bleach and sponges, along with rubber gloves, and sprint back to the house. The men are gone. At least they won't get in the way now.

Scrub the walls and any furniture that has blood on it, then move to fabrics. Those are by far the most difficult things to get blood out of. But you do it, and the last thing to do is wash the floor and tidy up. The floor takes the longest because you have to keep rinsing the sponge out over and over and over.

Finally, after you clear the house of any traces of blood, you start tidying things up. Pick up the fallen lamp, put the couch back into place, pick up the bathroom where that one guy examined his eye, and rearrange the fridge for when the guys ransacked it for a few beers.

It takes about 2 hours. By the end of it, you are drenched in sweat, and still have to dispose of the body. Chest heaving, you get into your car and start the engine, flip your headlights on, and step on the gas, shooting forward in hopes to get to your dump site quicker.

15 minutes later, you pull up to the construction site. You hop out of the car and drag the body out. It lands with a thud against the dirt road. You take the body by the feet and drag it over to the freshly poured cement. Sticking a finger into the mush, you feel that it's the perfect density. You grunt as you push the body bag, complete with a corpse, into the wet cement and push it down, immersing it into the cement. Now you have to smooth it back out to make it look undisturbed.

After another 15 minutes, you are done. The cement looks smooth and like nothing has ever been pushed into it. When it hardens, there is no way anyone will ever find the body.

"A job well done." You whisper to yourself, washing off your hands at the nearby tap and wiping them on your pants.

You climb back into your car and get out of there.

About 30 minutes into your drive back home, red and blue lights flash in your rearview mirror. With no choice, you pull over and go over your cover story: "My son needed medicine, and the only store that has the kind he needs is 45 minutes back down the road, I'm just driving home."

Seems legitimate; a mother buying medicine for her son, no harm in that.

A knock on your window startles you. You had been going over the story continuously in your head, staring into space.

"How can I help you officer?" You ask in your polite voice.

"License and registration, please."

You hand it over and he looks though it. Then, he hands it back.

"Sorry about that, ma'am. It's just, no one is ever driving on this road at this hour."

"I know, but my son needed medicine, and the store where we get it is 45 minutes that way." You point behind you.

"Ah, I see, well, have a goodnight, ma'am."

"Thank you, officer, you too." You wave as he walks back to his car.

As you continue driving, you snicker, "What an idiot, there is no store back there, it's all restaurants and houses."

As you near your neighborhood, your wheel jerks to the right. Cursing, you pull over to investigate. Blown tire, Damn. Better fix it quickly.

*Thud*

You snap your head up from your work, eyes wide and frightened. What was that?

A big black bag rolls off the roof of your car and lands right in front of you. You jump back, stifling a scream. Wait, the bag, it looks like....no, it couldn't be. I buried it in cement. But it looks the same....how?

Shaking, you shuffle closer to it and kneel next to the bag. With trembling fingers, you unzip the zipper. Opening the flaps seems like it takes a milenia. Clicking on your flashlight and aiming it at the dark opening, you scream.

That face.

It's him.

The one you dumped in the cement.

But, that's not possible....

Right?