No Blood

There was no blood. Of course there was no blood. Strangling someone rarely involves blood.

Oh, but did he try, he tried so hard to draw blood from the attacker's face, but the tall figure was too strong and too flexible for his flailing arms and nails that he used to chew.

I didn't interrupt, I didn't scream, for we were miles away from the nearest house, the bus stop was in a dead spot for any vehicles driving nearby, and there rarely were any. It was past midnight, not too late for bars and clubs, we were supposed to go downtown and then the attacker came.

I hated myself for being such a coward, but what could I do? I was a little over hundred pounds soaking wet and the man looked ripped. He looked sturdy as he put my boyfriend's neck in the triangle formed by his arm, a triangle that wouldn't budge as it took the air out of him.

I'd been strangled before myself and I knew the exact thoughts and feelings in Jake's head right now. The need to live that surpassed any other needs. The visceral fear. It was impossible to be brave with a hand or an arm on your neck, impossible to focus on anything else besides prolonging your life. At gunpoint I had been calm. It had almost been like my brain never processed the fact that pulling the trigger would have rendered me nonexistent. Knifes, well – knifes were scarier, perhaps due to some evolutionary code about sharp objects, but there was no greater panic than the panic of asphyxiation.

I was calm, calmer than I was supposed to be, and I wondered whether that made me a little bit psychopathic. It was true that I could do nothing without putting myself in danger, however, it was also true that this was my boyfriend of two years, my man, my lover. There was pain inside me – oh, but there was also silence.

The house party we had just left had witnessed us both drinking a lot, but what they didn't know was that I only pretended to drink. I didn't want anyone to know about the pregnancy, not even now, when I could’ve used that medical information to prove my boyfriend had been attacked.

This and a hundred other thoughts ran around my brain in circles. His twitching got weaker and it happened less often, until the attacker must've felt him grow limp. The man held him still, perhaps to make sure he was truly dead and not just unconscious.

I did nothing. I said nothing. The tall man was killing my boyfriend and I stood still in the shadows. I had a potential human life within me to protect. I hoped my man would come to understand this on the other side. He had no need to do so, however. He knew it wasn't from his seed. No, it wasn't his child.

The attacker was smart enough to check his pulse. Apparently finding nothing, he let go. My boyfriend fell down, but before the dead body hit the ground, the tall man grabbed it, as it was now lifeless and easily manipulated. He grabbed it in an ergonomical position and messed up the traces of the struggle in the cold sand beneath us. Not a single sign that someone was killed here, nothing but the word of a supposedly drunk lunatic woman.

Not killed – murdered. I knew who the tall man was and he had every reason to be premeditating and precise. This was a murder, well planned and well executed, and I knew this tall man to be smart enough to get himself a proper alibi as well. I couldn't prove anything if I had wanted to. He carried the body bridal style into the woods, taking careful steps in order to not leave footprints.

When I heard his car start on a nearby forest trail that was mostly abandonded, I went to check the crime scene, hand instinctively on my stomach out of some primeval motherly instinct. It was indeed so – there was no trace. I dared to check for evidence, threads from his clothes, little drops of spit, I used the flashlight of my phone and found nothing.

I couldn't have proved anything.

He had a habit of disappearing. He often talked about ditching me and everyone else. He had even lived in the nearby forest for a week, just to enrage me and his mother. There was nothing I could do. I didn't even want to do anything. He had wanted to leave. Well, now he had left.

I felt a small drop of rage fall into my chest, and for a short while I expressed my silent gratitude for the tall murderer that had so skillfully disposed of that wretched man.

The bus came early, but now I had no company and no real reason to hang out in bars sober. I only went downtown to clear my thoughts. I met my dead boyfriend's friends and they asked me all sorts of questions. Whether we were fighting or breaking up again, whether he planned to put a ring in my finger to shut me up, that kind of stuff. I told them I had made him mad. They seemed to be satisfied when I told them he had once again gone for a walk.

Well, it wasn't on his own two legs, but he was indeed terminally forest-bound, so I didn't lie terribly much. If I had seen something the police could replicate, if they would've believed a drunk girl who was known for telling crazy stories – hell, if I had any evidence at all I would've phoned the emergency line and told the truth, but what could I do now? Any truth I could tell now was tainted. He had been a good man to everyone else. They had only known his perfection and his patience, his willingness to look past my infidelity. So I drank my body weight in non-alcoholic drinks and when the night was nearly over, I checked that no soul was following me and took a taxi to Joe's place.

”You haven't been drinking, have you? Of course not.”

Joe squeezed me tight. I felt my heart flutter. Oh, how safe he could make me feel.

”Of course not,” I replied and kissed his cheek. ”Let me in, I'm cold.”

As we entered his living room, I saw his mother seated next to the fireplace, asleep, frail in her old age that had come so rapidly. She was a trusted member of the local community. Nobody suspected she was a little off in the head department, she worked so hard and did it so well.

A perfect alibi.

I mentioned this to Joe with a hushed voice and he let out a dark chuckle. I loved him so bad and if it hadn't been for his mother, I would've given him more than a kiss. His tall, protective frame towered over me, his dark eyebrows made a jump towards his hairline that spoke of secrets and he took my hand, holding it as if it were a small, wounded bird.

”He will never hurt you again. I couldn't destroy his reputation, so I had to destroy him. Do you think I'm a bad man?”

”It's not you here who has done wrong,” I whispered. ”Nobody will know. You were careful, weren't you?”

”His body is taken care of. They will not find a single bone.”

”Good,” I said, but my emotional nature took over and I started to cry.

”I will never abandon you. I will never let go of us, you hear me, babydoll,” he said softly, placing me into the most comfortable armchair.

”He will never hit me again,” I said, smiling through my tears. ”He will never threaten my life or our future.”

It was true – Jake wouldn't ever put a gun to my head again, nor would he otherwise put me in danger. Joe had spilled no blood. Neither had Jake. He had been far too clever for that.