Page 72 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

"We passed 'concerned' two chapters ago."

The cottage settled into its usual afternoon quiet. Sunlight stretched lazily across the kitchen floor as I rolled up my sleeves and filled the sink. The sharp scent of citrus cleaner drifted into the room, but it couldn't quite mask the heavy, metallic smell rising from the wood.

Some stains surrendered almost immediately. Others clung stubbornly, deep and dark, refusing to disappear no matter how much effort you poured into them. Organic things are like that. They bind to the fiber. They hold on. People are much the same. Some mistakes fade with time, others leave marks no amount of scrubbing can erase.

I looked up. Not in the room but at you.

Blood is tricky. Everyone thinks it’s just a liquid but it’s alive. It wants to bind to things. It wants to stay. Do you know there are certain steps to follow to make sure blood stains don’t stain? Different material equals different steps.

I turned back to the wood and brought the cloth down, pressing my weight into it.

Scrub.

Scrub.

Scrub.

The friction warmed my hands, but the water in the bucket had to stay freezing.

Never use hot water. Hot water cooks the proteins. It bakes the haemoglobin right into the fabric, right into the wood grain. If you use heat, you’ve locked it in forever. You’ve given it a permanent home.

I stopped. The shadow was still there, a faint, stubborn bruise under the surface. I reached for a cold, amber glass bottle of hydrogen peroxide and poured it directly onto the spot.

Instantly, it began to hiss. A thick, white foam bubbled furiously as the chemical violently tore the cells apart, lifting the deep crimson shadow out of the grain.

Scrub.

Scrub.

Scrub.

I wiped the foam away, but the wood still looked slightly weathered, slightly darkened. I reached for a box of baking soda, scattering the white powder over the damp patch, then drizzled a little dish soap over it. It formed a thick, gritty paste.

You must draw it out, my fingers working the paste deep into the grooves. You must break down the enzymes. It takes patience. If you rush, you leave a ghost behind. You leave evidence.

Scrub.

Scrub.

Scrub.

The grit scraped under my fingers. My muscles ached, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. I rinsed the cloth in the icy water, wrung it out until my knuckles turned white, and wiped the surface completely bare.

Everyone talks about clean slates. A small, cold smile tugged at my lips. I've never believed in them.

The countertop looked perfect. Spotless. Gleaming in the afternoon light. Almost untouched. Almost. I set the damp, soiled cloth aside. I leaned against the counter, tilting my head, and looked right back at you. The silence in the cottage stretched between us, heavy and thick with the scent of citrus, chemicals, and iron.

The cleanest things are often the ones that deserve a second look. Strange, isn't it? Everyone notices the mess. The broken glass. The muddy footprints. The obvious but almost no one notices what's missing. That's the frightening part. Perfection is suspicious. It asks far more questions than chaos ever could. It isn't the stain that tells the story… It's the one that isn't there. Tell me... when something looks too perfect... Do you ever stop to wonder what it took to make it that way?

Elias

The grocery store wasn't much to look at. One automatic door that only opened when it felt like it, three squeaky shopping carts, and fluorescent lights that hummed with enough enthusiasm to qualify as white noise. If Blackridge ever made the news, it certainly wouldn't be because of its shopping experience.

I grabbed a basket instead of a cart. I wasn't planning on staying long.

Bread. Eggs. Coffee. Dog food. The essentials. Max had already made it abundantly clear that if I forgot his treats again, he'd consider it a personal betrayal.

I turned down the cereal aisle. Half the shelves were filled with boxes covered in words I didn't understand. Gluten-free. Sugar-free. Organic. Plant-based. I picked up a box, frowned at the ingredients, and put it back.