Page 9 of Till Death Do Us Part

Ha. First time I’d been put in the same category as a kitten.

Elaine was more the kitten here. A bit on the small side. Very helpless.

I wasn’t going to enjoy killing her. But I’d made a promise.

And you didn’t betray your family.

Killing my father had been the most faithful act I could make to him.

“Have it your way,” I said. “Lucky it’s a bit grown. Don’t think there’s milk in this place. But there’s some nonperishables if you want to feed the thing.”

“She’s not just a thing, she’s a cat.”

“Oh, we’ve figured she’s a girl, then.”

She stood up a little taller. “I know animals.”

She was an awfully willful thing. “Fine,” I said. “Pantry is around the corner. I’ll take care of this injury myself.”

“Don’t,” she said, setting the cat down on the floor and catching me. “Please,” she said, her voice soft. “You saved me life. Just… let me do this.”

Wasn’t… wasn’t used to someone looking after me. I knew how that ended up.

Knew how I’m doing this because I care turned into I did this, so now you owe me. Turned into again. Again.

Again.

Again.

“Vera?”

I jerked back to reality. Wasn’t like me to drift off down memory lane.

What did it matter if Elaine was going to try to lord it over me later? She was going to end up at the bottom of the river before too long.

Didn’t like to think about things like that too much. Even I had a little bit of a heart.

“Fine,” I muttered. I unbuttoned my shirt, stripping it off, and Elaine blushed.

“What—what are you doing?”

“What, were you planning on cleaning a wound through the shirt?”

“Just… I thought you’d put on a tank or…”

I gestured to my sports bra. “This is close enough. I’m not too hung up on decency, Elaine. Once you’ve killed someone, you don’t care who’s seen you in your underwear.”

She swallowed, looking down, still blushing.

Well, wasn’t too bad to know she would get embarrassed like that seeing a woman’s body. I didn’t get in the habit of having sex with girls I was going to have to kill, though.

Murder and sex made poor bedfellows.

“Just sit down a bit and I’ll be right back with you,” she said quietly. “Where’s the first-aid kit?”

“Bathroom. Around the corner on the other side.”

I watched her with my thoughts turning as she whirled through the room—first opening a can of tuna and forking it out onto a plate for the cat, along with a bowl of water, and then once the cat had stopped quivering and got over the panic enough to take cautious nibbles of the tuna, she took the first-aid kit from the bathroom along with a few clean towels, sitting on the couch next to me and looking at the cut.