I was completely in love with my husband before I killed him. Well, mostly. Now I’m sure you’re wondering where this is going. We’re only a few sentences in and the crap has already hit the fan. Just give me a second to explain. You’ll understand soon enough, and I’m willing to bet you’ll side with me. I loved that man more than life itself, but he was completely and utterly deranged. And now that I think about it, I don’t regret it. One. Single. Bit. Does that make me a murderer? Yes. Do I feel any type of remorse for my actions? Absolutely not. But am I justified in my actions? Well… I’ll recount what happened, and you can tell me.
Marshall was always a bit strange. Before we ever met up, he told me that he wanted to be upfront and honest with me about a few of his red flags. To say I was a bit hesitant at first was an understatement, but I wanted to keep my options open, so I typed back some cookie cutter response about not judging him for his downfalls, and being appreciative that he was willing to be so open.
The first two red flags were strange, yes, but not dealbreakers. Things like absolutely insisting on disposing of his food leftovers out in the woods behind his backyard. But maybe he just liked to compost? Another particularly weird one was that he always kept a pair of rubber gloves stuffed in his wallet. Most guys keep some kind of rubber in their wallets though, gloves or otherwise, so who was I to judge? But that’s not what this is about anyways, and besides, now that I think about it, those flags weren’t anything in comparison to what I’m about to explain later on. They were definitely a foreshadowing, but stay with me here. I’ll get to that in a second.
A few minutes dragged by before I heard my phone ding with the final red flag that Marshall said he was the most nervous about.
“I have… Strange eating habits.”
I remember looking at those words, head cocked to the side, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as I thought about what he meant. Did he have weird food allergies? Did he only eat at certain times of the day? Was he one of those bodybuilders that just ate bland chicken, tasteless rice, and wilted broccoli? Or worse yet… was he a vegan?! If you’ve never tried dating or cooking for a gym rat, or a vegan, that in and of itself is a horror story all on its own.
“Are you a bodybuilder or a vegan?”
The anticipation I felt as I watched the typing bubbles appear was like that of a roller coaster car climbing the tracks to the very tip top of the ride. And then he replied.
“No…”
“Great, I’m sure we’ll get along like peaches and cream then!”
Looking back now, I suppose I should have delved a little deeper into what he meant exactly, but I’m going to be completely honest… Marshall was hot. Like, hot hot. And I was so single that if I screamed into the void, “I love you,” I’m almost positive that the echo would reply back, “I just want to be friends.” So, please don’t judge a girl for acting a little on impulse. At the time, I was wholeheartedly convinced that this man was God’s gift to women.
I’ll never forget the very first time we met. It was a Tuesday night and the downpour was dreadful. The heavens opened up and buckets of rain fell down in sheets. I had a little black dress on with thin spaghetti straps and a low cut neck. I’d shaved every inch of my body baby-butt smooth, did makeup that took at least an hour, and curled my hair until it was perfectly bouncy, specifically with our date in mind. But by the time I made it into the restaurant, my hair clung to the sides of my face in thin, wispy strands, and my dress was drenched, stuck to my skin like plaster. It was clear that Marshall was smitten, though. Even in my waterlogged state, he looked at me as if he knew from the moment he laid eyes on me, that I would be his.
And he was right. One year later he proposed, and a year after that, we were married.
Although I hadn’t ever met Marshall’s parents, for reasons I’ll explain later, he did meet mine, and they adored him as if he was their own son. My mom was quick to welcome him, talking to Marshall about the three ‘f’s’ as she calls it - faith, family, and friends, while my father picked his brain on one of his favorite topics - mortuary science. Marshall had just graduated from school, fresh faced and hopeful, more than ready to become a mortician, and ironically enough, that’s exactly what my father did. In fact, it was a family business. My younger brother, also in the field, helped with the bodies that needed to be cremated, and my mother was a grief and loss counselor. So, it was no surprise when my father took Marshall under his wing, letting him assist in the preparation of the bodies. Then, without much notice, when my brother moved upstate to live with his girlfriend, Marshall was all too happy to take over, quickly learning the ropes of the crematorium.
For ten whole months, mine and Marshall’s marriage could only be described as beautifully ignorant bliss. Marshall was a romantic, and I loved every second of it. Emphasis on the word “loved.” Once again, let me stress that I loved this man dearly. Killing him wasn’t easy. In February, for Valentine’s day, he surprised me with a romantic weekend getaway. The bed was covered in roses, there were chocolate-covered strawberries, champagne, and the whole dang shabang!
And then November rolled around. Thanksgiving was staring me dead in the face, a sinister smirk curling at its cranberry sauce painted lips. That Thanksgiving was Marshall’s last. I remember when his mother called. It was the day after Halloween. Marshall was working on something in his office, and the landline was ringing off the hook.
“Sinclair residence,” I chirped, picking the phone up on the third ring.
“Oh, Holly, this is Susan. Can you put my angel of a son on the line?”
“Susan, Marshall is really busy right now in his office. He’s buried up to his nose in-”
“Don’t give me that nonsense!” she shrieked. “I want to speak to my son right now, and you don’t get to dictate when. I don’t know what you did to his cellphone, but he’s not answering, and I need to speak to him about Thanksgiving plans.”
I ran a hand down my face and scoffed. This woman was insufferable.
“Susan, I’m really not trying to start an argument here. I didn’t do anything to his cellphone.” With a pause, I took a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of my nose. We have both tried to explain this to her before, but Marshall’s mother could call the president during a press meeting and still expect him to answer. On the other hand, if Jesus himself was calling her about the end of the world as we know it, she wouldn’t answer for anything. Susan had such an irrational fear of scammers that she blocked every number that she didn’t recognize.
“You can’t reach Marshall on his cellphone because he has it on do not disturb-”
“Just forget it. I’m really not in the mood to hear excuses, Holly. I’ve got a horrible headache, Mr. Ketzer across the street refuses to get his mail in anything other than his underpants, shooting me a middle finger every time I tell him he’s going to hell for his immodesty and…”
For the next few minutes, I listened to her incessant whining before she finally stopped and said, “I guess I’ve no other choice than to let you in on the Thanksgiving plans, and you can pass the details on to Marshall.”
As I mentioned previously, during the entirety of our relationship, I’d never met Marshall’s parents. Now, I know how that sounds, but they lived in another state, all the way out in no man’s land. We did happen to have a phone call that did not go very well, and long story short, nothing was good enough for their angel. So, the two of us just decided to elope. Marshall, being their only son, was their golden child. According to him, his younger sister, Vivian, was a bit of a handful, breaking their rigid rules right and left, testing their parent’s patience, and nearly pushing them to the brink of insanity. His parents never much approved of me, but neither of us cared. Thanksgiving would be my first time officially meeting all of them, and I really wasn’t looking forward to it.
“Sure, fill me in on what you’ve got planned, and I’ll be sure to pass all of this on to Marshall.”
“First of all, Thanksgiving is going to be at our house this year, and due to Henry’s work schedule, we’re going to be celebrating early.”
Before you ask, Henry is Marshall’s dad. During the phone call that I had with his parents many moons ago, I don’t recall him ever saying anything besides brief introductions, his voice icy cold and flat, devoid of any kind of emotion. Saying that the man was strange was an understatement.
“You and Marshall will sleep in separate bedrooms,” Susan continued. “And you’re allowed to bring either pumpkin or apple pie, but not pecan. Pecan is my specialty.”
The longer she spoke, the more my temper flared.
“Oh, and I almost forgot. Tell Marshall that I’m making his favorite…” Her voice trailed off, a slight edge to it. A strange feeling crept over me as I clutched the phone. Something about the way she said that gave me goosebumps.
“And what is his favorite exactly?” One singular brow was raised as I chewed on the inside of my cheek nervously.
“You’re his wife. Wouldn’t you know what my lovely little boy likes to eat the most?”
Instead of getting angry with Susan, I decided to indulge her instead.
“Perhaps there’s something you cook better than I do?”
“Oh, dear…” she chuckled. “The list could go on and on! But I’m guessing he hasn’t mentioned his - or…” she paused, choosing her wording carefully. “Our strange eating habits, I suppose?”
Now I was confused. It had been a while since I’d even thought about that first series of messages he and I had shared. But ever since I’d married him, he had eaten all of what I’d cooked and never displayed any sign of disapproval. If anything, he acted as if my cooking was great? There wasn’t even a mention of food allergies or special dietary requirements. He referenced his “strange eating habits” once, but it was never brought back up again. Surely if I was cooking something he disliked, or couldn’t eat, he would tell me?
“He may have mentioned something about it…” I muttered, voice trailing off as I said, “what’s so strange about-”
“You’ll see what we mean when you show up to Thanksgiving dinner. And if you don’t like what I’ve cooked up, well, I suppose you can enjoy a peanut butter sandwich for all I care.”
Before I could even respond, she hung up the phone. The lady was infuriating, but that was just a preview of what was to come.
Marshall and I arrived at their privileged, gated monstrosity of a house a little after midnight, so not many pleasantries were exchanged. As stated on the phone, it was demanded that we sleep in separate rooms. The second his mother strolled down the hall in her outdated little nightgown, robe wrapped tightly around her tall, willowy frame, Marshall winked and tugged me into his room. The second he locked the door, both of us slipped out of our clothes and fell into bed. It had been a long drive, and the two of us were way past exhausted.
“I promise she’s not always this bad,” he whispered into my hair, an arm draped around my waist. The fireplace in the corner of his room was crackling, the warm glow illuminating the contours of Marshall’s face. My fingers reached out and traced them as I spoke.
“If this isn’t bad, I’d hate to see her at her worst.”
Marshall chuckled and snatched up the finger that was tracing the sharpness of his jawline. He pressed a kiss to the pad of it, intertwining his fingers with mine before saying, “She’s just a little flustered is all. I’m sure she’ll warm up to you eventually.”
A small smile tugged at his lips as I turned around in his embrace, pressing my back towards him and snuggling further into his warmth. I sat like that for a moment, still and quiet, before it hit me.
“Marshall,” I whispered. “I forgot to ask you about this, but your mom told me something about making your favorite meal? She brought up your family’s strange eating habits. I know you mentioned it back when we were dating, and I’d never questioned it, but now I’m cur-”
The sound of a snort caught me off guard. Slowly, I leaned up on my elbow and peered over. He was out cold. With a small huff, I snuggled back under the covers and eventually dozed off. Sleep did not come easy for me that night. At the time, I was unsure of why, but I really think it might have been my mind trying to warn me that something just wasn’t quite right. Something was clearly off. But I was none the wiser.
The following afternoon, Marshall and Vivian were picking up some last minute things from the store, and his mother was knee deep in preparing dinner. I sure as heck wasn’t about to go down and offer my help, so instead, I opted to stay out of the way. In fact, I really needed to make a call to my own parents. I knew they would be slightly disappointed that I wasn’t spending the holiday with them. My mom and I always stayed up late the night before making the pies. It was a tradition.
“How’s everything going over at your in-laws?” My mother’s voice was none other than Southern charm wrapped in multiple layers of warmth and comfort, and I clung to every word like it was a lifeline. I could feel her smile over the phone.
“Well his mother is just sweet as pie!” The sarcasm coating my words was unmistakable. The woman was a cold-blooded snake at best.
“Oh, honey… Is it really that bad?” Her voice softened, a sigh floating over the line. “Surely Marshall will help mediate?”
Marshall… I relaxed at the sound of his name. When he was around, everything felt right in the world. Everything felt safe. “He’s promised that he won’t let her get out of hand, and I trust that he’ll keep his word, so I’m hoping things run smoothly tonight.”
“Well, I’ll certainly keep the two of you in my thoughts and prayers. Don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything, okay?”
With a nod, more to myself than her, I blew out a breath and paced the expanse of the bedroom. “Thanks, Mom. We’ve got dinner at seven, and one more night in his parents’ house, but then we’re heading out bright and early in the morning. I’ll keep you updated and give you a call on the way home.”
With a glance at the time and a peek at my text messages, I dragged myself to the shower to get ready for the evening. It was currently 3 PM, I still had no word from Marshall, and I was going a little stir crazy in that room. By the time I’d washed up, gotten dressed and finished my hair, I was pleasantly surprised by the sound of a knock. I was mid lipstick application when I heard the bathroom door creak open. Marshall leaned against the door frame, arms folded across his chest as his eyes met mine in the mirror.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get over just how beautiful you are.” Marshall’s lips tugged up into a grin, before he came up behind me, wrapping me in the warmth of his embrace and kissing the top of my head. “You smell like coconuts and… Vanilla?”
I turned around and smiled, picking a piece of lint off of the front of his sweater before smoothing my hands down his chest. “Fresh from the shower.”
With a mischievous gleam in his eye, his upper lip curled. A wicked smirk stretching across his lips as he tilted my chin and pressed his lips to mine, a whisper floating between us. “You smell good enough to eat.”
Crimson coated my cheeks, a blush burning across my face like a wildfire. “Marshall…” I hissed, looking down at my feet sheepishly. At the time, I found the comment incredibly sexy, but now… I can’t help but laugh at the irony. “Your parents are waiting for us downstairs.”
“Let them wait…” Marshall breathed, pressing another kiss to my lips before brushing a thumb against the corner of them. “Sorry, about the smeared lipstick.”
I swatted his hands away, turning to touch it up before marching around him and over to the bedroom door. “Come on loverboy, we’ve got all the time in the world to fool around later. But if we don’t make it down to dinner in time, I’m pretty sure your mother is going to kill us.”
With a sigh, I watched as he rubbed my lipstick from his lips and sauntered over to the door. “I suppose you’re right. Wouldn’t want mother dearest to lose her marbles.”
I giggled at his words, playfully punching him in the shoulder before the two of us made our way downstairs to greet his parents. His mother was clad in the most hideous sweater vest known to man, and a skirt that made nuns look like heathens. His father leaned back in a kitchen chair, still dressed in business attire, a button down and suit jacket, the tie slightly loosened. Vivian was nowhere in sight.
“Marshy!” his mother proclaimed, grabbing the boy up in her arms and giving him a tight squeeze before her eyes traveled over to me. “Daughter in law,” she gritted out, her tone flat as her icy blue eyes scrutinized my choice of clothing. “You look like a-”
“Mother!” Marshall was quick to intercept, breaking free from her grasp and moving back over to me, quick to wrap a comforting arm around my waist. “Why don’t we go ahead and get started. Dinner smells great!”
A quiet scoff left her lips as she turned to the immaculate spread gracing the expanse of the dining room table. Despite his mother being the absolute antichrist, I admit, her cooking skills were unmatched. Heaping piles of mashed potatoes sat in a white porcelain bowl, a mountain of butter glistening atop it. Sweet potato casserole garnished with little white marshmallows sat beside that, steam billowing up from the dish, intermingling with the intoxicating aroma of cinnamon and brown sugar.
Various pies littered the table, pecan sitting amongst them. The one I was told specifically not to bring. In fact, I’d opted not to bring a single thing, and by the looks of this food, I was almost glad I hadn’t. Something told me I’d have just embarrassed myself anyways. His mother was nothing short of a cooking prodigy, because sitting there in the middle of the entire spread was the most delicious roasted turkey that I have ever laid eyes on. Thickly carved pieces of meat were laid out on a gorgeous silver platter, stuffing alongside it. Suddenly, I didn’t care if she was a menace or not. The only thing I could think about was having a little bit of everything on that table.
“Marshall,” Susan cut in, a sinister smirk curling at her lips as her eyes slid to mine. “I made all of your favorites tonight.”
“I see that.” Marshall smiled, his fingers tracing comforting circles on the small of my back. I hadn’t realized just how tense I was until he did that. The gesture was small, but comforting. “Where’s Vivian?”
“Vivian is…” She paused then, contemplating her next words carefully. Once again, a chill settled over my body. Something about this whole thing didn’t feel right, and I was about to find out a little too late. “She’s disposing of some scraps right now.”
Marshall simply nodded, his hand tightening around my waist uncomfortably. I looked up at him then, an uneasy expression on his face as he eyed the dinner table. He knew something that I didn’t. And for the first time during our marriage, I felt incredibly uncomfortable. But at the time, I pushed that feeling aside and pasted on a smile. I wish I’d taken off running out the front door.
“Hey, I got rid of the b-” Vivian stopped, her words halting on her lips when she noticed me standing in the dining room. With an awkward laugh, she scratched the back of her neck and said, “the bags! Mom did so much cooking that she filled up the trash can, and the compactor!” And for added emphasis she added, “I’ve never seen so many green bean cans in all my life!”
Susan’s tight lipped smile twitched, and if I hadn’t caught it at just the right time, I’m sure I’d have missed it. For only a moment, her facade had slipped, and I’d witnessed that flicker of rage. Anxiety was clawing at my insides, threatening to bubble out in the form of vomit. Something was whispering to me that Vivian had almost slipped up, and whatever she had really been up to out there might have involved disposing of something, but it definitely wasn’t green bean cans…
My eyes flicked over to Marshall’s father’s, but Henry was cool, calm, and collected, his jaw set and his eyes cast downward towards his phone. Susan was infuriating, sure, but Henry was unsettling in a way that words can’t express. He almost seemed inhuman. I gulped and then glanced once again towards Marshall for some type of direction. When his eyes met mine, they softened slightly before pressing his hand against my lower back, guiding me towards a chair at the dinner table. Once everyone was seated and Henry said grace, we all dug in, filling our plates to the brim.
About ten minutes into the dinner, I was halfway through my plate and two glasses deep in cabernet before Marshall’s mother spoke up. Despite her interruption, I continued to plow into my dinner, barely able to get the food into my mouth fast enough. I didn’t know what seasonings she used to make everything on this plate taste like heaven, but I was on my second helping of mashed potatoes before the sound of my name broke me free from my food induced trance.
“Holly?” Susan asked, a loathsome grin sliding across her red painted lips. “How did you like the turkey… And the stuffing?”
Marshall shot her a glare, shaking his head and mouthing for her to stop. Susan ignored him though, holding me captive in that icy, blue visage of hers.
“I actually haven’t had either of those…” My voice trailed off nervously as I glanced down at my plate. “But the green bean casserole, the baked mac n’ cheese, and the-”
“Try the turkey and the stuffing, darling.” The pet name made my stomach turn, but the last thing I wanted to do was cause a scene. Suddenly, everyone’s eyes were on me, waiting for me to take a bite.
An awkward smile slid across my lips as I stabbed my fork into the turkey first and shoved it into my mouth. The texture of it was admittedly strange. As I chewed, the grin on Susan’s face widened. Oddly, it tasted of… Pork?
“So?” Susan questioned, winking at her son.
Marshall was fuming. I watched as his jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists. “Mother…” he seethed. “You didn’t.”
Susan simply ignored her son, urging me onward. I quickly chewed the delectable meat and tried my best to choke it down before I said, “It’s… It’s um, very interesting.”
“And the stuffing?”
I was hesitant to try the stuffing, my eyes darting between mother and son, wondering what the heck was going on, but if trying her stupid dressing lightened the mood, then I would eat the whole pan if it meant we could cut through the uncomfortable tension building in this room. As soon as I brought the fork to my mouth, though, Marshall’s hand reached out to grab my wrist, stopping the fork midair.
“Holly, you don’t have to-”
“Oh, but she does! I’d simply be offended!” Susan screeched, her brows furrowing.
With an awkward laugh, I tried to ease the pressure mounting in the room by quickly shoving the forkful of food into my mouth and shooting her a smile.
“I brought that… meat,” Marshall hissed, eyes shooting daggers at his mother, “for your own dinners. Family dinners. This is completely inappropriate to cook for a guest, and you know it. This is not what I meant when I said I wanted you to cook my favorites. You know I’ve chosen a different life for myself now.”
As I listened to Marshall’s words, I couldn’t help but wonder what the heck he was going on about. I wasn’t a freaking vegan, so what was the deal?
And then it happened.
As I was chewing, I stumbled upon something hard… And sharp?
“But she is family,” Susan urged, a sharp laugh bubbling up from her mouth.
The silence in the room was increasingly loud as I reached into my mouth and tugged the sharp object free. When I finally glanced down at it, head cocked to the side and brows furrowed, it took me a few seconds to realize what it was. And when I did, I nearly passed out.
A nail. No… Not the kind you hammer into wood, but a human nail. And even worse… It was one I was familiar with. A wretched scream broke from my lips, nearly rivaling the horrid screeching of my chair legs as I scrambled back from the table, dropping my fork in the process and vomiting all over her marble flooring.
“Holly!” Marshall shouted, the fear in his voice ricocheting off the walls.
Marshall’s father, stoic and cold, finally made a sound. A dark chuckle escaped his lips as he watched me have a mental breakdown. It was like this was all some sick show to them. But at the time, my mind was spiraling, the realization blooming into panic when I thought about that nail again. I knew exactly who’s finger it belonged to. She had come through the morgue just before we left to go on this trip. It all made sense now.
Her name was Sarah. She was 22. She died in a car accident. I normally veered away from the morgue when I knew my dad had just gotten a new corpse, but I wanted to say goodbye before I left. If there’s one thing I remember about Sarah, it was the fact that her arm was almost completely ripped from her body. My dad was quick to try and shield me from the grizzly scene, but there was no mistaking it. Hanging out from beneath the sheet was a badly mangled hand. And on that hand…
My eyes couldn’t help but to zero in on her blood crusted nails, each one painted a light shade of brown, little white daisies adorning the nail of her thumb. She was due to be cremated. And Marshall… Marshall, he… My lips trembled as I recalled my dad telling him to cremate the body before we left. Her parents were going to pick up the ashes this weekend.
Marshall was quick to flock to my side, trying to console me, but I was both disgusted and frightened. These people were absolute monsters. They didn’t have strange eating habits. That was all just a cover up, a sorry excuse for what they really were - cannibals. My ears were ringing, my stomach was twisting, and an overwhelming bout of dizziness washed over me as I realized what he had done.
The man who held me when I cried, tears blurring my vision as I read my vows.
The man who had brought me so many flowers that I’d run out of vases.
The man who promised to protect, and love, and cherish me.
That man was a sick, twisted, psychopath. And I loved him. I loved him so much that I did the unspeakable.
I waited.
I held onto his outstretched hand and leaned into his warmth. I wiped the tears from my eyes, the vomit from my mouth, and steadied my breathing. I marched back over to the table and sat down. And I had two more glasses of wine. I instantly knew what had to be done, and I hated myself for playing “fine” when I very clearly wasn’t, but if I didn’t stick to the script, this next part would have been much harder. It was four against one, after all.
For the rest of the night, I didn’t touch another bite of food. I simply sat there. Admittedly, I was biding my time. Neither his parents nor his sister said another word. All of them had smug grins, and it took everything I had not to wipe them off of their faces right then and there, but if my plan unfolded as it had in my head, karma would intervene for me.
That night, as I lay in bed, my back turned to Marshall, I sobbed. Marshall tried to console me, asking me over and over to please understand, and that he didn’t know that his mother was going to cook what she had tonight. But I didn’t want to hear a single thing from his mouth ever again. All I could focus on was that text he had sent all those nights ago. I had been such a fool.
“I have… Strange eating habits.”
Neither of us said a word to each other the remainder of the night. Instead, I waited patiently for Marshall to fall asleep. And when he finally did, that’s when my plan was set into motion.
I wrenched myself from the bed, crept into the kitchen, slid an oven mitt onto my hand, and grabbed a kitchen knife from the butcher’s block. It was pure adrenaline racing through me at that point as I hovered over Marshall’s sleeping form. In this state, he looked completely innocent. His mouth was slightly ajar and his breathing was heavy. Thick, dark lashes fluttered closed, and messy hair was strewn about his forehead. I hated that I knew what he had done, and yet, I still loved him.
Tears streamed down my face as I raised up the knife, my hands shaking from within the oven mitts, sweaty and damp. And then in one swift motion, I slid it across his neck. Crimson poured out of him like beans in a bean bag, spilling over the tattered flesh and pooling around his head. It crept across the sheets, staining everything with the consequences of my actions. Wretched sobs broke free from my lips when his eyes flicked open, meeting mine for only a moment, confusion dancing across his expression. A strangled gurgling sound bubbled up from his mouth as he choked.
I stumbled away from him, bit back another sob, and snuck back downstairs, down the hallway, and into his parents room. His father was snoring and his mother was on her side, bright orange ear plugs shoved into her ears, and a spaghetti noodle arm dangling lazily from the covers. I carefully brushed the hilt of the knife against the inside of her palm, trying my best to get whatever DNA I could onto it. If I intended to get away with framing her, I needed to do this right. She flinched once, and I held my breath, hoping that she was still asleep. When her breathing grew heavy again, I crept back upstairs and laid the knife on the bed, right next to Marshall.
With a sigh of relief, I turned towards the little fireplace still blazing in the corner of the room, and tossed the oven mitts into the flames, successfully cleansing myself of the crime. Then, I grabbed my belongings, dashed out to the car, and barrelled down the road. My chest heaved as I fought to catch my breath, the next part of my plan almost scaring me more than the last. I couldn’t mess this up.
“9-1-1 what’s your emergency?”
“Yes, I- I need to report a missing person.”
The police were quick to show up to Marshall’s parents house, a wellness check, no doubt, turning into a murder investigation when they noticed the blood staining Susan’s hand. But by that time, I was back in town before it all blew up. Apparently, not only had they found Marshall’s body, but they found the remains of several others buried in the backyard as well. Sarah’s remains included.
Because of Sarah, this all linked back to my dad, and his business, and I was sure that while we were under investigation as well, the pressure of it all would cause me to crack. But once my father provided the proper surveillance camera footage that showed Marshall sneaking Sarah’s body into the trunk of his father’s car, it became apparent to me that Henry was never on a business trip at all… He was on a grocery run, to pick up their favorite meal.
The footage instantly cleared our name, and instead, it incriminated his family even more. I never told my parents that I had actually been the one to murder Marshall, and I never intend to. My explanation to them was short and simple. At this point, both of them knew the details of the murder, and once I was able to push it past my lips, the both of them nodded in silent understanding. Neither of them asked any questions. I think they just inherently knew, and my answer was enough to make them both sick to their stomachs. Thankfully, neither of them wanted to hear any of the repulsive details.
“I spent Thanksgiving with my in-laws. Something is seriously wrong with the food…”