WiCkEd

This was a spur of the moment idea. I haven't wrote anything quite like this before.
There will eventually be about 4 parts and around the same length as this first part. Feedback is, as always, encouraged and appreciated.






Blood doesn’t wash away easily. Especially when a large amount pools on linoleum tile.

Keegan Armstrong stood with his bloody hand cupped over his chin, staring at the problem. He had planned this day for almost two years and now that it finally had come, he didn’t expect it to be so damn messy. In fact, he didn’t plan to beat her to death at all. Things change in an instant though, and Keegan knew he would overcome this problem. He looked at it as a mathematical equation; one that he would find the solution for. All his life he had been a wiz in math and now this one problem, though it wasn’t math with numbers, was the most difficult
problem he had ever faced. There was so much blood.

He turned to the kitchen sink and reached for the handle, then thought better of it. They might check the pipes. He had seen that once in a detective movie, and even though detective movies are not the definitive resource on police work, he figured it must have some truth to it.

Still staring at the sink, Keegan thought of better times he had with Raven, before all the fights, and jealously, and even… what was the word he was looking for? He sighed. Hatred. That fit what he felt perfectly. A deep fire of emotion that seemed to burn hotter day by day. God, he hated her so much, especially, the last few days. He was so glad she was dead. Then though, he felt a certain amount of regret. He wished he hadn’t hit her with skillet; he wished he had taken her out and tortured her slowly. Or maybe made her feel the fire that he himself felt burning deep inside, by dousing her in gasoline and lighting her up like a fireplace on a cold winter day.

The better times kept slipping in his mind though. He tried to shake it off but couldn’t. Her deep smile, that was so enticing. And her hazel eyes that glimmered in delight every time she saw him. They had once gone to Daytona for a month long vacation. They had gone to the beach practically every day. They’d go around noon and stay till sunset. He remembered staring into her eyes, her beautiful face covered in an orange-red tint of sunlight, and those hazel eyes shining like they were going to be together forever.

“Raven, I love you,” Keegan whispered. He was fixated on the sink still; he didn’t dare look at her now. Not after remembering how beautiful she once was. It’d kill him to see her face mangled.

Back to the problem at hand. No more reminiscing about sappy old-time memories, not today.

Keegan turned and walked over to the pantry, carefully avoiding the blood that kept on spreading across the floor. He opened the door and found the bucket, bleach, and mop that he had previously stashed specifically for this occasion. Always the man to plan ahead, he also stashed a set of doorknobs to replace the old blood-tainted ones. He wasn’t sure if that was necessary, but one never can be too careful.

Sprinting back to the sink with all the cleaning utensils in hand, Keegan made the mistake of looking at his wife. She lie on her back staring at the ceiling, her eyes were devoid of any life, and more disturbing than that was the huge gash that spread from her right temple, down her fractured cheek bone, and stopped at her chin. And even more frightening than all that: that was only the first blow. He didn’t remember exactly how many times he had hit her, but from the looks of her face he must have struck her at least five times. He shuttered and continued his trek.

He stopped at the sink and opened the bottle of bleach, smearing blood across the blue cap. It was somewhat difficult to open with his hands saturated with blood. He eventually popped the cap off and was hit by the noise-burning scent. He always hated cleaning with bleach.

Pouring the bleach into the bucket, Keegan decided he didn’t care if they checked the sink; after all, women cut themselves all the time while doing dishes. He turned on the water and let the warm water wash over his bloody hands. It was relaxing and soothing. It was like washing away the last of your worries and starting anew. The blood swirled around the stainless steel sink and began to lessen every second, until finally there was no more.

On to the difficult part. Keegan ran through the kitchen door and into the garage where he found what he was looking for. A large black tarp usually used for covering boats. He certainly didn’t plan to cover any boats. Making his way back to the kitchen, he placed the tarp beside dead Raven and once again felt the hatred kindling inside. He wished he could… he pushed the thought out of his mind. Get the task done. He found a good hold underneath her armpits and hoisted her onto the tarp. Before he could let go her head lolled to the side and her brown hair, soaked with blood, flopped across his arm. He instantly dropped her and recoiled. Blood smeared his white long-sleeve shirt now, and the very sight made him furious. He spat on Raven.

“Do you have any idea how much this shirt costs!” He was beyond hatred now, he was so angry he couldn’t even find the word to describe it, and he found that rather odd, being a news paper columnist.

Nicely placed and ready for packing, Raven’s corpse began to pale. Rigor mortis was beginning to set in. Keegan wrapped the tarp around Raven then remembered he forgot the damn rope. He was beginning to lose patience. Raven was causing him more problems being dead than she had when she was alive. He ran back to the garage and searched through his red toolbox. Eventually, underneath a pile of screws he found the rope, and an added bonus, some duct tape.

Once again he ran back to the kitchen, and finished tying and taping Raven’s makeshift body bag. He was relieved he no longer had to view her face. It was beneath an inch off plastic and he wouldn’t ever have to see her again. He pushed himself to his feet and washed his hands a second time.

The mopping process was much more tedious and monotonous that he cared it to be. It took twenty-five buckets of water to finally get all the blood up. He’d mopped, rinsed the bucket, mopped some more, rinsed, and then repeated the process over and over until he nearly wanted to give up and turn himself in. He looked at his watch; it was nearly 10:09 P.M. He had been messing with this for almost five hours.

“Damn you.” He surveyed the kitchen. Spotless. He rearranged the kitchen table and chairs, poured a little lemon-scented Lysol on the floor and mopped around a bit. He couldn’t handle the overwhelming bleach smell. Once the room was lemon fresh and everything was arranged correctly, he packed up all his cleaning supplies, grabbed the skillet that had pieces of Raven’s skull matted to it, and tossed it all in the back of his truck that was lined with plastic.

As Keegan was lifting the body in the kitchen, the doorbell rang.

Hunter

Not bad for a start. A few observations.
Couple of errors spelling mop. You got b's instead of p's.
Keegan seems like a pretty smart guy and you said he placed certain things before hand for by being the type that always plans ahead but some things like the rope and duck tape werent on hand like the mop and doorknobs were. Maybe if youever re write you could go into how long he'd been planning his attack or something.
One more thing. I'm guessing his truck is behind his house and he doesnt live in a crowded neighborhood since someone rings the doorbell and he's done all this stuff seemingly without being observed.
Other than that I like how you convey how mad he is at his wife. especially when he gets mad at her body for bleeding on his shirt.

WiCkEd

Thanks for the spelling, I didn't even notice that. Sometimes I type too quickly and get my words mixed up. Also, thanks for the feedback.
I'll go into more of the backstory in the next part.

Creative_Insanity

Good, very good. ^_^ I like that you avoid the really gory details; it makes it all the more gory. And the nonchalant way the man is going about this job makes it even more gruesome. Very nice. The only thing that I would like to comment on is the last line:

This is awkward. You should revise it to something like this:

or, a better version, ^_^

Of course, what exactly you say doesn’t matter, but I like the second one because the doorbell ringing cuts something off. When you say “Keegan was lifting the body in the kitchen when the doorbell rang” it’s less jolting to the reader, because the words flow so smoothly together. Of course, I guess it’s a style of writing, and it could work. But I like the second way best. ^_^

I like your stories. Keep writing! And now I’m curious to see why this man killed his wife. Or girlfriend. Or whoever she was.

__________________
“No.” We walked a bit in silence and then the Fool said quietly, “Fitz, home is people. Not a place. If you go back there after the people are gone, then all you can see it what is not there anymore.”

WiCkEd

Thanks for the feedback guys, I'll keep it in mind while writing this next part.

Creative_Insanity

Can't wait to see it! ^_^

__________________
“No.” We walked a bit in silence and then the Fool said quietly, “Fitz, home is people. Not a place. If you go back there after the people are gone, then all you can see it what is not there anymore.”