I worked with careful precision, each motion deliberate, each step rehearsed in my mind a thousand times before I ever touched the scene. Rachel hadn’t been hard to deal with—messy, yes, but manageable. The blood had pooled beneath her twisted body, and I had made sure every detail looked just right. I stood at the base of the stairs, studying the way she lay crumpled at the bottom, her neck angled just so, as though she’d taken a nasty fall. It would look accidental, like a tragic misstep.
I wiped my hands clean, my gloves protecting me from leaving anything behind, and glanced back at the stairs. I’d already scrubbed the railing and the banister, removing any sign of a struggle. Everything was in its place.
As I moved to finish wiping down the last few spots, my mind wandered. It kept
