Getting Rid of Charlie
Charlie’s golf club fell to the floor with a metallic clang. His corpse lay in the bathtub. Blood and bits of brain seeped down the drain. Getting him into the tub, once the sleeping pills had knocked him out, had taken considerable effort and a lot longer than Heather had expected. Charlie’s head stuck out of the tub just enough for her to go to town on it. Every time the club connected with his arrogant face, she remembered every time his fist had struck her. She only stopped once her arms were too tired, and the golf club was bent and buckled. His face was no longer recognisable as being that of the man she’d promised to love.
As she stripped off her blood-splattered clothes, she caught a glimpse of her own battered and bruised face. She knew that eventually, it
