Another Bloody Sunday Chapter 2

"Damn, damn, damn," Steve pounded the steering wheel of his rusted out 1967 Ford truck with his fist. He sped down the dirt road hell bent for Mexico. It was only a matter of time before the police got to the house and found a way to blame him for Katie's death. He'd pried open Janet's hand as she slept early this morning after he'd found his nag of a wife dead on the floor. Janet could sleep through anything, especially after a few drinks, and she'd had plenty the night before. The evening was fuzzy in his head- he remembered they'd all fought, but he wasn't a murderer. Yet, knowing he'd get the blame, he'd replaced Janet's key with the bloody knife- that knife Katie would wag in his face and tell him what a no good for nothing bastard he was every chance she got. God, he despised her. Truth be told, he'd wished for her demise. He fantasized about it as he jerked off in the shower. In one of his many scenarios, the police came to the door.

"Steve, old man, we've got some bad news for you," they'd say. (Everyone in town knew everyone, so there was no need for formalities).

"What is it?" he'd reply, looking genuinely concerned. "Did something happen?"

"I'm afraid so, guy. It's Katie. She must have been out shearing the sheep over by the cliff. A passerby found her at the bottom - It seems when she fell, she landed right on the shears and cut off her own head!"

"Oh my God," Steve imagined himself falling to his knees - he knew otherwise he might shout for glee, and that just wouldn't look right.

Now, Katie really was dead, the police would be at the house any minute, and though they'd initially blame Janet, they'd eventually realize she was being framed, and he was the obvious suspect. Who else could it be? A dark bushy haired stranger, perhaps? Katie was equally despised by everyone, it was true, and mean Scrabble players are known for living very long lives. Who was fed up enough to use her own cuticle knife on her? He couldn't help but smile when he saw the X carved neatly into her forehead. There's your fuckin' X, Katie, darling.

His cell phone rang, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. When he saw Janet's number on the display, he didn't answer. A text message came through: "Steve, where the hell r u? You'd better get ur fat ass back to the house- I no u did this- and bring back my key, u slimy piece of shit."

Steve pulled over to the side of the road, threw the phone onto the ground and stomped on it for good measure. He picked up the pieces and flung them as far as he could, got back in the truck and continued heading south.