Maz killed her best friend.
It seemed impossible but her hands were shaking and his body was on the floor. The front of his white button-down shirt was a scarlet mess. In Maz’s right hand was a wine key— an elaborate, heavy brass one that he had bought her as a gift on their graduation trip to Spain. It was so coated in sticky blood that it felt glued to her fingers.
Maz turned her head and threw up, probably an entire bottle of wine. The one she drank alone before she killed him.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, still holding the key, and perched on a corner of the couch. Her legs shook violently. She felt like an intruder in her own house.
The enormity of what she had done came down around her like a shroud. She felt the world crack open, and her little life— her career, her friends, her family— were swallowed up by darkness. She had killed a man. And not just any man, but the best man in the world. Her best friend of twenty years. She had killed him.
How to undo this? How to wind back the clock just a few minutes and start over?
She replayed the events, searching for a way to make them un-occur.
She had been working late and her laptop battery was at five percent. She was racing against it, trying to finish a spreadsheet in its waning moments of life, instead of digging the cable out of her bag. Her eyes were exhausted, the bottle of wine next to her empty.
The sun had set quickly, sinking the house into darkness before she had time to get up and turn on a light. She heard a noise. It was out of place and it was human. She grabbed the wine key and stalked toward the front door. Passing the huge plate glass window she could see the moon shining silver on the Pacific Ocean. She felt a little wobbly and very alone.
Someone tall had jumped out and yelled at her in the dark. She plunged the wine key into his belly and he slumped forward, nearly knocking her down. She grunted and threw her shoulder into him. And when his backward momentum slid the wine key out, she stabbed him again as he fell.
The back of his head hit the ground with a crack. And then they were both very quiet for a long time. Maz held the wine key out in front of her in the dark like a sword, guarding against the intruder leaping back to life. Her breath was loud and ragged.
When she finally turned on the light, smearing bloody fingerprints on the wall, she saw Britt. He looked like he could have been playing dead. His dark jeans were immaculate. In the center of his shirt there was a pool of blood, but it wasn’t very big. A part of her felt like she could convince him it wasn’t that bad, just a scratch. But underneath his head, a dark shadow bloomed that she didn’t want to see.
His cologne drifted around her in a persistent cloud. The smell was so familiar she expected to see him come around the corner.
She guessed he had flown to LA for work and took a cab to her house to surprise her. And she had killed him. That’s when she threw up.
She got up from the couch and turned off the light. There was no un-making these events but she didn’t need to look at him. She needed to think. She took a deep breath. Maz was a problem solver, the kind of person other people brought their problems to. She would think of something—
Someone pounded on the front door, sending Maz out of her skin.
“LAPD!” the knocker shouted. She felt like she had been punched in the stomach.
Maz looked at the shadow of Britt’s body, lying in the front entry. Please don’t give me away Britt, you have to do this one thing for me. She pulled on a jacket, shoved the wine key and her bloody hands in her pockets, and walked out the side door.
“Excuse me? She called from the side of the house. Hello? Can I help you?”
The officer was stocky and wearing a sport coat. His neck was a series of thick coils like rope.
“Good evening ma’am. Sorry for the late hour. Do you live here?”
“Yes, I’m Maz. I just had the front entry re-tiled.” She gestured to the front door with her head, hoping this seemed very casual. “Can’t go in that way. Can I help you?” Her hands were sweating in her pockets. The first lie.
Before the lie about the tile, she had still had options. She could have called 911, could have opened the door sobbing and run into the cop’s arms, confessing the terrible tragedy. But now she had one option: cover up a murder and keep covering it up forever. Anticipate every mistake, close off every opportunity to get caught. Be vigilant. Lie. Every second took her further away from the person she had been at the laptop.
“I’m wondering if you know a man by the name of Britt Reid? He has been reported missing.”
Missing? How could he already be missing? It had been twenty minutes at most. Her mouth hung open a second too long.
“Ma’am?”
“Oh, I’m sorry he’s uh, Britt w— is my best friend. Did you say missing?” There was a lump in her throat, hard and sticky. She couldn’t get it down.
“His husband reported him missing a few hours ago. Said he was supposed to land in,” the officer checked his notepad, “Pennsylvania,” he said it like he had never heard the word, “last night.”
“Oh.” Maz let herself feel the emotions of losing Britt. She pictured his wicked smile. Freshmen orientation on the day they met. She felt his bear hug. She pictured his husband, who she thought of as a brother-in-law. She started to cry. “Oh no,” she whispered.
“Ah. Ma’am? Oh, you don’t need to…there’s really nothing to worry about. He’s probably just hungover in a hotel room somewhere. People just need a break sometimes, you know? Missing adults usually turn up on their own.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” Maz used her fists to pull the jacket around her. Then why are you here? She wanted to ask. She wanted to yell at him, My friend is missing! Go find him!
Then she remembered. She stared at the moon shining on the ocean, just over the officer’s shoulder. She fingered the wine key in her pocket. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Well, I - I’m sorry to bother you ma’am, here’s my card. If you hear from Britt please let us know, or, actually just tell him to call his husband.” The officer held out his card. Maz hesitated. She could not remember which of her hands was covered in blood. Was it both of them? Would he notice in the moonlight? She dug her fingernails into her palms.
She dragged a hand out of her pocket and reached for the card. The moment was in slow motion. She tried to keep eye contact so he wouldn’t look down. Their hands met in space.
She snatched the card, stuffed it in her pocket and took off into the house.
Once inside, she returned to the dining room table. Her laptop was, incredibly, still awake. She slammed it shut and reached for the wine bottle before remembering it was empty. She let herself sink into the chair and her head fell into her arms. She sobbed an ocean of tears.
Eventually, light started to fill the room. She looked to the window, expecting to see the police, searchlights, helicopters come to get her, but she could only see bright white light. She closed her eyes tightly against it but it was still there.
When she lifted her head it was morning. Sunlight filtered in and her laptop was stone dead. The table under her face was damp. She had cried in her sleep.
Her head ached, but she almost cried again with relief as she recalled the awful dream. She could still feel her heart racing. It wasn’t real. Oh my god. She laughed out loud, a mixture of the joy of deliverance and the pure comedy of her dream self thinking any of that made sense. Jesus Christ, what an insane nightmare.
She sat back in the chair and let the light wash over her. Her best friend wasn’t dead and she didn’t need to try and cover up a crime this morning. She hadn’t lied to a cop.
She couldn’t stop herself from smiling thinking about how ridiculous it was. Of course none of it was real. How could you kill someone with a wine key? And why wouldn’t she have at least tried to save her friend? And why would her first move be to lie about it? Dream logic is so fucking weird.
Her mouth tasted terrible. She saw the empty wine bottle and tried to read the label, squinting against her dry contacts. Probably a pét-nat. Devious little bottles they were.
“They should put a warning on you,” she whispered to the bottle. “Will induce nightmares.” She shuddered. She wouldn’t buy that again.
She stood and rolled her shoulders, cracked her neck. Falling asleep at the table was not really sustainable after 30. At least she could do herself a favor and bring the laptop to bed next time.
Her phone was on the floor, also somehow clinging to battery life. She grabbed it and texted Britt. It was already 11am on the East Coast. She could not wait to tell him this story, to laugh their heads off about it together.
I literally had a dream I murdered you. So if you are about to annoy me today, please think twice. xxoo
She hit send before she really noticed her hand. A curious ring of reddish brown around her thumbnail. Bile rising in the back of her throat, she looked at the hand. A faded red stain covered all her fingers and half of her palm.
From the other room, clear as a bell, she heard a phone ping.
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Ah! I was not planning on starting out the morning with my heart racing! This is so good, and the claustrophobic anxiety is intense.
Nicely done 👍🏼
This is why I stopped drinking wine many years ago 😁