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A few minutes to think things through could make all the difference.  Or, it could scare you to death.  Enjoy Part 6 of A Dangerous Game.  Thanks. 

 

PART 6

 

MONICA JERKED HER HEAD up off the steering wheel.  She was hyperventilating.  She could not catch her breath.  She slowly looked over toward her driver’s window.  Her hands were up in the air.

 

She expected to see a police officer with his gun pointed at her head.  She was a stone-cold killer.  That was what the man on the phone who witnessed her killing her so-called lover said.

 

No police officer was standing there.  She laughed and cried.

 

It was a dream, a nightmare.  She must have dozed off.  It was that damn drug.  It would not get out of her system.  What had she been drugged with?

 

She did not have time to think about that.  She had been parked on Pinker Street for at least six or seven minutes.  She had to get her shit together.  This was no time to fall apart.

 

She did a three-point turn and came out of the side street and headed for home.  No one should be home, she thought.  She pushed a button on her steering wheel.  It dialed her office.  A young man’s voice answered.

 

“Jake, this is Monica,” she said, sounding as strong as she could.  “I’m going to be out a little longer than I expected.  An emergency popped up.  I’ll be back in the office in about thirty or forty minutes.  Hold the fort down for me.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Jake said. He was one of her bright young attorneys on her team.

 

Monica told herself to stick to the sped limit.  Except for a few moments, she stayed at thirty-five miles per hour.  “That’s it,” she whispered.  “Stay calm.”

 

Monica turned onto Brasen Street.  Her house was just ahead.  Her heart raced.  She expected to see police cars waiting for her.  They would be out in front of her house, waiting to put the cuffs on her.

 

She breathed a sigh of relief.  No cars were in front of her house.

 

She pulled into her driveway and pressed the garage door button on her steering wheel.  The door began going up.  She hurried inside the garage and missed the bottom of the door by inches.  She had begun closing the door before she stopped.

 

Inside her garage, she inspected the inside of the SUV.  She mainly looked at where she sat and what she touched.  A little blood was on the steering wheel.  Not much of anything else.

 

She ran to the small door in the garage that led inside her house.  She stopped on the steps and removed her clothes until she was naked.  That dead man’s DNA was not going to be found inside her house.

 

She opened the door and ran inside her four thousand square foot house.  Her bare feet pounded across the hardwood floor.

 

She ran down a long hallway to the laundry room.  The cleaning supplies were in there.  She grabbed a container of Clorox wipes and ran naked back to her car.

 

She wiped her hands off and then wiped down everything that she remembered touching.  She examined the inside of the SUV.  It looked clean to her.

 

She picked up her clothes off the steps and ran back inside to the laundry room.  She took her clothes, including her suede pumps, without a thought she threw them inside the washing machine.  Then she stepped back.

 

How do you work this damn thing? She wondered.  She studied the panel.  Her housekeeper who cleaned her house three times per week did the laundry too.  How would she know how her washing machine worked?

 

She threw three laundry detergent pods inside the machine.  She slammed the door shut and pushed the max-load digital button.  The machine made a slight noise and started.

 

Monica ran to the shower.  She was out of the shower in five minutes.  It was the fastest shower she had ever taken.  She grabbed her pants to get dressed and stopped.

 

This was crazy.  She was going to call in sick.  Yes.  Call in sick.  Get herself together.  Where was her phone?  Damn it, she thought.  It was inside her SUV in the passenger’s seat.

 

She ran naked back through the house into the garage to her car.

 

She grabbed the passenger’s door handle and snatched the door open. Her phone was there.  It was in the cupholder.  She grabbed it and went to close the door and paused.

 

Something was off.  She looked around the garage.  Her phone should have been in the passenger’s seat.  Not the cupholder.  She was sure of it.  But, maybe the stress was playing with her mind.

 

She closed the door and felt the need to walk around the vehicle.  When she got to the back she stopped and looked inside the back window.

 

Monica gasped and backed up.

 

Inside the SUV on the floor was a shopping bag.  A large envelope was on top of it with a cell phone.  A note was on the phone.

 

It was not hers.  None of those things were hers.  They were not in her SUV that morning.

 

Monica looked around the closed garage and panicked.

 

 

Stress can play tricks on a mind that is ready to break.  Or, it may not be stress at all.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

Thanks for stopping by.

Stephen Wallace