Never Coming Home by Hannah Mary McKinnon

Author:Hannah Mary McKinnon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MIRA Books
Published: 2022-03-09T23:33:22+00:00

23

I continued scooping up the dirt, using branches and fallen leaves, making sure everything looked the way it had when I’d first arrived. As I worked on blending the grave in with its surroundings, I kept on swearing at myself for not taking care of Michelle directly, before berating myself harder for using the dark web to recruit Woods. It had been the best choice to protect my anonymity—there wasn’t a website called Hitmen’R’Us—but I may have underestimated him.

Whispered curse words escaped my lips as I finished up and surveyed the area. Nobody would know there was a corpse lying here, and I wasn’t about to spend more time wondering if Woods had indeed got rid of more of his assignments in the area. I shone my flashlight on my backpack, making sure I had all the supplies I’d brought into the forest, and wasn’t inadvertently leaving anything behind. The howl of an animal made me jump for the umpteenth time, reminding me I wasn’t alone. Despite the layer of rocks I’d put back, I had a sudden image of a pack of coyotes digging up Michelle’s body and tearing it to shreds, and this time I swore at Woods for leaving her out in the forest.

“You’re going soft,” I muttered as I hoisted my bag over my shoulder and stopped thinking about her, but at the same moment my intestines clenched, twisting themselves into uncomfortable knots. It was time to move, and so I walked away, never to return, stepping through the undergrowth the same way I’d come in. Two hundred yards later, the pit of my gut was on fire. I winced a few times, had to stop when my innards contracted as if I’d been punched.

By the time I got back to my bike it was almost 4:00 a.m., and while the parking lot was still empty, I knew I had to hustle to get to the house. I continued trying to ignore the stabbing pains in my stomach as I shoved my coveralls, gloves, extra socks, and mask into a nearby bin made from a rusty-red oil barrel. Once everything was drenched in lighter fluid, I struck a match and threw in the pack.

My next stop was a deserted bridge over the Charles River. Making sure nobody was coming, I flung the GPS navigator into the water. The hiking boots went into a clothes donation box at a homeless shelter, and my final stop was a self-serve car wash that didn’t have security cameras. The last unit at the far end was angled away from the street, where my quest to destroy evidence could continue without prying eyes.

I’d almost finished hosing down the bike and shovel when I realized neither the discomfort building in my stomach, nor my sweaty brow and clammy hands, were from digging up my wife. My intestines made a sudden movement as the gut rot hit me full on, the point of no return where your entire body breaks out in a

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