Last Breath by Robert Bryndza Read Online (FREE)
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‘The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls…’ Edgar Allan Poe
It was three o’clock in the morning, and the stench of the dead body filled the car. The heat had remained unbroken for days. He drove with the air conditioning on full, but the smell of her still permeated from the boot of the car. She was decaying fast.
It had been two hours since he laid her there. The flies had been seeking her out, and in the darkness he’d had to wave his arms around to keep them off. He’d found it funny how he flapped and flailed. If she’d still been alive, she might have laughed too.
Despite the risk, he enjoyed these night-time excursions, driving along the deserted motorway, and into London through the suburbs. Two roads back, he’d shut off the car headlights, and as he turned into a run-down residential street, he cut the engine. The car freewheeled in silence, past houses, their windows dark, to the bottom of the hill where a small deserted print-works came into view. It was set back from the road with a car park. Tall trees lined the pavement, casting it in shadows, while the light pollution from the city threw a muddy orange glow over the surroundings. He turned into the car park, bumping and lurching over tree roots pushing up under the tarmac.
He drew up at a line of dumpsters next to the entrance of the print-works and turned the car sharp to the left, coming to a stop with less than a foot between the car boot and the last dumpster.
He sat in silence for a moment. The houses opposite were masked by the trees, and where the row of terraced houses met the car park it was just a brick wall. He leaned over to the glove compartment and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He stepped out of the car, and the heat swelled up at him from the cracked tarmac. The gloves were wet inside within seconds. When he opened the car boot, a bluebottle buzzed out and found his face. He waved his arms, and spat it away.
He pushed back the lid of the dumpster; the smell hit him, and more bloody flies that had been laying their eggs amongst the warm festering rubbish flew out at him. He batted them away with a yelp and more spitting, and then moved to the back of the car.
She’d been so beautiful, even up until the end, just a few hours ago, when she’d cried and pleaded, her hair greasy, her clothes soiled. Now she was a limp thing. Her body was no longer needed, by her or him.
In one fluid movement, he hoisted her up and out of the boot and laid her lengthways on the black sacks, then slid the lid of the dumpster closed. He looked around; he was alone, more so now she was gone. He got back in the car and started the long drive home.