Chapter Text
He walked toward the water’s edge, the sandy beach giving way under his heavy steps. The quarter moon reflected brilliantly on the surf that lapped calmly against the shore, the soft hush of the waves a lullaby at nearly 3:00 am. It was too dark to see the landmass of Orcas Island across the sound, making the expanse before him feel limitless, ominous and consuming.
A gust of wind pushed a spray of sand against his cheek and he lifted his hand to brush it away, wincing as he felt the sticky smear of blood commingle with grains of sand and his third-day stubble. He heaved a shuddering breath, holding both trembling hands out before him and studying them in the moonlight.
Her blood, some cuts he sustained in the struggle, a strand of her hair. He choked back a sob. What had he done? But she was going to kill him; it was eat or be eaten. That’s what he was pretty sure had happened, but the details were becoming a little hard to keep straight.
He could picture her eyes, wild with fear and surprise as he lifted the fire poker above his head and brought it down against hers. Eyes he’d looked into thousands of times, ocean blue and serene. Trusting. Later he’d seen them again, flecks of blood drying out against the whites as they stared, infinitely open, no longer able to blink.
He stepped closer to the shoreline, startling at how cold the water was, when a stronger wave pushed it up and over his bare toes. This was going to be harder than he thought, he realized. A strange thought to have when you just beat the love of your life to death with a fire poker, really. Nothing should be harder than watching her skull crumple under the force of your own hand, continuing on until dental records would be required to positively identify her. But cold water, yes, that’s difficult to endure.
He took several quick steps, pausing when the water made contact with his scrotum. He pulled in deep breaths, plunging his hands into the water by his hips and letting the salty brine wash away her blood. Several more quick steps until it reached his armpits, and again he stopped to breathe through it, to acclimate. He swam out, gasping at the chill, until he could dunk his head under without feeling the ocean floor beneath his feet. Turning to face the shore, he pictured her back on the floor of their cabin, the dying fire keeping her body warm for now. But not for long.
“I’m sorry,” he sputtered out, his lips quivering and dripping with seawater.
Sorry to her, sorry to her family, to his family who would be confused about why he had done this. He wasn’t sure he knew the answer himself.
He dunked under the water again and pulled in the largest breath he could manage. A wet, watery breath that startled him even as he knew it was coming. In his panic, he tried again to bring in oxygen, a reflexive gasp that only flooded his lungs further. In short order the panic began to subside, replaced with a calm resignation, a drowsy acceptance. The cold no longer bothered him. He sunk further, the darkness enveloping him, a watery hug that held the promise of reprieve.
On the surface, a few bubbles rose and popped soundlessly, the final gasp of a story that they would both take to their graves.