I told her to leave me so many times. Trust me I did. I told her I have been sleeping with other women. I was cheating on her. I didn’t love her anymore. I wanted a divorce. But the more I tried to get rid of her, the more desperate she got to make things better. Such a needy little bitch. The more she tried, the more I hated her. And then it happened. I smashed her head that night. I know I shouldn’t have but I wasn’t thinking. We had a fight and I just wanted to shut her up. As her dislocated lower jaw lied at a distance from her lifeless body, I stood still wondering what I had done. But I felt no remorse. Just relief. So I cleaned all the blood, wrapped her body in plastic, burned my bloodied clothes, took a shower, got dressed, had a smoke and a few shots of vodka before driving off with her corpse in the trunk of my car.
I don’t remember how long I drove until I found the perfect spot to dispose of her corpse. I dragged her stiff body into the middle of the woods and buried her deep in the ground. I made sure not to leave any tracks or evidence. I had seen enough movies and shows to know what all I needed to be careful about. And just like that…she was gone from my life…finally. Or so I thought.
That was over 3 weeks ago. Little did I know my life was going to turn into a living nightmare. I should have just left her while I had the chance. Do I regret killing her now? Maybe. I don’t know. I never wanted to hurt her…at least not deliberately. I just wanted to get rid of her. But then life happens. What can you do about it? I never thought killing my wife would have such dire consequences.
Bzzzt! Bzzzzzt! Bzzzt Bzzzzzt!
Few days after I killed Natalie, I got this text on my phone. It was really late in the night. As I barely woke up rubbing my eyes to the vibrating sound of my phone, I saw my digital clock blinking ‘2:01 am’. I grabbed my phone and unlocked it.
“You have one new text from Natalie.”
The notification popped on my screen. I stared in horror with my eyes wide open and heart pulsating with every tick of my digital clock. With a lone sweat dripping down my temple, I realized that my hands had started to tremble involuntarily. I felt my mouth dry up instantly as if a thousand splinters were being needled into the flesh of my throat. I felt my heart beat faster and faster as I tapped my screen to open the text.
That’s it. That’s all it said. But it was from her number. Sent at 2:01 am. But how could it be? She’s dead. I killed her with my bare hands. It can’t be her.
Could someone else text me from her phone?
Has someone found her phone out there?
Is someone playing a sick game with me?
Do they know what I have done?
No. Not possible. I made sure not to leave any tracks behind. I made sure her phone was switched off and inside her pockets, along with her other stuff, when I buried her in those woods. I buried her deep and I buried her good. There is no way anyone can find her. No way. Not possible. Then who sent this text? Well, it can’t be her. Shouldn’t her phone be out of power by now? This just doesn’t make sense. But who sent this text then? I checked it again. This is her number. And the time…it’s exactly when she died. 2:01 am. After 15 minutes of writing on the crimson floor with her broken jaw, she died exactly at 2:01 am.