Shit. I roll over, tangling my feet in the blankets. Can’t sleep for shit, too busy freaking the fuck out.
Detective Lin never said Celia was dead; he said she was missing. The dead part was all me.
But she did die! She did. I saw her. And I killed her.
I kick my legs free from the sheets and stare out at the dark nothingness of my room. The digital clock on my nightstand reads 4:08 in red. 4:09. 4:10. 4:11… 4:53. Sleep is not going to come, there is no point in just lying here so I reach for the lamp, pull its silver chain. The room gets too bright and I squint while I slide my feet into my slippers and slip an oversized hoodie over my head. Dressed, the light goes back off and I shuffle through the dark house to the kitchen. Delilah follows me, five or so steps behind. From the hall, she watches me with her chestnut eyebrows knitted, her black eyes questioning, as I crab a Corona from the fridge and pop the top off. She waits for me to pass her in the hallway, on my way to the living room, before she turns around and trudges behind again. If she could talk she would ask, “What the fuck are you doing? Let’s go back to bed silly.”
I plop down on the couch and run my hand over the suede cushions in search of the remote. There has got to be something on that will take my mind off of that little slip with Celia. Delilah stares at me from the floor, she lets out a little whimper. “Ok,” I sigh, and pat the cushion next to me. Suddenly, all eighty pounds of Rottweiler vaults onto the couch, pushing us a couple inches across the hardwood floors. I chuckle and scratch behind her ears while flipping through the channels. But it doesn’t take long for my mind to wander and instead of the images that flip across the screen, I see Celia dead; I see myself dragging her body out to the ditch; I see Detective Lin NOT mentioning a damn thing about her being dead; and I see myself drop a tray of drinks and self-incriminate in front of her and all of her friends. A sigh empties my lungs. She is totally going to know I had something to do with her waking up in that ditch!
No, I shake my head. She was drinking, she’ll forget all about it. And what are the chances she’ll talk to Detective Lin and find out he never actually said she was dead anyway?
* * *
Speechless, I stare across the bar at Celia. She is waiting for an answer. Her joking manner starts to get nervous, probably a reaction to my silence and deer in the headlights look in my eyes.
“So…” she asks again. “Why did you say that?”