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    Corporeal

    CORPOREAL

     

    Allison stood over the woman’s prone body still uncertain of what she’d done. When she looked at the bulging eyes and casually noted the protruding tongue, she stifled a laugh. The face looked more like a particularly effective Halloween mask than a once lovely face that had met with the unfortunate disfigurement of a violent death. She suddenly became aware of the pool of urine that had collected at her feet. It annoyed her that she’d have to spend money on a new pair of sneakers as she was sure these were ruined. Her mind abruptly registered the situation. Two dead bodies, only one knife. If she stabbed the woman, she knew the body wouldn’t bleed, it would merely ooze in a way that would make it obvious that the wound had been made post-mortem. That would draw suspicion. No, she’d have to make it look like they’d killed each other. As she wiped her prints off the knife, it began to rain. At least there’d be no evidence of her urine. She curled the dead woman’s fingers about the handle of the kitchen knife. The rain should answer for the lack of blood on her hand. No way to explain the lack of blood on the dead woman’s clothes, though. She then chided herself for being so illogical. They were just cops. Big city cops who probably wouldn’t question a domestic squabble between two middle-aged, working-class dullards that got out of hand. She scowled at the dead woman. She had been ridiculous. Couldn’t she see that Allison had been trying to save her life. The guy had been following her with a kitchen knife in his fist. Allison shook her head. This idiot woman saw her struggling with the man and then ran up and started punching her. Allison ended up having to fight both of them. Luckily the woman was petite. It didn’t take much for her to land a stunning blow on her chin and knock her out for a few moments. The guy was drunk and angry. Just the sort Allison had trained for in her martial arts classes. The only problem was that he wouldn’t stay down. As far as Allison was concerned, the fool killed himself. She’d just been holding the knife she had wrested from his hand moments before. It was an accident. But the woman had not seen all of that. By the time she woke up and saw the knife in Allison’s hand, all she could do was assume that this stranger had killed her man. All would have been well if she’d just listened when Allison explained.  She’d seen him stalking her. He had planned to murder her. The photo made it clear. Between the woman’s screams, Allison tried to explain in her most rational voice that he’d run into the knife. And that now she’d finally be free of his menace. The woman kept screaming his name, though. Frank! Frank! Allison realized that she had probably loved her would-be murderer. This was a bad part of town. Chances are no one would heed the screams of a woman coming from some dark alley. But when she swore that she’d tell the police it had been cold-blooded murder, that she’d say that she and Frank were just walking and had been jumped by some knife wielding woman, Allison had to reconsider. The woman’s bruised chin would support the story of being attacked by Allison. It was the only logical course of action. Of course, the woman flailed at Allison. Who wouldn’t with another person’s hands tightening around their throat. But she was so petite. And Allison’s father had always said that she had ‘man hands.’

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