Danielle

I sip my wine as I wait for Este, drumming my fingers on the table. The Olive Garden is unusually loud for a Tuesday night, with people bustling in and out of the restaurant every few minutes. I glance at my watch. Eight o’clock. Este, ever punctual, is usually seated by no later than half past seven.

The incessant noise of chatter and clattering dishes fades to a gentle murmur as Este rushes into the restaurant, looking haggard and pale. 

Upon closer inspection, I can discern the weariness etched on my friend’s face. Her normally bright eyes are sunken and dull, the dark shadows underneath them betraying a lack of sleep. Her usually sleek and styled hair looks limp and unkempt, and her clothing equally as disheveled. 

“Is everything alright?” I ask.

“Yes, sorry I’m late,” she says hurriedly, setting her bag down. “I’ve been so busy, dinner just slipped my mind.” I can hear the strain in her voice. Este was never a very good liar.

“It’s Henry, isn’t it?” A dangerous edge creeps into my voice, but Este doesn’t seem to notice.

“It’s just…” she trails off, sighing. “He’s been acting differently all week, and I don’t know why.”

Este hesitates, leaning in closer. “He came home yesterday with merlot on his mouth, and we haven’t got any in the house. And when I logged onto our account the other day to check the balance, I saw that Henry spent a hundred dollars on jewelry. He never buys me jewelry. I didn't say anything, but I can’t ignore it any longer. Something isn’t right.” 

I never trusted Henry, never liked that smug grin on his face or his self righteous attitude, the way he’d use a charming facade to conceal a thinly-veiled distaste for everyone around him. I’d tried to warn Este, but she never wanted to listen, never wanted to believe that he might not be the man she thought she married. Her suspicions are all the proof I need.

“He’s cheating on you,” I spit out, furious on my friend’s behalf. I’m already planning all the ways I can make him pay for hurting her, for betraying her trust, for repaying her love and devotion with lies and deceit.

Este shakes her head in resignation. “I just can’t believe he would do this to me.”

I can. I swallow my indignation, knowing it will only upset Este more. “What are you going to do?”

“I think I’m going to call him out.” She stares at the table, face grim. “I just don’t think I can prove it.”

Este stands before I can reply, clearing her throat. “I should head home, get some sleep. I have an early morning tomorrow.”

I don’t point out the untouched meal in front of her, or bring up the plans we’d made for after dinner. I know she needs time to think things over.

As she leaves, my eyes are drawn to the marinara sauce stain on the white tablecloth. 

Red, like blood.

***

Este

It’s already dark by the time I got home. I left dinner early, having told Danielle that I was just tired, but the truth was that our conversation had left me shaken. Thankfully, Henry won’t be home for another two hours, giving me a chance to clear my head before I confront him. 

As I shrug off my coat, I hear the familiar creak of a floorboard, followed by the faint sound of a voice I don’t recognize.

My whole body shakes as I tiptoe up the stairs, my hand clenched around the knife I grabbed from the kitchen. I pause outside the bedroom, and my breath hitches in my throat as the door creaks open.

Any lingering doubts vanish when I see them entwined in the bed.

I flee down the stairs, out the door, down the street, my heart pounding to the beat of my feet on the pavement. How could he do this to me? I choke on a sob.

The night wraps around me like a shroud, and I stagger back, the dagger in my heart twisting, twisting until I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t think anything but the one thought that runs through my mind over and over like a broken record.

I can’t let him get away with this.

My eyes land on his truck, and I think of the countless times he must have used it to meet up with her when I wasn’t paying attention.

I act without thinking, slashing and stabbing and striking while my body convulses with wrenching sobs.

In hindsight, I don’t know how I could have missed the signs, failed to connect the pieces of the puzzle right before my eyes. The late-night phone calls, the unexplained absences, the way he’d brush off my questions with a comment about my paranoia. I’d spent countless nights tossing and turning in bed, trapped in an endless cycle of second-guessing and doubt, drowning in a sea of self-pity and guilt. I had turned a blind eye to the evidence before me, choosing to cling to the illusion of a happy marriage, because the alternative was infinitely worse.

I am lost in thought, so consumed by my fury and anguish that I don’t hear the footsteps behind me until it is too late.

Henry’s gaze goes from the slashed tires of his truck to the knife in my hand. 

He lunges before I can react, pressing his hand firmly against my mouth. The scream is caught in my throat as the knife clatters onto the pavement.

“They’ll never find you,” he whispers, and I can’t scream, can’t run, can’t breathe as his grip tightens.

The last thing I see before everything goes dark is the bone-chilling grin on his face, the look of a murderer who knows they will get away with the crime.

***

Danielle

Este never shows up to dinner next Tuesday.

She won’t answer her cell, and no one answers when I ring the doorbell at her house. I drive around town, asking her boss, her neighbors, her friends. Not one person has seen her.

When I pass Henry’s house, my eyes are drawn to the new tires on his truck. A small, but significant detail.

I try to explain the situation, but nobody is willing to listen. How could anyone accuse charming, polite Henry of murder? The detectives are no use either.

Disappeared without a trace, they tell me. No foul play suspected. 

Este’s sister is the only one who believes me.

“I knew he was no good,” she tells me, shaking her head firmly. “He can’t get away with this.”

Henry reports Este’s disappearance. His mistress moves in that same day, and I watch her move her things in, watch him offer her his hand with a smirk on his face.

I can’t stand the thought of her sleeping in Este’s bed, never bothering to wonder about the fate of its owner. Or maybe she was in on it too, helped him plan the crime, helped him hide the body. 

They’ll never arrest him, not without the evidence. There’s a fine line between justice and revenge, one that I have no qualms crossing. 

I will lay my troubles to rest, for once and for all.

***

It’s dark out as I row the boat out on the lake in the dead of the night. The atmosphere is filled with an almost eerie silence, with no hint of life anywhere around me. A chilling breeze sends a shiver down my spine, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle with anticipation. 

A thick layer of fog obscures my vision, and the moon is my only source of light, guiding my way across the waters. I push forward, rowing the oars until I am far from the shore. Good thing I got that boating license when I was fifteen. 

The branches sway gently in the breeze, casting ghostlike shadows that dance under the canopies of the trees. If I stare hard enough, they almost seem to be reaching out to me, begging to be set free, pleading for forgiveness.

As I watch the bag sink into the lake, a smile slowly spreads across my face. 

***

On Tuesday, Henry reports his missing wife. 

Two days later, he disappears, not a trace left behind. I’ve certainly cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene. 

Later, they’ll find her fingerprints on the knife. That, combined with the life insurance his mistress took out the day before his death, will quell any doubts about who the culprit was. Este’s sister will swear she was with me at the time of his demise, ensuring that the murder is never traced back to my name.

After all–no body, no crime.