(Part 2)
Trigger Warning: This piece contains graphic violence, murder, references to child abuse, and disturbing themes including body disposal and psychological trauma.
“Give me the knife.”
He didn’t hesitate.
His hands trembled as he passed it to me—
as if he didn’t trust himself with it anymore.
I looked at him,
then at the body.
And then,
I looked around.
“Listen to me carefully,” I said,
“we don’t have much time.”
He nodded.
Not because he understood—
but because he needed someone who did.
⸻
We didn’t speak much after that.
I told him what to do and he followed.
We placed the body inside a bag from my car.
He hesitated at first…
but fear is a strong motivator.
Stronger than guilt.
⸻
And then—
Rain.
Out of nowhere.
As if the night itself wanted to help.
It washed away the footprints,
the tyre marks…
everything.
For a moment—
it felt like we might actually get away with it.
⸻
The drive was silent.
Too silent.
He kept looking at me,
like he was seeing me for the first time.
And maybe he was.
⸻
“The drain ahead,” I said quietly.
He nodded.
But as we got closer—
we saw them.
Police.
Gypsies parked near the opening.
Lights cutting through the dark.
⸻
I slowed down.
Killed the lights.
Waited.
Then turned the car around.
⸻
“We’re not doing this here,” I said.
He didn’t ask why.
He didn’t ask anything anymore.
⸻
We drove away from the town.
Away from the plan.
Toward something else.
⸻
He finally spoke.
“Where are we going…?”
I didn’t look at him.
“You’ll see.”
⸻
[END PART 2]
Waakiye 
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