She Came In Through The Bathroom Window
There can be few things in this life worse than waking up after a night on the sauce next to someone, having no idea of their name, no idea how you met, no idea how you got there and no idea why they’re dead.
Jodi wiped her hand across her dehydrated, cracked lips and squinted at the bedside cabinet. Her eyes refused, momentarily, to focus. She tried to sit up but his arm held her down. She dragged it, struggling against the advancing rigor and sat up. Looking down at herself, she was confident that her body should have been close enough to focus on and, after a brief struggle, was pleasantly surprised to find herself fully dressed.
Shuffling inch by dizzying inch along the bed, Jodi got close enough to the edge to swing her legs down. She was not quite as fully dressed as she had hoped, one of her shoes seemed to have gone AWOL. This was certainly something that would have to be dealt with. It would be no good leaving evidence at the scene of the crime.
Weird, though, even as some details started to return to her she couldn’t remember where her shoe was.
Finally the bedroom began to take on some semblance of shape and she saw a full glass of water on the bedside table, reached over and drank it all down. Gulp after gulp after gulp.
Feeling a little stronger, Jodi stood up. There was a shirt lying on the floor so she picked it up absently, almost put it on but then threw it over the man in the bed. It landed awkwardly, covering most of what was not already hidden by the duvet except for a tuft of mousy hair at the top and a pale, blotched hand halfway down.
Jodi stared and tried to reassemble the fractured evening. Pink wine was all she could remember. She stared at the hand and knew her DNA would be all over this place; hair, fingerprints and depending on whether they had moved on to tequila there was a good chance of vomit in the toilet too.
In fact the way her stomach felt it was highly likely she might add to the vomit in the toilet. At least tequila would explain why she was in bed with him, probably thought that after being sick she was in a hotel and just dragged herself to the nearest bed. Jodi lurched as the spins caught her off guard and buckled, doubling over and dropping to the floor. Breathing and breathing and breathing and – there was her handbag. She lay down on her side on the floor, slowly crept her hand over to it and dragged its suddenly immense weight towards her before pulling out her mobile.
Messages. Some from work. One with this bloke’s photo in.
And then it clicked in her head.
The club, the pink wine, the partying, the taxi home, the tequila shots, the realisation on his part that she wasn’t going to sleep with him. But by then it was too late she’d spiked him. She had to get in and finish the job.
So she was standing outside in the garden, banging on the door but he wouldn’t let her in. So what did she do? What was it?
Jodi stared around the room then dragged herself to her feet and limped across to the ensuite. She walked to the sink, filled it with cold water and splashed it on her face, looking at her complexion in the mirror. She inspected the damage that last night had done to it, squinted her face and her brain, trying to remember. Something was out of focus in the mirror, something behind her. Splashing her face again, she stared at the blur - a splash of red. As she turned around, she looked up to see the window, wide open and her bright, red sandal hanging where she had scrambled in.
Jodi picked up her mobile and dialled. It was time to instigate the disposal of the body. And then perhaps a coffee.