I knew what I'd done as soon as the door closed. I stood there, as still as possible, letting the weight of it sink in. Sunlight entered through tears in the curtains of the old RV, revealing the dust in the air, agitated by my entrance. It should have been a comforting sight, a warm room on wheels, well-traveled and broken in. The events of the day, however, made it impossible to relax.
I stood there, my back inches from the door, until the silence overwhelmed me. I took a deep breath and moved further into the room. I reached inside a cupboard above the small cooking area and grabbed a towel. From a lower cabinet I pulled a bottle of water. I began to wash myself. Red and brown slowly gave way to the pale skin tone below. I was slow and methodical, careful not to miss the smallest spot.
After an hour or so, the water in a bucket I was using to wring out my towel had taken on the swirl of colors that previously adorned me. My body was clean, but there was no hope for my clothes or my conscience, and I could only dispose of one of those.
I changed into a clean if not fitting set of clothes from the RV, picked up the bucket of water and my stained clothes, and headed outside. As I opened the door I looked nervously from left to right, though I knew no one would have been able to find me yet. They wouldn't even know anything had happened.
I pondered what to do with the bucket and clothes. I set them down and went back inside. After some searching, I found a tube with which to syphon some gas from the tank of the RV. I should have balked at the fumes, but I felt numb, unable to be affected by the tastes and smells and even the burning sensation in my eyes. I poured the gasoline onto the clothes in the bucket, lit one of the matches I found in the RV, and set the filth ablaze.
Once there was nothing left but a smoldering ant hill of melted plastic and the smell of chemicals in the air, I turned and made my way back to the motor home. I wanted to set the fire away from the vehicle, though I didn't know if there was any strategic value to the idea.
My eyes were focused on the ground in front of me and not straight ahead, as they should have been. I noticed the man standing outside the RV too late. He had already seen me.
"Good afternoon," he said, as I approached slowly. He had a uniform on. State police.
I did not know what to say. My heard began to pound in my chest.
Oh no, I thought. Not again.
"I was just driving by. Noticed a little smoke, and thought I'd make sure everything was ok. Is this your camper?"
Say something. If you don't he'll be suspicious.
I couldn't make myself speak. My heart was now racing. My head began to ache. It was starting again.
Rightfully, the officer took a more defensive stance. I was now well into the realm of suspicious character. His hand moving toward his gun sealed the deal.
A sharp pain tore through my head, from back to front. I cried out in pain, but if anyone else had been around they wouldn't have heard me over the screams of the officer doubled over in front of me. I stared at him, trying to will it to stop, but knowing it wouldn't.
The officer looked up at me. Blood streamed freely from his eyes and out of his ears. He stared straight at me. I could tell that he, somehow, knew it was my fault. I just wanted it to end.
One more jolt of pain through my head and the officer whipped his head back.
And then his head no longer existed. The explosion sent blood and skin, bone and brain shooting in every direction. What remained of the officer fell limply to the ground.
My heartbeat slowed. The pain in my head subsided. Without another thought I numbly walked over to the side of the RV. I retrieved the shovel I had placed there just hours before and walked back to the officer's body. I noticed as I walked that, once again, I was covered in blood.
I'm going to need another change of clothes, I thought to myself.
