I'd always loved my home in the garage, super roomy, dark and everyone I know lives there. Of course hanging up on a wall didn't leave room for a lot of parties. We'd seen our fair amount of them though, the only child Jackson had thrown a few in the last few years. Beer, liquor, wine all of it spilled on tables, equipment even the walls. He'd gone to college, spilling things elsewhere now. His acceptance letter sat on the old walls, along with all his other awards. Always a proud father, Bill was
Of course now all I see is the inside of this evidence bag, it's clear but that doesn't help when I'm in a box 24/7. You see I'm THE weapon, the one Bill used to kill Susan. The night he snapped, his drinking getting out of hand. Her shrill voice, yelling at him again. For drinking, again. To his defense she was poking all the right buttons. His failed first marriage, the now failing partnership with her brother, Jackson's own drinking problems. All of them a trigger point for poor Bill.
That night she had followed him into the garage, his sanctuary. Where he went to get away from her. She wasn't having that tonight though. No, Susan was going to get to the bottom of this, she ended up in the bottom of a body bag.
Before I knew what was happening I was hilt deep in her skull. Then her chest, over and over, I got dizzy, all the movement I wasn't used to. After he had calmed down, I was set back in place on the wall. I watched as he called the police and paramedics. Susan was dead and Bill was unmoved, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. Sometimes I wonder if he had it planned, or if he was just that drunk.
What do I know though? I'm only a screwdriver.
