Look! Here it is again! Isn't that absurd? It won't wash off'¦who would've thought that he'd have so much'¦what do they say it's thicker than? Milk? No, that's for children. Water, was it? Yes, that's it, water. No wonder then that the water isn't helping. The blood is too thick. Almost as thick as family ties, blood ties. Almost. Apparently, 16% of murder victims are killed by their own family members. Old Christopher McCormick was spared of that fate. He died of a simple heart attack.

There were no surprises when the will was read out. The whole family sat in a circle around the lawyer in the living room, like something out of an Agatha Christie novel. The thing about wills'people don't just want to see who gets the major load; they also want to see who gets nothing. Everyone knew that Duncan, as the eldest with two sons, would be receiving the largest share of his father's inheritance as well as the estate. No surprises there. Duncan was the perfect son, the exemplary gentleman, and no reason why he shouldn't move into the main house just two days after his father had died. Nor did he waste time in bestowing lavish gifts onto himself, his two sons and his countless mistresses.

But this was Duncan McCormick'the new master of the household, the old kook's favourite; spoilt and pampered since he learned how to drool, never having to lift a finger for anything, except to click two together for the dinner bill. Michael and I were left with a mere pittance of an allowance.

Duncan was all smiles, trying desperately to feign humility as people congratulated him on his good fortune. As he turned to Michael and me, he put on an apologetic façade, insinuating in no subtle terms that we should never hesitate to come to him if we ever needed anything. Michael faltered for a fleeting second before he acquiesced cordially. I looked at the two brothers in disgust. Duncan expected us to grovel at his expensive Moschino clad feet and ask for money? And here's Michael, the faithful little puppy, festering in his elder brother's shadow, never uttering a word in disfavour and getting trodden upon like a worm. Beg Duncan for money? How dare he insult us?!

I looked at my brother-in-law coldly and said goodbye. Michael shifted uncomfortably, but Duncan sneered at me and pounced at the opportunity like a sadistic hyena. His voice dripping with insincerity, he said condescendingly,
'You know, Lucy, it is only expected that this should happen'that it should turn out like this. After all, Father did always want grandchildren, and after that unfortunate incident that left you unable to'¦I'm sure you understand.'

If I could've gotten away with it, I would have shot him in the face, then and there. But I usually think things through before I do them.

***

Even Michael was seething as we got into the car. We spent the first five minutes in silence, stewing in rage. I was sick of it all. Everyone spoke to Duncan and treated him as if he was the King of all Manhattan; Duncan could do no wrong. Even after humiliating and insulting me and Michael in front of the rest of the family, for his own personal enjoyment nonetheless, Duncan will continue to be loved and respected by all the pathetic people that fawn all over him. And to think, it could've been Michael and me, instead of him. We deserved it, after all that we had been through, not Duncan. Michael, Michael should have gotten the inheritance. It should be his, not Duncan's'the money, the estate, the prestige'

Michael slapped the wheel in anger. 'God, I could kill that bastard for that.'
'Why don't we?' I replied coolly, secretly pleased that Michael was reacting like this.
Michael laughed hollowly. 'Sure, Luce, but you're forgetting one thing: we'd be the obvious prime suspects. Hence, we could never get away with it.'
'Your brother may be the darling of Upper East high society, but he isn't exactly a saint,' I said pointedly.
'Yeah, no shit, we got a taste of that tonight.'
I sighed wearily. 'I meant that he has a lot of enemies. One of them could be easily passed off as our scapegoat.'
'And what would the motive be?' Michael asked quietly, nervously.
'Money. Revenge.' I paused for effect and then muttered, 'Peace of mind.'
'Oh, come on Lucy, this is my brother we're talking about.'
I looked at Michael in disbelief and said scathingly, 'You two have hated each other since you were twelve.'
'That has nothing to do with anything!' Michael cried out frantically, panicking. 'We are not talking about killing my brother!'
'Why not?' I demanded. 'It's not like you've never thought about it.'
That shut him up.

***

By the time we had reached home, I had meticulously outlined the preparations needed in executing our intentions. Michael absorbed everything in silence. It was only when we had taken our coats off in the hall that he turned towards me and asked,
'You're dead serious about this, aren't you?'
I looked at my husband in the eye. There's no point in holding back now.
'Michael, I have had enough of that vile brother of yours. His snide remarks about how he's more successful than you, is the favoured one, has more money'for fuck's sake, Michael, you should've gotten that damn inheritance! Not Duncan! Not after what he said today about'¦about''
I choked on my words; I couldn't bring myself to even say it. White hot anger surged through my body. Even after all these months, the wounds still dug far, far deep into my skin.
'How dare that impudent bastard even have the audacity to speak about it,' I whispered furiously. 'After everything that I, that we have been through'¦he doesn't deserve to live.'
Michael came forward and embraced me, but I could see that he was frightened.
I breathed deeply and adopted a more comforting tone to persuade him.
'You don't have to think about a single thing until the day itself. Don't worry'leave everything in my hands.'
Michael nodded imperceptibly and headed upstairs. I breathed a sigh of relief. I couldn't do it without him. The actual deed'I'd do it myself if the bastard didn't look so much like my dead father.

***

The guests had started to arrive. We were throwing a party over the weekend for a few close friends, including Duncan with his ridiculous bodyguard-cum-valet. The 'valet' was armed apparently, with a semi-automatic and a small knife. He was to be our scapegoat.

Duncan was due any minute now. Michael became agitated. He paced about, his movements jerky, laughing a touch too loudly at Brett Harris' jokes. I grabbed his arm, smiled an excuse to my guests, forever the perfect hostess, and steered him into the kitchen.
I hissed angrily, 'You stupid fool! Stop behaving like a nervous child! Anyone could look into your face right now, and read all your thoughts as if it was a fucking book in large print.'
He looked so shamefacedly that I wanted to hit him. Hard. I took a deep breath and counted steadily to ten, before clasping his hands in mine.
'Remember what I said. No one will have any reason to suspect us, not if we do it exactly the way I planned it. All you have to do for now is go about as if nothing has changed. Do not let your eyes, gestures or anything you say give you away.'
The doorbell rang. I looked at him urgently. 'That's Duncan. Listen to me, nothing can go wrong. So don't you back out on me now'you have nothing to fear. Trust me. Everything will go according to plan.'
I saw the resolve coming back into Michael's eyes. He nodded, kissed me quickly and strode out of the kitchen to meet his brother, his head held a little higher than before. For that one moment, I was proud of him.

***

It was well past midnight and the guests had all left, apart for Duncan, his valet and Brett Harris, who was too drunk to be left on his own. The two main guest rooms occupied, the valet was left in what was supposed to be the nursery, now converted into a spare room, right next to Duncan's.

Michael and I waited patiently, until we could more or less hear three different rhythms of snoring. Then we flew into action, Michael snapping on the plastic gloves I had found in an old first aid kit, to avoid fingerprints. With one last glance at me, Michael slid out of our bedroom. I was to sit tight while he carried out the deed; I was to take care of the aftermath.

It was pitch dark, but there should be just enough light coming from the streets through the curtains to let Michael find his way about. I sat down on the bed, seeing in my mind's eye what was going on in the space beyond the bedroom door. Michael would now be just outside Duncan's door, clutching the small knife in his hand. I could see it clearly, even feel the slim but sharp blade jutting out of its simple black handle. The perfect tool for the job. I had deftly slipped it from the valet's pocket as I poured him glass after glass of champagne; a little harmless flirting never hurt.

The silence was pounding in my ears. I could hear the ticking of every clock in the house, magnified tenfold. An owl hooted menacingly nearby. What was taking him so long? He should have plunged the knife into Duncan's heart and been back by now. A blind panic suddenly surged through my heart and I couldn't breathe. What if he's got caught? I walked swiftly to my dresser and poured myself a glass of whiskey. The strong liquid burned warmly through my throat, killing the panic and replacing it with a strange excitement. I remembered with a flash, the thrill I had felt when I described the plan to Michael, and when I slipped a certain drug into the valet's wine to make sure he was too muddled up to explain the bloody dagger in his possession. Even now, I couldn't wait for the deed to be done, knowing that I had in me as much courage and strength as my father did when he fought in the war.

I didn't have to wait any longer. Michael burst in, closing the door swiftly but soundlessly. I looked at him with anticipation. His face was deathly pale, his eyes wild, and he was shaking all over. But his hands were covered in blood.
'I've done it,' he whispered.
I looked at him, my whole body tingling. I let out a short breath of laughter. Victorious laughter.
'We did it'we got rid of him,' I gasped, I gasped, not quite daring to believe it as yet.
Michael looked terrified. I sobered down fast, for his sake, and reached out to touch his hands.
'Michael,' I started, but felt something hard and cold. I looked down and caught sight of a blood-soaked knife in his hands.
'Why have you still got the knife with you?' I demanded. 'You were supposed to have left it with the valet to pinpoint the murder on him, you idiot! Go back and''
'No,' Michael interrupted, shaking his head vehemently. 'No, I am not going back there. Lucy, I'm scared''
'Scared? You're scared? Of what? What kind of man are you?' I shouted at him. 'Michael, you've just killed your brother'and now you're scared? You're'oh, for crying out loud, just give me the fucking knife.'
I snatched the knife out of Michael's hands, muttering sarcastically, 'Never send a man to do a woman's job.'
Michael whispered an indistinct reply, but I was already out the door.

Putting the knife back at the valet's side was a simple task. It reminded me of the games I used to play as a child with my siblings, staying up late at night, playing hide and seek without waking our parents up.

That bit done, I returned to the sanctuary of my own bedroom to find Michael still standing there the way I had left him. I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the bathroom. Turning on the tap, I said, 'It's done. Now all we have to do is go to sleep and then pretend to be all shocked and sad in the morning when we see what happened. We'll call the police, the valet will go to jail, Brett will be our witness of course'¦' I went on.
'I have my brother's blood on my hands,' Michael quivered.
I raised my own hands, showing him where the blood from the knife and gloves and had smeared onto them.
'My hands are the same as yours. But look'a little water will wash it all away.' I placed both of our hands under the cool running water. The sanguine liquid slithered off smoothly, the water diluting it before it went down the drain, almost like absolution.

***

The blood never did wash off. It was still there, imprinted forever between the lines in my hands. I could still see it. Look! Here it is again! There's a drop of blood. That's Duncan's. And here's another'that must be from Michael's hands.

The doctors said I was suffering from shock after so many deaths in the family. They didn't know we were the ones who killed Duncan. No one did; everything did go according to plan. Except, Michael sent me off to the loony bin because I had started sleepwalking. He claimed I tried to commit suicide. He was lying'I know he was just trying to get rid of me. He doesn't love me anymore. And after all that I had done for him!

Michael doesn't see the blood anymore. Not even our dead baby's. He's wiped his hands clean, quite literally, of this whole affair. But I can't'¦and now my hands will never be clean. Look! Here's another drop.

I remember now what Michael had said that night, what he whispered after I said, 'Never send a man to do a woman's job.'
He whispered, 'Or a murderer's.'

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...