#23 China Cat (Blood Everywhere)

Thomas played the guitar all day and into the night. A string broke. He didn’t even replace it; just left it there. It was the E string; the thinnest one. She put tape on both ends. That song bugged her even more; China knew he wrote it for Eve. She told him that because he was down lately, she would get bottle wine, and cook him something special. He told her that he it just because he didn’t have a job, and he was going out looking on Monday. She knew it wasn’t true; he was cleaning up to find Eve, or another one like her. He was useless; wouldn’t cook, or clean. He had to go.

So, that night she made Baked Boston Brown Bean with molasses, baked potatoes with cheddar cheese and fake bacon bits, and sweet buttered baby carrots. She bought a huge bottle of red wine. She didn’t want to run out. They enjoyed a couple glasses before dinner. She started the party early; he was entitled to it.

She had crushed a few valium, and they stayed there, in a tiny pile, on the counter, by the bottle, ready for her. She did the pouring. She didn’t want him to die; just be weak. It was not complicated to tell which glass was his; easy, his was the greasy one. China wiped the pile into the bottom of his third glass, and then poured the wine on top. She swirled the dark red liquid until all the granules were dissolved. She thought she would take supper out of the oven, and serve it. With the food, the strong liquid, and him drunk, she tripled her chances that he might not taste the pills. Nonetheless, it was risky. He smacked his lips a few times, commented that the wine was bitter, but then went on to drink it all. He wanted another glass.

After supper, Thomas went to bed, but first finished his fourth glass in two gulps. He still patted the bed beside him. She knew what that meant. She would have to leave the dishes until the next day, and accommodate him. He stunk, but she did it anyway. China was used to it. She didn’t get to finish, as always, while he drifted off, she laid awake, as always. China was used to that too. With eyes wide open in the dark, she listened to his breathing. She waited until it got rhythmic. She reached for the E-string under the bed, and wrapped it around his throat. She knew there was no turning back now. At first, he didn’t wake up, didn’t give her any trouble, but then instinct took over, as he started to grab at the E-string. It was too late. She twisted the steel string some more, and pulled. The pills worked; he was weak. She wrenched on it some more. She put her foot on the small of his back to brace herself, and yanked. There was more blood than she expected. She expected to choke him, but she ended up slicing his throat. He stopped struggling, and went limp. She twisted the wire a bit more, but ran into something hard. It was his spinal cord. And all that blood. What was she going to do about all that blood. She hadn’t thought about that. She loosened her grip, but kept holding it by its taped ends, put the E-string against his back. It left scarlet smears where it touched his skin, sprang out, then left the same marks on the sheet. She straddled him to get over him. Oh my God there was a lot of blood. She wiped off her leg, and got dressed. She went into the kitchen, and finished the bottle of wine while she thought of what to do.

By the time she got back to the bedroom, he had finished bleeding and laid there naked. What a mess. There was blood everywhere. She was going to lose a mattress too, and not just the sheets. She used them to drag his body off the bed. He landed with clomp on floor. He was cold and stiff, so hard to move, and his face had frozen into an expression of terror as he must have realized what was happening. She started wrapping the sheet around him