Chapter 19: The Aftermath
The rain continued to hammer against the penthouse windows, a relentless drumbeat providing the soundtrack to their new, chilling reality. Lara moved first, her shock morphing into a cold, calculated efficiency. "The paperweight," she said, her voice a low, steady whisper. "Put it back on the desk. Wipe it clean."
Nick, still gripping the heavy crystal, looked down at his blood-splattered hands, then at Albert's inert form. His eyes were wide, a haunted mirror of the violence he had just enacted. He obeyed, moving mechanically, his body trembling. He meticulously wiped the paperweight with a corner of Albert's discarded shirt, then placed it precisely back in its original spot on the desk.
"His wallet," Lara instructed, her eyes sweeping the room. "And anything else of value he might have left out." Albert's wallet was in his jacket pocket, thick with cash and cards. She slipped it into her robe pocket without a second thought. This wasn't theft; it was reclamation.
Next, she moved to the balcony door. "Close this," she told Nick, indicating the door he had entered through. "And lock it from the inside." He fumbled with the latch, his fingers stiff, but eventually secured it. "Now, the rope. Get it back up. We need to make it look like he was alone."
While Nick struggled with the wet, heavy rope, pulling it back onto the roof, Lara began to arrange the scene. She overturned Albert’s whiskey glass, letting the remaining liquid spill across the rug near his body. She scattered a few of his documents, making it appear as if he had accidentally knocked them over in a struggle, a fall. She even ruffled his hair slightly, to suggest disarray. It was a macabre choreography, and she moved with an unnerving grace.
"The study light," she then said, her voice sharp. "Turn it off. We want it to seem like he retired for the night." Nick flicked the switch, plunging the study into near darkness, illuminated only by the faint glow filtering from the living room.
"Now, the bedroom," Lara said, her eyes fixed on Nick. "We go back to bed. Together. And we stay there. Until morning."
Nick swallowed hard, his gaze lingering on Albert’s body. "What about… what about Mark?" he whispered, remembering the tenant waiting downstairs.
Lara’s expression hardened. "Mark is irrelevant. He waited too long. He'll simply leave, thinking Albert decided against his 'meeting.' He saw nothing. Heard nothing." Her cold logic was unassailable.
Back in the bedroom, Lara quickly slipped into her robe. "Your clothes," she commanded, gesturing to Nick's soaking wet attire. "Take them off. Give them to me." He hesitated, then stripped off his dark, sodden clothes. She bundled them quickly, then took them to the adjoining bathroom, tossing them into the laundry hamper. "Shower," she ordered, her voice low. "Quickly. Wash off the rain. And… anything else."
While Nick stood under the spray, Lara went to the master closet. She retrieved a pair of Albert's pajamas – far too large for Nick, but they would serve. When he emerged, Lara handed them to him. "Put these on. And get into bed. Stay on his side."
Nick complied, his movements still mechanical. He lay down on Albert’s side of the bed, the unfamiliar scent of the man he had just killed filling his nostrils. Lara climbed in beside him, pulling the covers up to their chins. She lay stiffly, staring at the ceiling, the rain still drumming outside.
"Breathe, Nick," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm. "Slowly. Calmly. We were asleep. All night. We heard nothing."
He turned his head, his eyes meeting hers in the darkness. There was no longer fear or lust between them, only a shared, terrible secret. The act had forged a bond far stronger, far more binding, than any desire ever could. The keys to desire had led them to an irreversible lock, and they had turned it together.
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