Losing Charity

Losing Charity - 16

"Oh my God!" I gasp.

The imp — it winces again, like I just threw hot coffee in its face — is right. I hadn't thought about it until this instant but it's true — I killed Peter Sutaf!

Sort of.

Not on purpose.

I didn't mean to.

"It was an accident!" I say. "He tried to kill me! I was just trying to get away from him!"

The imp waves its hands. "You don't have to convince me, sister." It rolls its eyes. "The police, they may be another matter."

"Police!" I say. "Police!"

"Yeah, you know. The boys in blue. The bandits with badges. New York's—"

"I have to call the police!" I say. I'm grasping for a lifeline here.

"I don't think you want to do that, Charity."

"What? Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, how will you explain me?"

"Explain you? You can explain you."

"Oh, I won't be here when the cops arrive. I can guarantee that."

"Then I won't have to explain you."

"Yeah. Touché. Great. All you'll have to explain is the dead body of a prominent Wall Street investor."

"It was self-defense. He attacked me!"

"Tell me, Miss Blaze, did you accompany Mr. Sutaf to his apartment willingly?"

"Yes, but—"

"What is your current place of employment?"

"I'm between jobs. But what—"

"And how did you become acquainted with Mr. Sutaf? How long have you known him? Is it not true that you had dinner with him at the very expensive Barbat before accompanying him to his home?"

I shake my head and am starting to think this whole conversation is happening in my head. Because, big trauma, right? Almost being murdered. Accidentally killing the guy who almost killed me. It's overwhelming. So to cope I'm hallucinating a little red man in a bad suit and a bowler.

And having a hard time following what he's getting at.

"I don't see what —"

"You're an attractive young lady with no visible means of support, found with the dead body of a wealthy man you barely know. Are you a prostitute, Miss Blaze?"

"What! No! That's not—"

"Yeah, looks to me like you got into some kind of dispute with your client, and then you killed him. And tried to burn the body to cover up your crime."

"That's not true!"

The imp gives me an incredulous head bob. "Hey, I'm only saying that's how it looks. Or could look. Or be made to look by the press and the cops or by an ambitious headline-grabbing prosecutor. And believe me, there are more than a few of those in this town. Yeah, this would make for a real sexy case. Kiss-Kiss, Stab-Stab: Killer Escort Barbecues Banker. You know the Post would run with that."

"But it isn't true!" I protest.

The imp shrugs. "Like that matters."

I narrow my eyes and frown. "You ... you're not real," I say.

"Says you."

I draw up in a ball and shake my head. "No, no, no, no, no. This isn't happening. This can't be happening."

It can't be. I'm imagining this. How else does the little red guy know my name? Know so much about me? Know everything that happened tonight? The only one here who knows all that is me. Which means I'm talking to myself.

Just in a really strange hallucinatory way.

Because trauma.

The imp rolls its eyes and throws its hands up in a gesture of exasperation. "Now with the denial."

I squeeze my eyes shut. I open them again.

The imp is still there. So is Peter's corpse.

This is looking pretty real.

"What exactly is an imp?" I ask.

The little red guy grins, showing off a row of sharp teeth, like a dog's.

"Now we're getting somewhere," he says.

*************************************************

Losing Charity © Dan McGirt 2019. All rights reserved.

Please give a star if you enjoyed this story. Comments welcome too. Thanks for reading!