Body

We’ve been here for over four hours.

“We better be getting overtime for this,” I looked over my shoulder at Skyler. She stopped moving her mop and looked up at me, “I know that’s right.”

My name is Aria. Skyler and I picked up a job as housekeepers because 1) we need money and 2) … well that’s the only reason. 

But let me tell you — cleaning is not easy. There’s sh*t here and sh*t there. People are just really dirty. 

Anyways, enough of my spheal. We started here at 4 p.m. — why so late? I don’t even know — and it’s already 8:32 p.m. This is usually a two hour, maybe even three hour job at most, but for some reason, we’re taking extra long today. 

Skyler is moving especially slow, but I don’t want to tell

her and cause issues. She has anger problems (don’t tell her I said that). But what usually takes her 30 minutes cleaning blinds has taken her 1 hour, and what usually takes her 1 hour of cleaning the stove has taken her 2 hours. 

Now that I think about it, she’s been acting a little weird today — maybe I should speak up?

“Hey Skyler,” she looked up from under the table she’s cleaning, “are you good?”

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know,” I wiped my forehead, trying to not fall off the small step stool. “I feel like we’re taking longer than usual.”

“We’re trying to get that overtime baby!” she continued wiping the table. “Plus it’s almost the holiday season - we need that extra cash!”

I laughed, “I thought you hated the holiday season because it reminds you— “ It felt like I was cut off by a sharp glare. “Nevermind,” I nervously chuckled.

Remember that anger problem I mentioned? Let me change the subject… “Man I’m thirsty…”

“I think there’s water here! I know there’s some drinks…”

“Wait, how do you know?”

Skyler  stumbled, “Oh, umm management told me to help ourselves.” 

“When did you talk to management?”

“Today,” she cleared her throat. “This morning.”

“Then why did it take so long for us to come here?”

“Why are you interrogating me?”

I scoffed then started to look around more… it seemed familiar…

“Why do I feel  like I’ve been here before?

“What?”

“And why do I feel like there’s someone here except us?”

“Aria, I think you’re losing it, sis.”

“You’re right,” I smiled (she wasn’t). “It’s past dinner, why don’t I pick up some snacks to hold us over?” (I wasn’t).

“Now that’s what I like to hear!” she nudged me, “Please get those crunchy pretzels things… the healthy ones! I’m trying to watch my figure,” she winked (she’s not).

“You got it.” I closed the door behind me and looked for Brayden. If anything knows anything, it’d be him. I mean, he’s the super after all.

The stars must’ve been aligned because I found him right down the hallway. 

“Brayden!”

“Hello Ms. Aria!”

“How are you?”

“I’m alright… listen… Was Skyler here this morning?”

“Ms. Skyler? Ah yes, she asked me for Mr. Tristan’s key.”

“Tristan?”

“Yes, I mean she’s his girlfriend after all.”

No she’s not…! 

“Got it, thank you Brayden.”

I quickly turned back around and sped walked down the hall, but it felt like it took forever. That’s why I remember. That’s why. That’s why. Tristan is her toxic ex-boyfriend. When I say toxic, I mean toxic (I don’t want to get into the details). I’ve been to his apartment. 

With her.

That apartment is his.

Why are we deep cleaning it?

“Sorry Skyler, store was all out,” I rushed the door open hoping to get her off guard but, it failed.

I was trying so hard to not sweat. Is my best friend a killer? No way… right?

“Damn, you could’ve at least brought something back.”

“Nah, I’m tryna get out of here,” I took off my jacket, ready to finish cleaning and get the hell out of this potential crime scene.

“Alright…,” she raised an eyebrow. “We just have this one closet to clean and we’re finito!”

“How about this one?” It was the corner in the closet. Sus enough.

“Wait!” she slammed the door. “I already cleaned here..”

“Oh alright,” I fixed my collar, “why are you being so weird about it?” I laughed, basically already knowing the answer.

“You want to be here any longer than we already have?”

“You’re right.”

She gave a half-made smile and leaned off the door, “you can change first.”

“Got it.”

I went to the brand-newly-cleaned bathroom and unbuttoned my shirt before pulling it off and swapping it for a new top. I looked in the mirror, damn I need to fix my hair, and keep myself together. 

I unclipped my pinned up hair and let my curls fall. As I was gathering my what-I-wish-was-thinner-hair, I heard muffled noises. I couldn’t quite make it out but honestly, I don’t think I wanted to.

Loud bangs. Muffled screams. The sound of struggling to open a door.

I threw open my door and rattled the bathroom door open but when that happened — silence. 

Suddenly, my face was pressed roughly against the wet floor I had just mopped. I felt a pressure against my back, almost as if I was—

“You’re under arrest!”

“What?!” 

“For the murder of Tristan Campbell” this can’t be happening. “He was found in the closet .. what an obvious place…” 

What the f*ck.