Home.
Kinda.
I don't understand why anyone would want to stay in this filth, pathetic town.
I'm having second thoughts. Maybe I should make a phone call. No. I don't need to do that. I need to finish this because there is no other way.
He sleeps, snores a little. I'm exhausted.
I go to make breakfast. I turn on the TV. New reporters stand at the scene. Moment of truth. The body is unidentifiable.
"Hashtag kill goals." I say sarcastically. Cameras point directly at the body but blur it out anyway. The car is toast. Can't see the color. Can't see the make or model. Shoot Can't even see the original shape. No finger prints because it's all burned, and there wouldn't be anyway because I wore gloves.
He walks down the stairs. I flick off the TV and turn my full attention to him.
"What'd you make for breakfast?" He said, moaning kinda.
"Pancakes. With blueberries."
"Mmhm." He went to sit down. I brought him a plate. I sit down across from him.
"When are we going again?" I ask.
"Tonight."