Wednesday, February 7, 2018

The Detroit Project

Well, shit.  What now? I didn’t ask for any of this.

Well, neither did I.

You planned it.

You helped.

This is stupid.  It doesn’t matter anymore.  What do we do now?

I don’t know.  Why are you laughing?

Because I remembered I have that Detroit project due tomorrow.  That was Derek’s, wasn’t it?

What the hell is wrong with you?  Derek is lying dead at your feet.

It was an accident.

Of course it was an accident.

He wasn’t supposed to be here this late at night.  Why didn’t he just go home like everyone else?

I don’t know.  It doesn’t matter.

We can’t just leave him here like this, right?  Should we move him?  Hide him?

That would make everything worse, wouldn’t it?

So, what?  We should just call the police and tell them what happened?

I never said that.

This was just supposed to be about some money.

I know.

We should just walk away.  Don’t touch anything.  Go home.  Come back tomorrow morning like nothing’s wrong. 

But the blood?  The fingerprints?  We’re just leaving that bookshelf on top of him?

Of course our fingerprints are all over the place.  We work here.

What about our shoeprints?  In the blood?  See.  Right there.

Our shoes are nothing special.

Did you get the files you needed?


Did you cover our tracks?

No one will notice for months, I’m sure. 

Did Derek have a family?


You heard me.  Did he have a family?

I’m sure he wasn’t an orphan.

I’m sorry we killed him.


Yes, accidentally.  I mean, I didn’t know him very well, but I didn’t hate him.

Right.  He was fine.  Not a jerk or anything.

I don’t think I can come to the office tomorrow.

You have to.

I know.  So do you.

Yep.  Detroit project due tomorrow.

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