Читать книгу The Missing Wife - Sam Carrington - Страница 7

I can still feel the mud embedded deep under my fingernails, taste the dirt on my lips. I can still see the eyes: shining like glass, open and staring, deep in their sockets. Dead.

In my mind I watch the earth piling onto the body, slowly blotting out what’s been done. Finally covering those eyes, so they can’t judge anymore.

I’m confident no trace can lead back to me.

Part of me feels regret; a sadness that it came to such a drastic act.

For the moment, my conscience is telling me I’m guilty.

But that can be buried too.