Sleepy-eyed, she sat up and mumbled, “I dreamed you killed someone and stuffed them in the closet.”
He lit another cigarette. “Amazing what some smack can do to ease your mind.”
She looked from the tight ring of bruises on her breast to the white sunshine out the high window. He was tapping the syringe.
“Somebody warned me,” he said, “how disposing of a body can ruin your whole routine. Damn Jehovah’s Witnesses.”
Far away, she heard sirens, and the dog beginning to howl in the backyard. Looking at the closet, she almost let a whimper escape from her throat.