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I should have contained my guffaws. Blaine panicked on hearing it and slammed on the brakes too hard. I wasn't buckled up because of the belt rubbing on my shoulder, and now I have an aching jaw from my face meeting the soft, squishy, comfortable dashboard.

'What the hell! What was that about?' comes a scream from behind my seat.

'I phink I tbit my thounge ough,' I add.

I turn my head, and I see a startled Blaine, gaze fixed on the road.

'You alright, dude? What's wrong?' I ask.

'N-nothing. I was just taken by surprise when you laughed,' he rushed through his words, breathless. I'm going to need to pay for the man's therapy.

Sighing, I say, 'Pull over first, I'll show you the photograph. I can't have you kill me.' Again, if I may.

The reason for my laugh had been the fact that the woman was not what I was expecting at all. She looks as if she hit a century – twice three times and back again. If she was missing, then she must have lost control of her wheelchair and fallen into a pond while feeding the ducks.

What I was expecting, on the other hand – or who rather, was someone considerably younger, with the looks of a porn star, who had married an old rich guy so she can live the high life in the Bahamas following his timely demise. But of course, this hypothetical porn star beat her hypothetical husband to the grave, courtesy of a hypothetical moi.

'I don't understand why you find this amusing,' Sloane comments, looking at the photograph.

'Let me put it to you like this. She looks old enough to be the mother of the Queen of England.'

It was her turn to spring into a fit of uncontrollable giggles this time. Blaine snickered weakly. If I can keep this up, I guess I wouldn't have to pay for his therapist at all.

None of us noticed the police officer that had made his way to the front of the car and was now tapping on the shutter, motioning to Blaine to roll it down.

It was now that I realized that we were closer to my temporary home, and that the area was swarming with the police. Who knew so many of them existed. If there were that many of them, they should go catch thieves and murderers, instead of tracking down a nice old lady who is probably seated in a secluded corner of their garden, sipping on a nice cup of tea. Unless...

Could it be? Could they be inside already, waiting to have the first person who enters tackled to the ground? Maybe they really are hunting down a murderer – although personally, I think calling it murder is a bit far fetched. Either way, its time I started doing something absurd, like praying.

Blaine hurriedly attempts to pull out his documents, but the officer stops him.

'There's no need for that, kid,' he said, peering down at him. 'Where y'all headed too?'

'J-just my h-house, s-sir. It's c-close by.'

'Are you hiding something? What's with the stutter?' Blaine is a serious liability. I should have gotten rid of him when I had the chance.

'N-nothing-,' at that, I decide to interrupt Blaine's response.

'Excuse my friend here, officer. He's had a speech impediment ever since my pet python swallowed his hamster last week.'

He bends a bit more to get a clearer view of who just talked – me, of course. 'My god! Whatever happened to you?'

Hoping he does not know the anatomy and nature of pythons, like most normal humans, I say, 'Um, python bite. I got bitten by, uh, Yer-ma, earlier today. We were just coming back from the hospital.' Nothing that a fake, genius pet name can't save me from.

'I see... Anyhow, we're looking for a lady that's missing – in her eighties, last seen in a blue dress on her wheelchair a few hours ago. If you see anyone that fits the description, call the police. You can get back on your way now.' Slapping the hood of the car twice, he left.

Blaine seemed to have sweat through his clothes in the five seconds it took for him to hear those words. He could not move a single muscle.

'Oh, get out, I'll drive!' I say, mildly annoyed at him.

'No! Hell no! I'll do it,' adds Sloane. How nice of her, taking care of me so well. 'We all saw how that went.'

She just. Did. Not.

'Aw, c'mon man! It was just once! And no one was hurt!'

'Once? The number of times a person runs over someone should be zero!'

'For the record, to call it "Run over" is a bit too exaggerated. She didn't have a single scratch on her. "An unexpected slight nudge forward" sounds more accurate.' I defend myself.

Blaine gets down and Sloane claimed the driver's seat. In a whisper, she leaned in to me and said, 'Is he alright? He doesn't seem to be alright. You shouldn't have dumped him, he's miserable.'

'Yeah, I'm totes the reason he's bummed,' I mutter to myself.

'What was that?' She asked.

'Nothing, nothing, you were right. Hear, hear, Sloane is right! Get going already, I've got to get ready for a meeting with Hilter.' Hilter manages finance on my behalf. I said Hilter, not Hitler. Get your eyes tested.

'But you said you were free tonight. That's why we had plans.' Sloane says, as she started leaving.

'Trust me, It won't even take five minutes. He's been bugging me to sign a few documents for a while, so I'll be getting that done today.' I look around and take in the beauty of the reddening sky. And the lack of a pathetic excuse of a man in the rear.

'Say, Sloane, did you forget anything?'

She thinks, before replying. 'No, not really. Although I'm not sure if I packed up my shampoo. You don't mind if I borrow yours, right?'

'No, of course not, but let me rephrase that – did you maybe forget someone?'

'What do you mean?' She looks behind her for a spilt second, and takes a life-threatening U-turn that squashed my arm.

She pulls up next to Blaine, looking confused as always. I don't think he even realized we left him. Poor kid.

I pull down the shutter and dramatically say, 'All aboard the Blaine-less express, for a free ride in the backseat of your very own car!' Sadly, I cannot mimic the constipated voices that advertisements on the radio often use.

'I'm so very sorry, Blaine,' Sloane started.

Her mouth still seems to be making sounds. So is Blaine's. Who cares what they're talking about, I just need to wake up from this nightmare. Conversations are such a bore – especially apologies and compliments. My guess is that they are done talking once Sloane hits the road again.

I have no idea what to tell Sloane about the body just yet. I could keep pretending nothing happened by locking it inside the room until she leaves. But knowing she would not easily do so, comes the problem of a stinking corpse. If she ever finds out about anything at all, I guess I would have to roll with it.

But Blaine – that darned fool is the only setback. He is bound to break in a few seconds before we even step inside. Maybe I should leave the house, so that if Sloane does find out, she would have some time to simmer down without immediately going berserk on me.

We finally arrived at our destination. The police are still around. I decide it would be for the best to send Sloane first to take the bait. She gets out of the car and starts to unload her luggage. I take time to instruct Blaine to pretend that he is busy with something in the car, just so he wouldn't have a mental breakdown at the door, which would ruin things for the both of us. I say that he can enter once I signal him and proceed to close the door to his room.

The bleach is too much weight for me to carry inside, so I follow Sloane to the front door with my crisps and the knife the doctor let me keep. I give her the keys, saying it's a painful job to open doors given my state. She doesn't complain and does it.

Boom! Bam! Ka-pow! I expected gunfire, but I am welcomed by the sweet, sweet normalcy that comes following opening a door to a house with no one inside. I shouldn't have over thought entering the house at all. I wasted good time to think of corpse-ridding techniques on deciding to open a bloody door.

I look back and give Blaine a thumbs-up and go inside.

Leaving the crisps and knife on the counter, I make my way to the guest room that had my bags and start undressing my barely present t-shirt to a much more comfortable poncho. They are the most underrated form of clothing that people don't appreciate enough. But in a world where torn jeans and pointy shoes were the hype, it makes sense.

Making my way outside the room, I tell to Sloane that I will be going for a small walk around the neighbourhood to compose myself from the craziness of today. A soft thud from above was heard. Blaine must have closed the door. Given that Sloane was right in front of me with no sign of alarm, I would say mission: accomplished. Phew.

'I'll be back in a few. Unless, if you want to join?'

'Nope. I'm staying right here,' she said. Sloane and I are polar opposites – she is one of those who actually unpacks their bags. That's not even the weirdest thing about her – the fact that she bothers to make the bed every morning after waking up is.

Stepping out of the house, I walk towards where the police were now crowding up. I don't see them all over anymore, which can only mean one thing. They must have found the old lady.

My phone rings, and I pick up. Drew.

'Ah, Drew. Tell me you found something.'

'I am not really sure why you need any of this when you didn't find anyone particularly annoying recently. But yes, did find a few ways.'

'Good. It's for someone else who needs to get over someone. Figured out my way would be perfect.'

'Sloane or Blaine?'

I pause. Why would she assume that? And why on earth would she know everyone that I know? I feel attacked and insecure now.

'What makes you think it's one of them?' I ask.

'They're the only ones you bother talking to. Hold on, no, maybe it's Sloane. You don't really bother about Blaine at all'.

'Drew. Keep in mind who pays you. I know plenty of people,' I reminded her.

'Plenty, meaning two?'

'Precisely. Hurry up now, what did you find?'

'The first and most recommended method according to the internet and a few people I know seems to be to have the body dissolved.'

I stopped walking. 'Dissolved?'

'Yes, by using acid. The body can be chopped up to make the process smaller. And it seems that the bones will start breaking down if left longer, so that won't be a problem.'

'So you're telling me that a toxic human slushie is what everyone thinks is a "great idea"?' I say while I resume my walk – or waddle, to be exact.

'Well, I mean, its not traceable...'

'What if it is? How exactly do you get did of a liquidized human? Next.'

'You can... burn the body, or have it buried?'

'A barbeque sounds intriguing, but I don't know of any cannibals, sadly.'

'But I thought this was all supposed to be imaginary. Can't you imagine a cannibal?'

'It's only effective if it's hyper realistic. Imagining inside your imagination takes out the whole point of it.' But really, it was true. My ways are mostly tried and tested, except in the field of disposing a certain type of waste.

'Then here's a combined solution. You can have the body burned or chopped up parts buried in different areas in the world. That will spread the crime scene and you'll never be found. Or, have the parts bleached or something on top of that too. It will be cool to have a crime that's unsolvable involved,' she added, excitedly.

'Cool, yeah, my thoughts exactly.' I must say I'm a bit concerned for Drew. 'But there's the issue of transporting you-know-what and the person who was set out to dispose of it being everywhere the parts were found. It might be cool, but it isn't fool-proof.'

'Feed it to some animals. You've got to chop it up, first, of course,' she said without missing a beat.

'I've thought about that already. I don't think I can find a pig or crocodile farm in the middle of a city.'

'How about this – dump it in the ocean. You can hire a boat or get on a cruise for it. But, again you would have to chop it up and tie the parts up with rocks to make sure the body doesn't float ashore.'

'What is it with you and chopping up people?'

'I don't know, but it seems to be the best solution, though. How about using an industrial grinder or wood chipper?'

'Oh, for fucks sake, no. No chopping, or mincing or dissolving!'

'Hm, okay. This is not my favourite, but you can dump it in a construction site that's about to add concrete.'

'If only the universe was perfectly aligned with all events about to take place, I'm sure that would be a mediocre idea. Clearly not the worst I've heard,' I say. 'Could you tell Hilter I might be late to meet him today? I've got a few personal affairs in the way.'

She laughs. 'The meeting is not with Hilter. You didn't want to come here today so you fixed up a meeting with "someone" – although I don't know who that is.'

'Here? Here being where exactly?'

'Hilter is getting married today.'

'Oh shit. You went? Please tell me you gave them some kind of gift saying it's from me.'

'Yep. Done.'

'Thank you. As for the someone, that would be my brother, before you get any ideas. Go enjoy and give Hilter my non-existent regards.' I hang up.

I realized that I had walked all the way up to a very crowded area. I was right. They did find the old lady.

'Isla?' Someone called out my name. Impossible. My social circle is far too limited for me to hear my name in an unfamiliar voice. Someone was walking closer to me.

'Luca?' I say as soon as I saw his face. 'What on earth are you doing on these cursed lands?'

'Nice to meet you too. I live here, actually.'

'Oh? Me too, but not for long though. I take it that's your grandmother?'

'Yes. We've been looking all over for her. But that story is for later. Where do you live?'

'Uh, I don't know. With Blaine.'

'You? You're living with Blaine the Virgin?' he asked, like nothing else mattered.

'Yep. I can confirm that last bit too.' I laugh.

'I don't think I'm needed at home anymore. Are you down to get dinner tonight?'

'I've got another friend at home and my brother starving in a restaurant waiting for me, so sure, why not?'

'Great. Let me tell the others and be back.'

'Sure,' I say, awkwardly. 'I'll be making my way back to Blaine's.' I add, but he was gone.

I started moving, a tad bit faster than I could manage, just in case someone screwed things up.

I go inside the house and reach for the crisps I left on the counter. Moving forward, and looking around, I notice that Sloane nor Blaine seemed to be around.

That was when I felt cold metal on my throat. A knife. Gee, I think I've morphed into a knife magnet of some kind.

'Missed me?' I gulped down the food in my mouth on hearing it. What? Or more importantly, How?!

'Drop it,' she said. I obliged, dropping my poor, poor crisps on the floor. She is going to pay for that.

'What do you want with me?' I asked softly, avoiding any movement my neck makes so it does not get sliced.

'They should have told me you were a tricky one,' she went on. Who is this dipshit that wants me dead? Whoever it is, I want them deader than I can be.

'Fine, who sent you?' I ask, This time, the blade was pressed tight against my skin.

'You c- arcgheurh.'

Her body suddenly went limp and dropped on the floor. I bring my hand to my neck and feel blood. That was nothing compared to the wound she had on her back. In fact, there was much more dripping down the knife that tried to impale me in the morning, that Luca held, standing behind her.

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Author's note: MAJOR shout out to everyone on Instagram who suggested certain... acts.