Honolulu

Looking down at my hands, now dripping with another’s blood, handcuffs seemed to looked like they belonged on them. I can no longer imagine doing any other activity with these guilty hands. They were now killers. The only question which remained was if that would become known or if it was my secret to bear. I suppose after every murder, accidental or pre meditated, this dilemma courses through the killer’s mind. The victim here, Nelson, my victim, was my very good friend. Though close to me, he was abhorred by many. If not by me, he would be dead by the hand of another sooner than later. At least this way, it was quick. It was a bloody mess, but it was quick. 

I rushed to the bathroom and showered off all the gore and changed into some of Nelson’s clothes. I was careful to absolve any of my DNA from the scene. 

As Im sure you've figured by now, I have decided to keep my guilt to myself. I plan on running and changing my name as soon as possible. I have an uncle that lives in Hawaii, so thats obviously first on the list. Now back at home, without checking with him, I book a flight to Honolulu. In a terrible rush, I cram everything that I think I’ll need into my old, crumbly suitcase. Grabbing my passport last minute, I catch a glimpse of blood crusted around my fingernail. I instantly feel sick and dash to the toilet.

Trying in vain, in the airport line up, to mask my nervousness and anxiety, I see a man who resembles Nelson in an uncanny way. I look away quickly and eventually glance back up slowly, realizing it looks nothing like him. It is actually a woman. I wipe a bead of sweat from my brow as I approach the calling desk. 

“Sir, hi, we are pleased you chose to join us for your fl-”

“One for Honolulu, please.” A little antsy, I suppose. The attendant’s face displayed shock at the rudeness, letting me know I fucked up.

“Right… okay,” the woman did her duties with my passport (of which, I don't know, because I wasn't paying attention), and directed me to my next checkpoint. I wandered through the airport, following the crowd. I guess I must have looked lost.

A hand grabs my shoulder, “Sir, do you know where you're going?” This is what I assume he would have asked, though I did not give him a chance. The second I felt the hand on my shoulder, I drove my elbow into his unsuspecting face. I was so high strung and stressed out that when I looked down at him, I saw Nelson. I ran.

The people who immediately tended to the airport employee whose nose I just shattered, looked up at me and pointed, yelling obscenities. I kept running towards my gate, I ran through a door and realizing that no one in this new room knew of my recent assault, I acted cool and waltzed through towards my gate. 

After a reasonably relaxing plane ride, I arrived in Hawaii. My uncle lived only about forty minutes from the airport, so I hailed a cab and he agreed even though I told him I only had about half of what he quoted.

Along the way, I saw some strange things. I say “I” and not “we” because the cab driver did not seem to think them strange. I had not been to Hawaii in many years, but don't recall seeing these things. We passed a man leading at least twelve horses into the ocean. He looked sad, like this was his only option. I also saw an eagle circling a lamp post repeatedly. The driver’s lack of surprise made me long to see things through his eyes for a moment. Perhaps he saw different happenings than I. 

The eagle reminded me of a memory I had as a small boy. It happened to involve Nelson. We had ran away from our separate homes and together climbed a mountain. To us children, the mountain seemed enormous, and even looking back now, it seems larger than life, though I know it wasn't much more than a hill. When we reached the top (I refrain from using the word “summit” which would only cause you to think of the mountain as more than what it was) and we saw an eagle perched on the very top of a tree. Nelson felt it was a good idea to shake the tree until the eagle left. Nelson always had to assume dominance in every situation. He needed to be in control, he needed to prove he was superior. I agreed to help him and together we shook that tree until the eagle could not endure anymore vibrations. The bird of prey launched itself out of the tree top and began to dive down towards Nelson and I. We shared a look of panic and then took off back down the path from where we came. The eagle quickly gained on us and since I was ahead of Nelson, the bird grabbed a fistful of Nelsons neck with its strong, piercing talons. He yelped and collapsed, clutching his neck. The eagle soared off, having accomplished it’s goal. Nelson was severely cut and bleeding all over his expensive polo. His mom had always spoiled the s**t out of him, and it never ceased to bother me.

After nearly knocking abruptly, I became aware that it had been seven years since I had seen my uncle. I took a moment and collected myself and then proceeded to knock. There was a long pause, followed by some very audible shuffling and crashing on the other side of the door. Eventually, my dishevelled and very tanned uncle opened the door and stared at me with a quite blank expression. 

“Hey, Todd.” I say. He blinks.

After about an hour of awkward conversation, Todd eventually warmed up and we began talking about our years and our lives. Since most of my childhood and young adult years had been spent with Nelson, eventually he came up.

“So, hows that Nelson kiddo doin’?” Todd asked. I began to avert eye contact and my hands became clammy. 

“Well,” I stammered, “That’s kind of why I’m here, Todd. Something happened with him.”

“What? What happened?”

“I, uh,” I strain heavily getting the next few words out, “We got into an argument and there was a struggle and I, uh, I…he died.” I begin to shake and sweat. I feel all the blood rush out of my face and really, my entire body. If all my blood escaped through my feet and spilled out onto the floor, I wouldn't have been surprised. 

“I don't understand. You… killed Nelson?” Todd’s eyes were wide in disbelief and he slid his head into his hands. 

“Yeah. I cut his throat open. Then I ran from the state, I took the fastest flight out available.”

“You haven’t told the cops?!”

“No! Of course not! You think I would be here if I did?!”
“So you're saying Nelson might still be lying in that house?!”

“Yeah, I guess so. I figure if I admit fault, Im in prison for life, maybe even the death sentence. If I run, I get the same punishment, but there’s a small chance I don’t.” After I said this, Todd shook his head and stood up. He disappeared into the sad excuse for a kitchen, and I panicked. I stood up and followed him quickly and my fear was within reason. He had picked up his home phone and it looked like it was already ringing. 

I snatched the phone away from him and pressed the end button about seven times. 

“What the hell are you doing!? This is my home! Thats my phone!”

“Todd, you can’t call the police!! I came to you in trust that you would help me!”

“You are a murderer! And you're in my home! This is wrong!” Todd turned and grabbed his cell phone that was on the counter behind him. I saw the phone and glanced around for anything I could use to stop him. Seeing nothing, I swept his feet out from under him, and being a heavy man, he fell hard. His head bounced off the tile floor with a thud and his phone clattered across the room. Blood began to creep across the kitchen floor. 

I reached for the phone and heard the operator asking over and over if everything was alright. I attempted to reassure her and hung up. Now, Im not an idiot, though my recent actions may not support that, and I know that emergency services will be here any minute due to the suspicious nature of that phone call. 

Then it hits me. I look down at my motionless uncle. I kneel beside him and find that he is dead. I don't have time to wipe evidence this time around, so I grab my suitcase and my uncle’s fat leather wallet and keys and I rip away from the scene in his truck. 

Two hours of driving leads me to a deserted field where the Hawaiian sun is beginning to tickle the horizon. I pull up beside the road and shut off the rattling engine. Having been far too afraid to stop while driving, the heat had dried up my throat. I scan the truck for water, beer, anything. I check behind the seat, in the console and finally the glove box. What I find in the glove box will quench my thirst, though it is not liquid.