Jane Doe(57)

“Don’t you want to come inside and show off your fancy boots?” Steven asks with a snide smile.

I slide lower in my seat in case anyone else pulls up on this side of the little general store. “I’m supposed to be a secret. You didn’t tell anyone I was coming, right?”

“No.”

“So what if the store owner knows your friend and tells him you brought a girl up here? He might tell your dad.”

“Good point. I’ll grab a few groceries and be right back.”

“Get some ice cream!” I call out as he closes the door.

He gives me a disappointed look and shakes his head. Ice cream is only for girls who are a size four, I guess. I don’t deserve it. The back of the truck is already full of beer and snacks, but Steven wants to grab bacon and eggs and some hot dogs for dinner. We’re going to cook them over a fire. He was irritated when I called it a weenie roast, so I’ve said it at least three more times.

“Weenie roast,” I say again, and giggle.

Despite the three hours on the road, I haven’t quite decided how to kill him yet. There’s no perfect option to keep me out of harm’s way, and my brain is rebelling at the idea of self-sacrifice. It won’t settle on a plan.

Or maybe I secretly have morals! But, no, that doesn’t feel right. I want him dead.

The option that would cause the least suspicion would be burying him in the woods and then pretending I was never here. I’d get the most cover with this one. Steven would tragically disappear on a hunting trip, and the police would likely barely question me, if they got around to it at all. All my playacting would be for Steven’s family, and it wouldn’t be difficult to fool them.

But there are a couple of big problems with that plan. First, I’d have to find a way home without leaving a trail of evidence. Second, there’s really no way for me to guarantee that no one has noticed me or will notice me. If the cops find out I lied about being here, I’d be screwed.

Still, it’s my favorite option at this point, because I’m mostly out of the equation.

Another fairly good alternative is to kill and bury Steven in the woods, then call the sheriff tomorrow night when Steven doesn’t return to the cabin. Hunters and hikers disappear all the time, and it’s forecast to start snowing on Sunday. They’d never find his body in these thousands of acres of woods.

This plan would involve a lot of acting on my part, and my audience would be seasoned professionals. A challenge, but I think I’m up to it. I’ve been acting my whole life.

The identity I’ve created is solid enough for a quick background check. I’ll just look like a girl who keeps to herself and has never had a brush with the law.

I don’t think they’d dig deeper. For the first week or so, he’d only be a missing person, presumed lost in the woods, so they wouldn’t focus on me. They’d be too busy searching for a man who could still be rescued.

And, really, I’m a woman he started dating three weeks ago. We’re not married, I wouldn’t benefit in any way from his death, and a motive more complicated than that would take a lot of imagination to conjure.

It’s a decent plan.

The last option for killing Steven is my least favorite, but it might come down to opportunity. He teaches me to hunt and there’s a terrible accident. These things happen when there are guns around. This scenario puts me in the spotlight, of course, but again, we’ve only been dating a few weeks; why in the world would I murder him?

This is an emergency-only option. I don’t want that kind of investigation into my identity. It wouldn’t hold up. But I still enjoy thinking about it. The shock on Steven’s face as he realizes I’ve shot him. The fear and pain. I’d sit next to him and tell him the whole truth as he died. I’d make him apologize for Meg. I’d make him regret everything.

And then my hysteria as I race to a road and try to flag down a passerby! A kindly old sheriff would arrive and I’d offer a sobbing, stuttering confession. He’d likely believe it immediately because I’m a woman, and women are so dumb about guns and hunting and common sense. He has a granddaughter just like me, God bless her. Steven probably deserved it for handing his gun over to an idiot female, anyway. He was thinking with his dick instead of his brain.

It’d make a good TV episode.

Steven rounds the corner of the general store with a paper bag full of goodies and I wave happily.

“Did you get ice cream?” I ask once he’s behind the wheel again.

“They didn’t have any.”

What a liar. “Thanks for bringing me with you. I’m so excited.”

“You’ve said that about a million times.”

“Because I’m excited, silly.”

“I know, babe.” He pats my thigh.

“Tonight’s going to be so nice.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I brought a little nightie I thought you might like.”

“What does it look like?”

“It’s a surprise.”

He shoots me a hot look as he turns off the county road onto a dirt lane. “Is it black?”

“Yes.”

“Short?”

“Yes.”

“Mm. So you’re going to dress up like a little whore for me?”