Tueuse

Eloise took a moment to reapply her red lip before stepping over the body. “What a terrible shame” she muttered, shaking her head, getting one last look at her lover. He had a handsome face, she thought. A strong jaw line, high cheek bones, eyes to die for. She’d always been mesmerized by green eyes. She crouched down to get a better look at them. They had once looked at her adoringly, full of love and the promise of a future. She stood up and looked away, immediately regretting her decision. It was chilling, looking into the eyes of a corpse. She felt uneasy, as though somehow he could still see her. She pictured a police officer calling their colleagues over, “I know who did it, look here, you can see it in his eyes.” She scoffed at herself. She was being ridiculous.

As she headed towards the open window, bloodied stilettos left a trail as they clicked against the oak floor. It was one of those big, rectangular windows that opened from the bottom, and someone would always push it out too far and then have to climb onto the window sill to close it again. She had told him over and over again not to leave it open. She rolled her eyes at the memory. “That window is big enough to fit a person through. One of these days someone is going to break in if you keep leaving it open like that.” He used to leave it open while he was at work all day, and even sometimes before he went to bed at night. He can’t have really loved his wife or his children, she thought, if he was willing to put them in constant danger by failing to do such a simple task.

As Eloise stepped back into her flat, her focus was drawn to her khaki suitcase; mocking her as it sat by the door. It dwarfed her biggest and most expensive Mulberry which slumped miserably by the side, spilling magazines and a packet of Werther’s Originals. She felt her lips trembling, her fierce brown eyes softening with tears, and as she collapsed into the sofa, she allowed her emotions to take over. She had never felt so stupid in her entire life. Ryan was never really going to leave Amy. He was a coward, too worried about what other people would think, too concerned with keeping up with appearances, to do what was truly best for them both. She pulled off her leather gloves and threw them on the floor. The worst part? She’d believed him! All those lies he’d told about how once he’d left Amy and the kids, they’d run away together, go to his apartment in Paris and finally live like a real couple. How he’d brushed the hair from her face and kissed her, murmuring about how they could “stay there as long as they wanted,” as long as was necessary for the dust to settle back home. She’d fantasized about their return, how all eyes would be on them as they dragged their luggage back to her flat, hand in hand. How Amy would call her and thank her, assuring her that although she was sad at first, she could see he was much happier with her, and that all she’d ever really wanted was for him to be happy.

She tugged her phone free from her jeans pocket and her heart stopped. A voicemail from Ryan, sent at 11:36, approximately half an hour before his unfortunate death. Her hand shook as she lifted the phone to her ear. “Hi darling, it’s me,” she wondered if this was the last message he sent before he died, and smiled at the thought of it. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m not going to get over to Paris today. Something has come up at home and I can’t leave Amy and the children, not tonight. I’ll be there, though, I promise you. You go this evening, get yourself a hotel and I’ll be out there to meet you in a few days. A week tops!” her smile faded. Even though she already knew, it hurt hearing the words come from his mouth. There was a pause on the phone, a sharp intake of breath. “I mean it this time, El. I really am coming. I’ll send you some money to cover the cost of the hotel. Let me know when you get this message. I’m so sorry. Love you.” Before the message had finished, Eloise was already punching her password into her online banking account.

Last night’s balance: $1,400.60

Current balance: $21,900.60

Her head spun. Was he planning on leaving her alone in France for an entire year? She looked closer at the details and noticed something peculiar. He had sent her $500 in one installment, she assumed that was supposed to cover the hotel costs, and then an unexplained $20,000 in another installment. An hour after his death.

Showered, hair washed, dressed in clean clothes and make up re-applied, Eloise looked to the clock on the wall to her left which now read 16:00. She rummaged in her Mulberry for her little, black notebook, turned to the back page entitled: Numbers, and dialed. “Hello? Yes, I’d like to order a taxi please… as soon as possible…” Now all there was left to do was wait. Being alone with her thoughts was always dangerous. She couldn’t help but remember those still, vacant eyes and shuddered at the thought of it. She forced her mind to go elsewhere, but it taunted her with the bitter memories of his lies.

She allowed herself to remember the time she discovered his double life. There was a stabbing in her heart as the memory consumed her. She had just finished her spinning class, and decided to grab herself a coffee in town before heading home. She had been in a good mood. The muscly lady had announced to everyone in the class, “well done Eloise! You should all be working this hard if you want to see results!” She was also wearing her favorite gym leggings; the baby pink ones that made her bum look incredible and were just the right amount of see through. She was in the queue, surveying the menu on the wall behind the counter, when a commotion from a table in the corner caught her eye.

There were two children, a boy and a girl, arguing over who was going to get the cookie with the pink and blue smarties, and who was going to get the one with green and yellow. She sighed. 'Some parents really have no control' she thought. She looked up to see who the irresponsible adults were, and her stomach lurched as she witnessed Ryan stroking his wife’s back while she broke each cookie in half, as if she was some sort of dog that he was congratulating for being a “good girl”. She noticed a raw tattoo on the side of his wrist as he’d waved at her. It was an X, and it was only small, but being the only ink on his skin, it demanded attention. A kiss for the Mrs, how romantic, Eloise thought, biting her lip, anger pulsing through her veins.

She collected her coffee and strolled over, and her anger dissolved a little as she enjoyed seeing his whole body tense with nerves. His fake enthusiasm was embarrassing. “Eloise! This is my wife Amy, and this is Bella and this little guy here is Lucas.” Amy instinctively clutched his arm. 'Perhaps she likes being his little dog' Eloise thought. “And everyone, this is Eloise. She’s a friend” he hesitated long enough for it to be awkward, “from the gym” his story clearly inspired by her outfit. She looked at Amy who was smiling politely, seemingly believing her husband’s poor excuse for a lie.

Suddenly, there was a desperate banging at the door, causing Eloise to jump back into reality. She rose from her sofa and tentatively walked into the hallway. She crouched down to look through the peephole, ensuring her frame couldn’t be seen through the frosted glass. She swung open her front door with a sigh of relief. “Thank god it’s just you!” She beckoned the woman and her over-sized, fuchsia suitcase into the flat. “Quick, get in here.” The beautiful blonde hugged her tight. She was as tall as Eloise, but she was bony where Eloise was toned, and she and spoke in a hushed voice as if someone was listening.

“Are you alright?”

“Never better” Eloise beamed. “Just one question?” The woman responded with a raised eyebrow. “How did you get into Ryan’s bank account?”

“What? I haven’t… What are you on about?”

“The money… I thought it was you…” as she trailed off, time seemed to stop. Her heart was thudding in her ears at the realization. “I received $20,000 from Ryan’s account. If it wasn’t you, then who sent me that money? Oh god, the police will suspect me immediately when they see that. What am I going to do?” It wasn’t like Eloise to spiral.

“Relax! We’ll figure it out. Whoever it was must be on our side. If you’re angry or upset with someone, you don’t send them a fat sum of money! Was there a reference?”

“I’ll check.” There was silence while they waited for the page to load. Eloise was practically holding her breath. "Tueuse. What does that mean? Do you think it’s French? Maybe they know about our trip!”

In that moment, there was the sound of a car rolling up to the flat, before mounting the curb outside with a bump. “Let’s get out of here.”

The women treated themselves to a luxury stay at the Four Seasons, and Eloise finally relaxed, feeling like she was on top of the world as she looked over Paris, nibbling on her pain au raison. She was wearing her favourite grey boucle mini skirt with a sheer, white top which tied elegantly around her neck. Her black tights reflected a little light, drawing attention to her legs, which were elongated by her pointed, patent stilettos. Her partner in crime was dressed more appropriately for the cold weather, but looked effortlessly stunning in her cashmere roll-neck mini-dress with her thigh high suede boots. Eloise fished out her notebook again, finding the page entitled: Phrases. She cast her eye down the page until she found the one she wanted.

“Une bouteille de champagne, s’il vous plaît.” She read out to the waiter in her best French accent. “Cristal.” She added. She wasn’t a fan of champagne, but she figured at €500 a bottle, it must be nice. As the golden liquid bubbled and fizzed into each flute, she looked Amy in the eyes. “Good riddance to liars—”

“And cheats” Amy added, raising her flute higher. Eloise searched back over her list of phrases to find the right word, and they clinked their glasses.

“Santé.”

Their toast was interrupted by a lingering waiter clearing his throat. “You’re going to pay?” he stuttered in a stereotypical French accent. Eloise went to reach for her purse and he grabbed her wrist. She looked at his hand, his knuckles white. “No.” He whispered. His accent faded as he spat, “I said, you are going to pay.” He spoke slowly, as if he was talking to a young child, and looked around before removing his apron, tossing it over a neighboring table. He pulled up a chair and helped himself to Eloise’s notebook that was resting beside her empty plate. As he did so, she noticed a small X tattooed onto the side of his wrist. He plucked the pen from behind his ear and added to her list of phrases, before returning it, open for her to see.

Tueuse (f) = Killer

He poured himself a glass of Cristal. “Santé, ladies” he said, lifting the flute as he walked away.