She splashed cold water on her face, effectively waking her completely. Her stomach rumbled with hunger pangs, so she went into the kitchen. In the refrigerator there was a loaf of wheat bread and a jar of strawberry jelly. She pulled out the bread and slid two pieces into the toaster. When they had popped up, she slathered them with jelly and ate standing up at the kitchen counter.

She checked her voicemail when she was finished eating but she had no new messages. Not that it mattered. Since her parents had died with her being an only child, she was used to only worrying about herself and being extremely independent. The other benefit was that nobody would come looking for her or interfere with anything she did.

After a quick shower, she dressed and got ready to leave. Today was the final day for Mister Donald Amundsen and she wanted to get it over with. It was time for him to be thrown out like garbage, just like he had tossed aside so many women as trash.

She was driving down the highway when something occurred to her. How long would it be until someone came looking for old Donald? He had been receiving disability checks on a regular basis, the bank might notice if he failed to make his deposits. She made a mental note to check his wallet again. She thought she remembered seeing an ATM card, but she wasn't sure. She also had to make sure there was a burn pile. Mustn't forget that, it was very important.

She turned up the wet dirt road. Luckily there was a lot of sand and gravel on the surface; the mud would make it very slick. It must have started raining again early this morning; the road was covered with puddles. Parking on the hidden service road, she shook the water off the camouflage cover and hid the car again.

This time she decided to cut through the woods instead of along the road just inside the trees. Heading in the general direction, she came out of the trees just next to a large bramble of blackberries behind the house. In the back corner of the yard near the tool shed, there was a large pit full of water, black and gray ash around the sides. So there was a burn pit, but it was flooded.

Opening the unlocked tool shed, she saw the yard tool hanging from hooks in the walls. In the dim light, she could barely make out what hung on the wall at the very back of the shed; it looked like a scarecrow or something. There was a bucket on the floor, upside down and she picked it up. She looked around for a tarp or board she could use to cover the hole so it wouldn't fill back up when it started raining again. There were no tarps, but she did find a large roll of heavy black plastic, the kind used to cover gardens for the winter.

Using the hedge clippers, she cut off a piece that was large enough to cover the hold. She picked up the bucket and plastic sheet and went out to empty out the fire pit.

She managed to get a bit muddy, and she went into the house to clean up. After washing off in the kitchen sink, she went down the stairs into the cellar. Looking at the hanging naked body in disgust, she kicked him in the stomach to wake him up. A strange gasping noise escaped from the gaping mouth. She wrinkled her brow, not sure about the sound. It didn't sound normal. She stood a little closer to see if he was still breathing. He was, but ever so shallowly. She untied the ropes and lowered him to the ground. He folded over forward, face down. He should have screamed out from the pain in his legs, but there was barely a moan from him. Damn, he was going faster than she thought he would. Pulling at the knots, she got the rest of the rope untied. "Fuck it," she said out loud. Taking the end of the rope, she tied it tightly above his knees, pulling his legs together. She looped it over his shoulders and back through; up through the eyebolt and hauled him upside down. She ran upstairs, back out to the tool shed, and grabbed the bucket she had used to remove the water from the pit. Looking around for another bucket, her eyes fell on a metal trashcan in the corner. With the bucket in one hand and the can in the other she hurried back to the cellar.

The bucket would fit under him, but the trashcan wouldn't, so she untied the knot and pulled him up closer to the ceiling, bending his knees so that she could pull him up higher and the can would fit. She retied the knots and slid the metal can underneath his head.

She picked the sharp knife up from the workbench, pulled his head up by the hair and slit his throat.