The metal trashcan was nearly half filled with blood. It looked black, like a can full of tar. After nearly five hours, the blood was still dripping from the neck of the corpse. Dana hadn't realized how much damn blood there was in a fat old body like Donald's. Maybe she should just bury what was left. She poked it in the gut with one gloved finger. He was still pretty juicy and wet things don't burn very well. That, and the fact that the fire pit was still very damp. She had gotten most of the water out but even after digging it a little deeper, there was still a small puddle in the bottom.

She sat back down on the bottom step of the stairs to think. She could go out to the woods behind the house now and start digging. After dark, she could drag the body out and then cover it up.

She felt a sense of regret. Not for what she had done already, but for what she hadn't gotten to do. She had wanted him to suffer much more than he had. Rachel deserved that. He had probably experienced much more pain than she had, but Dana had wanted it to go so much farther. With a sigh, she stood up.

Outside in the tool shed she retrieved the shovel. She looked around a bit then headed toward the back of the yard into the trees. After about ten minutes of walking, she stopped and looked around. The trees had gotten very dense and she was at a point where she would have to start climbing over logs to go any further. She couldn't see any houses or even hear and signs of life other than the natural forest sounds, birds and insects. She could hear a stream trickling in the distance but couldn't see it from where she stood.

She found an open spot and began digging, guessing at the length and width. The ground was soft; she had to dig through a thick layer of leaves before she reached the soil. She scraped the leaves away and dug with determination.

Sweat was running into her eyes and down her back when she finally stopped. The hole was almost five feet deep and water was seeping in the bottom. Laying the shovel down next to the hole, she walked in the direction of the stream. She wanted to get a bunch of rocks to put on top, so that animals wouldn't be able to dig him up.

At the stream, she found several head sized rocks; she lugged them back to the hole in several trips. It was almost dark, time to head back. She had an uncanny sense of direction in the woods; she had never been lost even in unfamiliar forests. She left the shovel there, stabbed into the ground in front of the hole. That way she wouldn't fall into it when she was bringing the body back.

She hurried back to the house. It was nearly dark now, and getting harder to see. She stopped by the fire pit and grabbed the piece of plastic she had cut earlier and took it into the house with her. She would wrap the body in the plastic to drag him out to the hole; it would slide easier over the wet grass she thought.

She moved the trashcan out of the way. Laying the plastic sheet on the ground, she undid the knots and dropped the body to the floor with a loud thud. She folded the plastic up around the corpse and wrapped a couple loops of rope around it.

It took her several minutes to lug the heavy body up the stairs; she finally had to rig a pulley system to get the leverage. She was strong, but he was a big fat man. Tugging him over to the door, she looked outside. Dusk was almost over, turning to night. Straining and pulling, it was full dark by the time she got to the hole.

The quarter moon shed barely enough light, but it was enough to roll him off the plastic and into the hole. She kicked the rocks in on top of him, and then shoveled the rest of the dirt in on top of him. There was a bit of a mound, but by the time he decomposed, the ground would be level again.

She scattered the leaves over the dirt. Then she decided to disturb all the leaves in a bigger area, just in case. When it rained again in the next few days, it would all look the same and washed clean. Which reminded her that she was covered in mud and leaves. It was time to go back and clean up.

Back in the kitchen, she used the last little dribble of dish soap to wash her hands clean. There was still the issue of the trashcan full of blood in the basement. "Damn," she thought to herself, "I was going to check on that ATM card too." She went to the bedroom and picked the wallet up from the dresser. In the card holder there was a US Bank debit card. She turned it over and saw a four digit number written on the back in black ink. That must be the pin number. She laughed to herself. Now she just needed to remember to go deposit his checks for the next few weeks.

Tonight she would clean up and decide what she wanted to do next. There was no lid to the metal can in the cellar, so she tried as carefully as she could to get it up the stairs without spilling it. It sloshed a bit on a couple steps, but she finally got it up into the kitchen by the back door. An idea struck her then, she could use the bucket to carry the blood out and dump it. She wondered if the house had a septic system. Out here in the rural areas, most houses did, being off the local sewer. She could dump most of it down the toilet then, and that way there would be no animals digging around the house, drawing attention.

Something else that she needed to consider was the truck. How could she get rid of it, where it wouldn't be found for a long time that wasn't too far to either walk back from or find a ride home? Somewhere out by the coast, maybe. Depending on how much gas there was in it, she could drive it as far away as possible and get a bus back or even a train.