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At
last he heard footsteps approaching
the door. Mr. Kevin came into the
doorway, wearing his usual bathrobe,
and opened the door all the way.
Mr. Singh heard a soft tap as it
rested on the door stopper.
But where was his cigarette? His tea cup? Mr. Kevin
was looking at his hands. Rubbing his fingers. Mr. Singh noticed something red
on his fingertips.
He had a pleasant thought. Blood oranges. He so loved to eat them back home and
he’d recently found they arrived in Canadian stores this time of year.
Had Mr. Kevin been cutting one?
Mr. Kevin raised his hands to the light. Mr. Singh could
see the red liquid clearly now. It was thick and heavy, not thin like juice from
an orange.
Mr. Singh’s heart began to race.
It was blood.
Mr. Singh opened his mouth to speak. But before he could
say a word, Mr. Kevin leaned closer. “I killed her, Mr. Singh,” he
whispered, “I killed her.”
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