Chapter 14

Holden could feel the tremors rolling in from his fingertips, enveloping his entire body. He let go of the knife and started breathing deeply, closing his eyes not to see the person in front of him.

Panic was replaced by fear. A million thoughts simultaneously formed in his mind. He sprang up and reached for the door handle to run away but stopped.

"No," thought Holden. "Whatever happens here, life will not be the same. I need to get rid of the evidence. Maybe I can buy some time to figure things out."

He looked around and saw the knife lying on the floor. Then at the person. It was a middle-aged man dressed all in grey. A card was sticking out of his shirt pocket - the Wheel of Fortune. "Nonsense," thought Holden and picked up the knife.

"I can't remember anything after leaving the club. No! A taxi. I was in a taxi. Then a stupid dream. I need to wipe off the prints, then wipe the floor and do something about the body," thoughts flowed like a river through his consciousness; he couldn't stop or control it.

Holden glanced around the room: sinks, urinals, toilet stalls. Above left, a small window to the street, a bucket with a mop and rags in the corner. Holden went into one of the stalls and threw the knife into the toilet bowl, then took off his jacket and wrapped it around his hands. He dragged the body into one of the stalls and sat it on top as if the person was using the toilet. After, he closed the stall from the other side, leaving no prints.

Holden approached the mirror and looked at himself: a haggard face, hollows, and bruises under his eyes. The bathroom was freezing and smelled terrible. His clothes were almost untouched by blood: just his hands and a bit on the jacket. Holden turned on the faucet and washed his hands. Then he grabbed the mop and bucket and washed the floor, sprinkling everything around with cleaning fluid. He even wiped the sinks.

It was hard to say where else he could have left traces while he was knocked out, but he must have wiped some part of the prints away. Now it was essential to leave the cafe and not attract attention.

Holden left the bathroom, jacket in his hands, and headed for the exit.

"Hey! Who's going to pay for the coffee?" asked the waitress. Holden turned around and walked over to her.

"Sorry, I feel bad; it all slipped my mind."

"Sure, get that drunk," she looked at him like a wife looking at her alcoholic husband who had come home late. "First, you were crawling under the doors; then you seemed to sober up: came in, ordered coffee and sat over there," she pointed at a table where a cup of coffee stood. Next to it was another table with several cups of coffee, steam coming out of each.

"I didn't finish it, did I?"

"You didn't even touch it. You don't remember anything, do you?" there was a hint of pity in her voice. "Okay, it happens to everyone. Three dollars for the coffee."

At first, Holden wanted to pay with a card but quickly realized that would leave a timestamp of his visit and his information, so he reached into his pocket and pulled out a five. He stole a glance at the clock: three seventeen.

"Keep the change; I feel so dizzy - need to get home as quickly as possible.""As you say. Take care of yourself!"

"I'll try," said Holden under his breath and left.