Author's Note: Sorry that this took a while to get up! School has started up again, and we all know what that means. Thankfully I've been establishing some time dedicated to writing so I can keep it up!

Enjoy the story.

xxx

HOW TO MURDER (AND GET AWAY WITH IT)

When someone is murdered, what's the first thing they look for? A motive, obviously. I mean, why do you think they always suspect the wife or the mistress or the ex-best friend? You need to make sure you have multiple victims within a short time frame. Why? Because then they won't quite be able to pinpoint said motive. Do the cops know this trick? Of course. They're going to eventually try and figure out who the primary victim was supposed to be. But you've got a huge time advantage, because they have to figure out who. Then, if you framed somebody else successfully (like you were supposed to!), you've got more than enough time to run and get away with it.

xxx

The feeling of massive amounts of some sort of liquid pooling around me finally startled me awake sometime later that night. I could feel it sloshing around as I moved.

What the hell?

I fumbled around my nightstand, finding the switch to my lamp, feeling more and more liquid gathering around me as I moved positions.

Did I pee the bed? Did he pee the bed?

I finally reached the switch to the lamp and switched it on, giving me just enough light to see massive amounts of blood covering a good chunk of my half of the bed.

I screamed, suddenly feeling a sharp pain in my side. I jumped up from the bed, wondering if I'd been stabbed in my sleep.

After running in circles and feeling my entire body, I realized the blood wasn't mine. I felt relief for about half a second before it hit me.

Trent.

I jumped back onto the bed, where he was rolled over facing away from me. Blood was pooled all around him.

I attempted to wake him up, shaking him as hard as I could. "Trent! Trent! Wake up! Please! Wake up!"

Nothing.

I could feel my heart beating faster and faster, my pajamas becoming drenched in sweat. "Trent! Something's happening! Wake up now!"

I managed to shake him with enough force to roll him over onto his back. I spotted a stab wound on the left side of his chest. His eyes were open and glazed over, drool dripping out of his open mouth. His skin was starting to turn a sickly green color.

"Trent! Please? Answer me! Please don't be dead! You're not dead, are you? Trent!"

I already knew the answer.

I shook him one more time, which sent more blood spilling out of his chest, causing me to scream.

How could this happen?

I felt a large breeze blow on me, pushing my hair out of my face. I looked over to the window to notice it was wide open.

That's weird. I could have sworn I closed it last night.

Pieces of just what happened were starting to come together in my head. This has been intentional.

Somebody broke into our room in the middle of the night and murdered my husband.

More wind blew in, sending my hair flying all over the place. I got up and shut it, peering outside.

There were several police cars on the street, with traffic cones blocking off the entrance. Police tape was wrapped around the front yard of my neighbor across the street, and on the doors of several houses next to it. Several police officers stood in the middle of the street in a circle, some jotting notes down into notebooks.

What was going on?!

I threw some pants on and jogged downstairs, adrenaline rushing through me. I peered outside my front door, only to find bloody footprints leading to a bloody knife and shoes.

I leaned over, picking up the knife to examine it for a good thirty seconds before it registered: somebody was trying to frame me.

Fingerprints, Gwen.

I shrieked and dropped the knife, hoping not to catch the attention of the officers, whom by now were situated just outside of my front yard.

I leaned against the side of the house, tiptoeing slightly closer towards the officers, hoping I could catch at least a tiny bit of their conversation.

"She's our only sensible suspect at this point. There's evidence leading straight to their residence."

"And you're sure it's not the husband?"

"Trent Peterson is severely injured, if not dead. It couldn't be him. Gwen is the only person that makes sense. Unless you want to blame the four-year-old."

I threw my hand over my mouth, trying my best to keep myself from screaming.

"We tried knocking on the door and didn't get an answer. Alex is out right now trying to get a warrant. We should have one soon."

"How do you know he's injured?"

"Look through the window."

My breathing grew more and more shallow. It was a wonder I didn't faint. In fact, I felt completely frozen. As much as I didn't want to listen anymore, I couldn't help myself.

"I don't know, Sarah. I think you're jumping to conclusions too quickly. How do we know somebody didn't frame them? We don't even have a clear motivation."

"Successful music producer, money hungry wife who doesn't love him anymore. Easy enough. Haven't they been together since they were, like, sixteen? Lord knows I'd probably have murdered my high school sweetheart if we were still together."

"Okay, but that's still not enough evidence to arrest her. Someone could have just thrown the knife and tennis shoes into their front yard. Happens all the time."

Their conversation paused. I could hear somebody scribbling into a notebook.

"Okay, Alex should be here soon with the warrant. We'll take fingerprints on the knife and on Trent, and if they match her's, we make the arrest. Then we'll go from there. We'll know it was planted if her fingerprints don't show up on the knife. Call an EMS for Trent. If we're lucky, he might still be alive, though unfortunately, it's not likely."

Rational thought would have told me to calm down; they wouldn't be able to make an arrest without a warrant, and they would need more solid evidence. But at that point, all rational thought flew out of my head and I focused on one thing: running away as fast and as far as I could.

I bolted back inside and upstairs, grabbing a duffle bag from the closet and aimlessly stuffing it with whatever I could find: clothes, shoes, toiletries, a couple of blankets. I grabbed all of the cash out of a safe we'd been keeping for emergencies, not even bothering to count it.

As I threw the bag over my shoulder, getting ready to leave, I looked back one last time at Trent, along with the pictures sitting on the floor next to his side of the bed. I wanted nothing more than to lay in bed with him for just a few more minutes, give myself time to try and process what happened.

But I couldn't.

I kneeled down and grabbed a picture sitting on the top: the one from when we were sixteen. I carefully stuffed it into my bag, kissed Trent on the forehead, and left, not knowing if I would ever be able to return.

I charged into Ruthie's room, knowing the police could come inside at any moment. It made my stomach drop to watch her sleeping peacefully, unaware of what was going on around her. I had no idea how I was going to explain everything to her. I hadn't even fully registered what was going on myself.

Before waking her up, I grabbed a bag from her shelf and put a few clothes inside, along with a couple of stuffed animals that I knew she couldn't leave without.

One of her stuffed animals, a purple duck with a squeaker, woke her up as I stuffed it inside the bag.

"Mommy, what are you doing?"

I peeked inside the bag. I had all of the essentials. It was time to run.

"Ruthie, honey, we're going on a little, uh, vacation."

I scooped her up from her bed, grabbed our bags, and ran to the garage, fully expecting to just take off, when one rational thought managed to slip into my head.

You can't take your own car, Gwen. They'll be looking for it.

I glanced towards the car keys hanging on the wall and noticed a small one with nothing attached to it. Trent's mom's car. She had recently had leg surgery. It would be at least a few weeks before she could drive again. Just enough time to steal the car. And luckily enough, she only lived a few streets down from ours.

I grabbed the keys, trying to fight the feeling of overwhelming guilt. I wasn't the type to steal.

Then again, I wasn't quite cut out for prison life, either.

I could see through the garage window that many more cops had arrived. Our entire street was illuminated with police lights. I wouldn't be able to go through the front.

"Ruthie, we're not just vacationing. We're going on an adventure," I sighed, making my way towards the back door.

"Like Dora?" she whispered, floating in and out of sleep.

"Something like that, yeah."

I slid out of the back door, taking one last look at our beautiful home. If I hadn't had adrenaline rushing through me, I might've felt the unbearable sadness I was supposed to be feeling. But I was numb, and focused on escape. At least for the moment.

"Goodbye."

A two-mile run through the woods in the middle of November was less than pleasant, but I managed to get to my mother-in-law's house before the cold could get to me. Ruthie had fallen asleep on my shoulder, despite all of the bouncing from the running.

Thankfully, the car was sitting in the driveway, rather than the garage. She was a well-known hoarder; she probably ran out of room in there.

I buckled Ruthie into the backseat, adjusting the shoulder strap as low as it could go, silently cursing myself for not grabbing the car seat.

I started the engine, ready to go, when it hit me: where exactly was I supposed to go?

I hadn't counted how much money I had, but I knew it wasn't enough to stay in a motel long-term. Plus, you typically had to give them some sort of I.D., and I didn't want anybody to be able to find me.

I thought of friends, thinking about which ones lived the farthest away, along with the ones who wouldn't be quick to rat me out to the police. Any mutual friend of Trent and I was completely out of the question.

Duncan.

Okay, so he wasn't exactly a "criminal"; he'd only gotten into mild trouble as a high schooler. But I figured juvie would've had a big enough effect to keep him from ratting me out. I knew he would believe me when I told him I was innocent; we never lied to each other, ever.

That was that; I didn't have any longer to think about it. With a three-quarter tank full of gas, I drove, silently praying I could make it there without any issues.

xxx

It took about three hours, but I finally got there around 8 in the morning. His house wasn't that far away, but I drove slowly to avoid getting pulled over or raising any suspicion.

Ruthie had woken up at 7; I stuck to my "adventure" story and gave her my phone to watch T.V. to keep her distracted until we got there.

I hopped out of the car, taking a look around the neighborhood. There weren't too many houses around and they were spread out pretty far apart. It was perfect. At least, in the moment.

I didn't even bother to grab my bags. Not yet, anyways. I unbuckled Ruthie and sat her against my shoulder again.

"Mommy, where are we?"

"At a friend's house. This is, uh, our first stop."

"In the adventure?"

"Yes, in the adventure."

As I headed towards Duncan's front door, I noticed a marked difference in his home just from the exterior. Sure, he was no clean freak, and he definitely wasn't huge on decorating or anything, but he usually managed to keep his house presentable. But the windows had started to take on a yellowish tint, and the grass was overgrown and filled with weeds. There was a spot on the roof that looked sunken in, and underneath, a large chunk of paint had been scratched off. You would think the house had been abandoned, but I could see a few lights on inside.

Wow, he's awake already?

I knocked on the door. No answer.

"Duncan! It's me, Gwen. Open the door!"

Nothing.

I pounded harder and harder, causing my knuckles to go red. Was he still asleep, or ignoring me on purpose? Why were the lights on?

In a last-ditch attempt, I tried jiggling the handle. To my surprise, the door opened.

I slowly sauntered inside, noticing that his kitchen and hallway light had been left on. I could hear faint snoring from the living room. So he was still asleep.

I stepped into the living room. The lights were off but the T.V. had been left on. Duncan was passed out in a recliner, with a couple of beers and an ashtray of cigarettes sitting on an end table next to him.

"Mommy, where are we?" Ruthie asked.

I grimaced. I had been trying my hardest to keep Ruthie from being exposed to cigarettes and alcohol. I'd hoped she wouldn't ask about it.

"Ruthie, sweetheart, this is my good friend Duncan. I think you've met him before, you just don't remember."

"Oh. Okay. Hi Duncan!" Ruthie shouted, waking Duncan.

Duncan screeched, jumping in his seat and running his hand on the end table, probably in an attempt to look for a weapon of some sort.

"Duncan! Don't freak out. It's just me!"

Duncan put his hand on his chest, taking a few deep breaths before responding.

"Gwen! What in the hell are you doing here?! How did you get inside?"

I shrugged. "The door was open. I tried knocking but you didn't answer."

"So you thought it was cool to just walk inside?!"

"It's an emergency, Duncan."

Duncan scratched his head. "Damn. I thought I locked the door last night. What's going on that's so important that you had to break into my house?!"

I opened my mouth, and words escaped me. I had spent so much time with running on my brain that it was almost as if my reasoning had completely left.

"I…something…Duncan, something horrible happened last night, and…I just…"

Ruthie cut me off. "Mommy! Look! You're on T.V.!"

"What?"

Duncan reached for the remote and turned the volume on. It was a newscast.

"Police have confirmed seven deaths, including music producer Trent Peterson, along with fourteen injuries, nine being life-threatening, from the shooting in the Wallen neighborhood in Toronto. Police found a knife as well as several other small weapons sitting in the front yard of the Peterson residence. The knife was confirmed to have the fingerprints of Peterson's wife Gwen, who was missing from her home after a warrant was obtained to enter the residence. Police are continuing the investigation and have pinpointed Gwen Peterson as the primary suspect, and a warrant has been made for her arrest."

"Shit," I whispered.

"Police are offering a $350,000 reward for her whereabouts, but for now, she remains missing."

Duncan turned off the T.V. as the picture of me was blown up to take the entire screen. His jaw dropped.

"Gwen. You better tell me what's going on right now."