She might have seen all of it. Travis stood rooted to the spot inside his apartment. He looked through the exposed window, which had been left wide open to draw fresh air during the July heat. The window was facing another, a nine- storey building just across the road, -- 30 yards, 50 maybe -- where a lady in her seventies was staring back at Travis. Blood rushed to his brain. He needed to do something, anything. Trying to keep his head still, Travis glanced at the animated stream of cars below. With all the noise there was no point in shouting. He finally forced a wide twitching smile and waved at the lady. Not even waiting for the woman’s reaction, he grabbed the curtains and drew them tight. For a minute, he just stood there, breathing heavily, trembling, unable to move, with his back facing the room -- a small living space with the walls painted ghost white. It was minimalistic yet richly furnished: a grey leather sofa in the centre, a glass coffee table, a big TV screen on the wall and two wooden dressers with potted flowers. Trying to calm himself, Travis took a deep, trembling breath. He noticed a sickeningly sweet smell of blood. It was now only a matter of time until the lady from across the street came -- or the police. How much time exactly did he have? The man turned around and slowly slid along the curtains to the floor. From his point of view, he could only see the sanguine fluid slowly oozing from around the corner of the sofa. He wanted to but couldn’t take his eyes off it; it was stomach-churning, yet somehow hypnotising. But the stain wasn’t only increasing in size. It got blurrier and blurrier, distorting and overlapping all the other things in the room until finally, Travis was forced to shut his eyes. It was an accident, but still his fault. When he came home earlier today, he found Marianne almost packed up. Of course, this wasn’t the first time she had tried to leave him, but it had never come this far. She was just closing the suitcase when he entered the room. Travis didn’t really love Marianne but couldn’t stand being left the seventh time. At first, he tried to reason with her. Then, begged her to stay. When that failed, and she made it clear that they were done for good, Travis got angry. They started shouting at each other, and eventually, he slapped her. She reeled, the rug slipped under her feet, and she fell, hitting her head on the corner of the nearest wooden dresser. Travis ran his hand over his face. It was hot and wet. He felt his heartbeat going up rapidly. He needed to do something, and fast, but what? The lady from the window across the road made getting rid of the body pointless, so there were only two options. The first one was to run. Reach for the ID, papers, money, and credit cards. Get a taxi to the airport, buy a ticket and be gone. Be free and start fresh in a new place. Of course, getting caught was a risk, but it was a viable plan. There was only one big problem for Travis: he would have to leave everything behind. And he had a lot to leave -- a family who needed him, a decent position at a local newspaper, his own apartment. The second option was to turn himself in. Call 911, explain what happened, and wait for them to clean up this mess. This option was perfectly legal, but there was a considerable risk that he would be charged with manslaughter in the end - he did slap Marianne very hard. However, if he’s lucky enough, he won’t lose anything - the risk was great, but so was the prize. The time was running fast, but Travis couldn’t move. He felt warm streams pouring down his cheeks. Why did he have to make a choice? What did he do to deserve this? But deep inside, he knew the answer, and that made him even more miserable. A sudden knock at the door sounded. Travis’s heart skipped a beat. They must’ve come for him, and now he didn’t have a choice. The knocking repeated. Travis didn’t flinch, laying low like a wild mouse. If they have to blow the door in, so be it -- even at this time, Travis still couldn’t decide. But suddenly, the knocking stopped, and he heard the footsteps receding down the corridor. He was once again left with his thoughts. Travis slowly got up. Whatever he picked, he would have to do it fast. He walked to the dresser, where everything had happened. On it, there was a photo in the frame, where he and Marianne were at the theme park. She was sitting on his shoulders, hands spread widely like she was holding a giant Ferris wheel behind, resembling some sort of an Egyptian god. Marianne looked so happy, and she didn’t really need much. This was a fresh photo, but now, just a week later, she was lying in a pool of blood at the foot of his drawer. Travis’s heart ached. She didn’t deserve this; he should have let her go. And now he could run away, but could he ever run from this? He reached for his phone and dialled the emergency.