Redrum!

‘Twas a cold, bitter morning. I forced myself out of bed, put on layers of clothes, downed enough caffeine to get through the next two hours, and went on my merry way. Then horror struck. Mid-commute, I was shocked to discover what appeared to be a dried blood stain on my steering wheel.

Ida’s right brain: "Holy shit! I’m going to be executed in an electric chair, a la Kafka style!"
Ida‘s left brain: “Okay Ida, don’t freak out. You know nothing!”

I’m so numb to injuries (I can’t walk without ending in a horizontal position) that perhaps I randomly cut myself (or, *gasp*, someone else) and did not notice. I take a look at my hands; no recent cuts or bruises. I check the trunk. Clean (whew!). Odd.

Called Dad. Called Mom. I was the sole driver.

So, how did blood end up on my steering wheel? Ida Holmes has a few hypotheses

Hypothesis #1: My body is so used to injury that it heals within 12 hours.
Evidence: Nada. Zilch. Disappeared. Gone.

Hypothesis #2: I’m a vampire by night
Evidence: Sunlight hurts. I’m sickly pale. And I like the taste of….chicken flavored tofu.

Hypothesis #3: Red ink?
Evidence: Nope, looks like blood. Smells like blood. Tastes like blood …..a little (blood loving, bat-like) birdie told me.

Hypothesis #4: I am a sleepwalker. Went for a drive and ran over a deer (or worse!)
Evidence: When I was nine, I peed in a box of potatoes during a sleepwalking expedition.

Hypothesis #5: The Russian mafia hijacked my car.
Evidence: My window is cracked. If a dead body turns up in Rock Creek Park and is subsequently linked to my car, the cracked window is evidence of “breaking and entering“. (Message to cops: don’t look there. If, “someone” hid a body, it would NOT be there. Nor would it be in my closet.)

Hypothesis #6: It was an act of love.
Evidence: A 78 year old man followed me around a thrift store claiming to be an artist and offered to paint me, sans clothes, “for free” . His courtship was rather flattering- he was the only (possibly) functional male who displayed a slight interest in me in the past few…uh days (read: 5 months, 2 weeks, 13 days; not that I‘m counting...). Driven mad by unrequited love, he killed himself in my car and managed to hide his own body. Love hurts.


$2.37 bucks to the person who solves the mystery. Amount doubled if passionate sex is included as part of the explanation.