The dark side of my soul by keith lawson

running I jumped into the cab, slammed the gear stick into reverse and swung the wheel so that it backed into the trees. It bumped and crashed to a halt but it left sufficient space on the track for me to get by in the Ford. I switched off the engine but left the keys in the ignition.
    Fingerprints.
    I had never before committed a crime of any sort and my prints were not on record but there was no point in being careless. With a rag that was in a door side pocket I wiped the key, the steering wheel, the hand brake, the gear stick and the door handle. I got out of the truck and wiped the outer door handle before throwing the rag in the trees. I felt guiltier about littering the forest than killing two men. The dog sounded much closer. It was definitely coming this way and that spurred me on.
    Even though I had shot them I could not bring myself to run over their bodies so I attempted to drag the slim one off the track and out of the way. I got hold of his ankles and pulled. He was much heavier than expected and only moved a few inches with each tug, leaving a bloody trail from his head.
    I always had been a bit squeamish and the sight sickened me so when I had just about enough room to get by I dropped his legs and ran to my car. I leaped in and turned the key. The Ford always had been reliable, every day it started first time so I was amazed when the engine turned over but failed to start.
    My heart was racing faster now, the blood surging through my veins but I tried to keep calm. The damned dog was barking continuously and getting nearer with each passing second. I turned the key once more, putting my foot on the gas. For some reason the car didn’t want to start. Maybe it was the damp conditions. Maybe in my haste to get away I had flooded the engine. Maybe my friend David was right after all, God pays you back for your sins. In the drivers mirror I saw a German Sheppard emerge from the trees about thirty yards behind me.
    I turned the key so hard that I must have nearly broken it off in my hand but this time, thankfully the engine came to life. I slammed the car into gear, stamped on the gas, swung the Ford as best I could between the bodies, avoided the front of the pick-up that was sticking out onto the track and raced away. In the mirror I could see the dog standing in the centre of the trail, barking at the escaping vehicle and as I watched, its owner emerged out of the trees. As they receded they became shadows in the fog and I was sure the pet’s owner would not have been able to recognise my car but if he had a mobile and called the police the local constabulary could be here very soon.
    At the end of the track, where it met the road I had to slam on the brakes and stop for a passing car. My nerves were jangling as I pulled out behind it but then I purposely dropped back so the driver ahead could not identify me. Once I was on the main thoroughfare, however, I was able to calm down a little and breathe a sigh of relief. I kept to thirty miles an hour, not wanting to catch the car in front and pleased that in the end the fog had aided my escape.
    An inexplicable feeling of euphoria came over my whole being. I had done it, not perhaps in the way intended but I had achieved an even better result. I had got rid of the blackmailers once and for all and still got all of my money. I had killed two men but felt no remorse, no guilt, none of that feeling of sombre self-appraisal that I had heard some soldiers in the armed forces speak of after killing an enemy. Perhaps that would come later, or possibly I was missing some integral part of the human genome that caused most of the population to fret after committing an evil act. I did not know, nor at that moment did I care, my sole concern was getting away from the scene of the crime and safely home.
    As long as I could get home without being apprehended there was nothing to connect me to the murders. The murder weapon often provided clues for the police to catch the killer