She stared at the growing pool with an even mixture of fascination and horror. It wasn’t like it was wholly unexpected, obviously it was going to happen. But the amount… the sheer volume of fluid that just kept flowing out. The stream that had been quite powerful at first was slowing substantially, which was good, yet slowing was not stopping. She really wanted it to stop. Already out of hand, if this kept on… well.
Ultimately, this was a success. She’d reached the goal that she’d aimed for, and had clearly done it very very well. She couldn’t help feeling, though, that she’d somehow also failed here. The lack of containment was an issue. Hell, not being prepared for the result was absolutely a failure. Of all the things she’d taken the time to research, and that’s what she neglected? Amateur.
Glancing over at her cleaning supplies, she knew that it wasn’t going to be enough. She would have laughed at the absurdity of her situation, if she’d had time to. Before a smile could even crack her face, the sticky red puddled itself around her shoes. She rolled her eyes at herself. Strike two, there.
All she’d wanted out of tonight was an easy experiment. Now she faced a giant mess. It would take hours to rid this place of the traces she’d surely left. Her eyes darted about the scene. Fingerprints in blood over by the shoe. Oh, look. On the shoe, too. A tread print right where she stood, now, as well. Thanks to the inattention to how far the pool was spreading. Was that a palm on the oven door? When did she even touch that? All of it in glaring, bright (though darkening) red.
She realized that there was only one solution for her problem. Only one way that she’d rid this place of herself and rid herself of this place.
Since she was in the kitchen, she started there. Delight filled her upon opening a cupboard and seeing that this fellow was a studious chef. Flour, sugar, oils, all present. Non dairy creamer in the fridge. ALl this was placed on the kitchen table, along with all the towels and oven mitts she found.
The bathroom yielded more towels, some aftershave, cologne, hand sanitizer, and rubbing alcohol. In the garage: motor oil, bug killer, spray paint, a truck, a lawn mower, and a propane tank. She took it all into the house and set it all up in various rooms, making sure to arrange it all to how it would work best. Returning to the garage, she got what she could out of the lawn mower, then opened the oil drain on the truck.
Inside, she used her shirt to clean her skin of the fluids she’d encountered, then threw all her clothes on top of the body. There were a pair of men’s jammie pants and a black shirt in the bedroom, which she changed into after a fast shower to scrub all traces off of her skin. She made sure to make this cleaning process very fast, there were toxic fumes growing in the whole place, after all.
Sugar and flour on the counters, oils throughout the halls, aerosol cans broken and leaking in the rooms, a propane tank slowly expelling contents through the vents, motor oil soaking the body, and a bit of mower gasoline to top it all off, she felt that she had covered all the bases. Sealed windows and closed doors would add punctuation to her statement, and the piles of books and cloth were probably overkill.
In her stolen clothes – sans shoes, because nothing inside fit – she picked her way across a path of newspaper she’d carefully laid to keep her bare feet clean. Already the fumes from the gasoline were enough to make her a bit light headed as she passed the kitchen. Her plan of lighting it as she left suddenly seemed ill advised.
Nervous about how this was all going to work out, she grabbed a book and began to tear out, then ball up, the pages. She left a trail of piles to the front door, where she’d be able to have a quick escape. There, she lit a few of them, and watched as the flames spread to others before making a hasty exit.
Would anything else light? She stood on the lawn watching. Waiting. Hopeful. She shouldn’t have worried. Something in the living room caught, and soon enough black smoke prevented her from seeing inside. Knowing she should stick around, her retreat was quick. It was hard for her to determine if she should call this a success or not.