Excerpt: DID

I've never liked Ashley. I've never made a secret of this, except for when I'm actually working with Christopher. But I have to admit, there's a part of me that wants to figure out who killed her. Play detective a little bit. It'd be another way of showing that silly therapist that I'm indispensable. I'm not only a renowned writer and the one who guides Christopher's every move, but also a homicide detective.
I chuckle a little bit at the thought of this. Of course I won't. But the idea is an entertaining one. And I have no doubt that if I put my mind to it, I could figure out what is going on. After all, I was created by Christopher specifically as a problem solver -- surely I'd be better at it than people who just happen to attempt it on the side?

The washing machine is all ready to go. Now he just has to fling the dirty clothes on into it, and then he'll go upstairs and watch TV for forty-five minutes or so.
He hates doing laundry, so he constantly reassures himself that it isn't that bad, that it's not that much work, that the next step is simple and possibly even enjoyable...
He flips open the hamper lid and scoops up a handful of linens that he tosses into the washing machine...
...but then he freezes.

Christopher's tensing up. Something must be wrong. I wonder what--
I look to see what he's staring at. My eyes alight on it, and then I freeze as well.
Stupid, stupid, stupid Lavinia! Why didn't you take care of that right away instead of leaving it here for him to find it? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

He pulls the towel daintily out of the washing machine, held by his thumb and index finger. It has already been splashed with water from the machine, so it's dripping down into the washing machine vortex, dripping red liquid onto the rest of the clothes...
That's BLOOD.
There is BLOOD on a towel in his laundry hamper.
And a lot of it.
Where did this blood come from? The last thing he remembers putting in the hamper is his clothes from last night. He looks and, yes, they're there, but they were sitting underneath the hamper. Which means the towel was put in there after his clothes were.
But...
No. It's not possible. He was sleeping. He REMEMBERS sleeping. He REMEMBERS going to sleep and waking up in the morning, and nothing had changed when he woke up, except that Ashley was gone--
He shoves the towel back into the hamper, slams the washing machine lid shut, and races upstairs to his apartment with the still-full clothes bin. He runs back into his apartment, where he proceeds to pore over every inch of his small living quarters. There must be something, some clue as to what was going on between the time Ashley arrived at his place and the time when he woke up in the morning to find her gone…
The couch where she slept appears to be not suspicious at all. The blankets and sheets are folded and set at the end of the seat, and the pillow is placed on top of it. But she almost surely did that herself.
He notices that his laptop has been moved from the counter on the kitchen to his bedroom. No. No, no, no! That means he definitely was up and moving around this morning without knowing it.
And then, finally, while combing over the kitchen floor, he discovers the final, most terrifying piece of evidence of all.
The floor is freshly scrubbed, but underneath the table is a small spot of something dark, red, and distinctly bloodlike in appearance. The floor is also scratched by the table and chair legs – they were moved at some point last night. They’re in a different spot than they were. Are these signs of a struggle?
That blood under the table…
He sinks into a chair, then quickly rises, as he realizes it might have been used in a far more sinister way last night than he wants to consider.
What was he doing last night?