Something was out of place

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is the tale of an unstable man who returns home to find... something out of place

Submitted: August 07, 2014

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Submitted: August 07, 2014

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As soon as I arrived I could sense that something was out of place.  The windows were open, all of them, the door mat was crooked, and the familiar sent of noodle soup was not drifting in from the kitchen.  I slowly removed my black leather shoes and placed them tentatively beside the white wall, keeping my eyes up all the while.  Cautiously, I made my way down the long, empty hall and peered around the corner.  Only the distant honks from the busy street across the river were audible, the rest of the house was silent.  

I slipped around into the next hallway and arrived in the living room.  She wasn't there.  I checked the small blue bathroom.  She wasn’t there.  I went to the spacious kitchen.  She wasn't there.  I began to turn and continue my hunt, but I froze.  Something had caught my eye.  I went back into the kitchen and circled the wooden table, eyeing it as though I was a tiger and it my prey, but I sensed nothing wrong with it.  Again, I turned to leave but was caught once again by something out of place.  Approaching the sink, I passed the counter and there it was.  Or there it wasn’t should I say?  A knife was missing from the block where we kept them.  I knew they were suppose to be locked in there, my disorder prohibited me from being aloud to have knives in my home so only she could access them.  Where ever the knife was, it was with her.  But where was she?  

My heart was beating faster than the speeding cars near by, but I carried on throughout the house, making my way to the bedroom.  The endless hallways reeked of chemicals and medicine, but I was use to it.  Finally, I arrived at the bedroom.  The door was closed and I stopped, listening, but there was no sound coming from the room.  Frightened that she’d be in there waiting, but even more frightened that she wouldn’t, I began to open the door, gripping the cool metal handle in my veiny hand and pushing, slowly, and then flung in open in a hurry. 

What I saw was death.  Blood stained the starch white sheets and walls and the lifeless body of a naked woman was tossed carelessly across the bed.  The white coat that she had always worn lay limp and torn on the floor alongside the lamp that had been nocked over.  But she was not alone.  A man lay beside her, donned in a black suit, the shirt halfway unbuttoned and the tie loosened.  A blue bird chirped outside then swooped in through the cracked window, distracting me temporarily from the mess that was my bedroom. 

My eyes drifted back to the body of the woman.  It was smooth and beautiful aside from some bruises to her face and arms and a gaping wound in the chest presumably from the knife that had been missing.  The knife.  It wasn’t there.I had felt a strange calm wash over me when entering the room but now began frantically throwing stuff around and shouting in search of the knife which was no where to be seen.  I flung a bloody pillow at the wall but the knife was not there.  Nor was it behind the stereo or in the vase of violets my mother had brought me on her las visit.  

I slumped, discouraged, against the wall which had red splattered on it like tears.  Something stuck me in the leg.  I Stood up and thrust my hand into my pocket.  The knife.  It all came back as I drew the long bloody silver tool from my pocket.  

I’d come home early from the center as I wasn’t feeling well, and she’d been standing there in the kitchen, no, not standing, sitting. On my table.  She’d looked beautiful, I knew she was my care taker, but I liked to think of her as my wife.  “Hey” I’d called cheerfully as I’d entered the kitchen, and she’d turned, shocked, revealing her bare chest.  That’s when I saw him.  The half naked man holding MY caretaker.  She jumped up muttering worriedly and pushed me out of the kitchen, motioning for the man to leave as well, but he just stood there which made me more mad.  I’d noticed that a knife had been removed from the block and was laying on the counter beside a tomato, so I’d shoved past the woman and lurched towards it.  Grasping the unfamiliar object in my sweaty palms I’d yelled for both of them to get out.  They’d willingly obliged and quickly, with their hands up, gone to the door but I wasn’t going to let them off that easy.  I’d herded them back to the bedroom where I proceeded to stab the nameless man 47 times in the chest as my caretaker watched, helpless.  She was next.  After both were taken care of, I’d  returned to the kitchen and got the mans cloths and fully re dressed him so I wouldn't have to see anymore of that disgusting creature.  The lamp and window had cracked in the struggle but I hadn’t cared, I’d fled the house and went back to the center, telling them that I felt better but then the day had ended and I’d taken the bus that I hated back home just like a regular day having forgotten everything, until now.  


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