|
Jaruzel.com
|
|
|
James pulled his black Volvo estate in to the long arching gravel driveway that led up to his house. He'd meant to get home earlier, but as usual work had overrun, and his overbearing boss had insisted on a last minute brainstorm as he was leaving the office. James had long ago decided that he didn't like the job he was doing. In fact his whole career seemed to be hopelessly off target these days. He had no idea why he still did what he did. One of these days he needed to stop and take some time out and re-evaluate his situation. When work pressures allowed of course, and therein lied the problem. He quietly let the car come to a stop just opposite his front door, the overhead lamp, illuminating it's glossy paintwork with a welcoming orange glow. As he got out of the car, automatically locking it via the key fob, he glanced up at the bedroom windows, noticing that all bar one were dark. The one that wasn't was lit dimly, probably by the beside lamp next to his and Karen's bed. It looked like she'd given up waiting for him to come home, and had gone to bed. This wasn't unusual, after 5 years together she'd gotten used to his erratic work hours, and had long since retired to bed instead of staying up until he got home. He'd better be quiet going in, as she'd probably be asleep, her current novel by her side, it's place lost. He opened the front door, stepped into the hall, and quietly closed it behind him. Depositing his keys and wallet in their usual place on the side table, he slipped off his shoes and slowly made his way upstairs. The master bedroom door was ajar with the soft light spilling out from the gap across the landing carpet. Expecting Karen to be asleep, he eased open the door. Karen was on the bed, sprawled across the duvet, There was blood everywhere, from the large gashes across her stomach clearly visible through the rips in her cotton nightshirt, to her thighs and legs equally slashed and torn. James didn't know where to look. Her body was covered in a sickly crimson sheen, the pattern on the duvet cover obliterated by a massive pool of blood. Her hands still in a death grip clawed at the material, her head was arched back and her eyes were... gone. Just blackened darkened sockets where her lovely green eyes should have been. He dropped to his knees, and before he'd even registered a thought, his body convulsed and forcefully ejected the contents of his stomach onto the floor. In between retches all he could do was sob and mutter 'no...'. |
|