Post Mortem

Chapter One

Jane sat next to him, one hand on his, next to his side, the other delicately sweeping through his black curls, drenched with sweat. How could one perspire so and still be freezing to the touch? His mouth hung open awkwardly, one half lower than the other. His grey-blue eyes were closed. She assumed he was sleeping and dared herself to move closer, leaning her head into his shoulder, her eyes moving closed to stop tears from slipping out.
"Please don't leave me" she pleaded, whispering. " or I'll die too". His light labored laugh interrupted her. He cleared his throat, a sickening hack, and whispered, his eyes open just enough that he could look down at her.
"Oh darling. I wouldn't dream of leaving you. Not yet. Not now". He smiled through the pain, using all of his strength to bring a trembling, weak hand to her cheek and wipe a tear away before letting it fall back to his side. He went to say something else before a terrible cough racked through his body and threw him forwards, more blood spraying from his mouth onto the sheets. Jane started to dab at his chin with her handkerchief, settling him back into the pillows.
" there, there Carlton. Don't joke around. Don't make my heart ache any more than it is now".
At that statement he was silent, reassuringly giving her hand a weak squeeze.
Jane stayed there, in that position, until he finally fell asleep around midnight. She gave him a lingering kiss on his clammy forehead before retiring to what was once their bedroom and pulling on a nightgown, crawling under the covers and snuffing out the flickering candle on the bedside table.
That night she prayed. She prayed for god to take him, to let him leave his pain behind. She regretted being selfish and wanting him to stay with her. He was only suffering more and more with each passing day. She needed to let him go.
She woke up in the morning, terrified. Noises, loud ones, were sounding from the first level of the estate. Bangs of pots in the kitchens, doors opening and closing, a record playing in the parlor, footsteps echoing down the halls, muffled voices.
She sat up, stepping off the bed and silently pulling on a robe with trembling fingers. The noises continued as she cautiously padded out into the hallway. She could see out over the banister into the parlor, but no one was there, only the record player sounding it's ominous tune. She walked down the stairs and took the needle off the record, stopping the music.
A footstep towards the parlor. Another one. She froze. This was it. The intruder was going to walk in and murder her in her nightgown, then kill her sickly husband upstairs. Jane's eyes locked on Carlton's hunting rifle mounted above the fireplace. She had no idea how to use it, but she still found herself grabbing the barrel, putting her finger on the trigger, pointing it at the doorway.
Carlton stepped into the parlor.