10 Minute Tales

Apr 24 - Not as it Should Be

He stood in his room, the paintbrush slowly waving up and down against the wall, leaving streaks of grey that became richer and richer. His wife was in the floor below, kicking up a fuss about something else. He frowned slightly as he tried to focus. He had been struggling to relax for so long, he almost felt himself drifting apart again. He slowed as he recited the mantra. Six simple words that had helped him be himself for so long.

"I am fine." he muttered, gripping the paintbrush a little tighter. "I'm in control." He shook himself slightly, returning his focus to the task at hand. His wife grew quiet again, making him smile slightly. She had work tomorrow, she needed her rest. He shuffled up a little, painting a new area of the dull wall. Its white painting, splashed with the occasional, playful daub of red, was starting to bore him. The scent he could stand, though. It was almost soothing. A hammering at the door disturbed his focus again. He growled as he stood up, sighing quietly and putting the paintbrush in the pot, before carefully descending the stairs. There were flashing lights on the outside, making him pause. He hadn't done anything wrong. He opened the door, looking the police officer straight in the eye.

"Good morning, constable. How can I help?"

"Are you Liam Lincoln?"

"I am."

"Is your wife Natalie Lincoln?"

"She is." he was frowning slightly. "Sir, is there a problem?"

"Natalie Lincoln has been reported missing for two weeks. I would like to investigate your home, to see if there are any clues that might lead to her location."

"O-of course, sir. Please, come in." he stepped aside, gesturing into the cramped hall. The constable entered, looking around; Liam closed the door behind him. In doing so, he grabbed a comforter, a slender, soft piece of metal that he could squeeze into all sorts of shapes. People didn't like this comforter, but he wouldn't let it go. His wife was missing, after all.

"Gods, what's that smell?" the constable coughed briefly, panting a little.

"My apologies, sir, I'm in the middle of decorating."

"Right..." the constable nodded briefly, looking around. He walked into the back room, overlooked only by the garden. The garden was surrounded by a large, wooden fence. They were isolated.
All it took was one swift motion.

"Say, can I offer you a drink?" Liam asked, walking into the kitchen before the constable could reply. The comforter had gotten dirty again, so he put it into the bowl and started running the water. He ducked under the sink, opening the cupboard and looking through it. He had prepared for an unfortunate visit, and brought out the canister he needed. "This should be enough." he muttered, throwing it into the corner with a burst of violence. It burst on impact, splashing most of the room and his outfit with another foul-smelling liquid. His wife had fallen quiet, and the constable wouldn't be talking again. Still, it was best not to take any chances. He could be gone by the morning. "I am fine." he muttered, bringing a book of matches out of his pocket. "I'm in control."