Deconstructing Bridges

Chapter One

That tick-tock of the clock was really getting on his nerves.

The house had been virtually silent for the entire two hours that he had been home, and so he had just turned on the television to provide some background noise. But now that bloody sound was permeating everything else, and with every beat of the seconds going past, he felt his brain slowly going into overdrive.

It had been an absolute killer of a day.

No, that was putting it extremely mildly.

From his tense position sitting in his favourite armchair, Detective Matthew Bridges allowed his narrowed eyes to sweep over the living area he had been sitting in. He'd bought this house five years ago after he and his sister had decided to sell their old family home. Although it wasn't much, just a two bedroom house, he had loved it from the moment he had seen it. It had probably simply been a sign that he was overjoyed to be out of the family home which had felt like a ghost museum since his father had passed away, but this home was simple, spacious, had a yard and above all was quiet.

Yet now the happiness he usually felt in this, his castle was lost on him.

Mechanically he brought the glass in his right hand to his lips, pausing for a moment before gulping the dark amber liquid down in one swallow. Probably not the best idea to dull his senses right now, but he didn't care. After all, what were you supposed to do when you realised a marriage was ended?

Bitch, he thought as he stood and crossed over to the buffet table where the alcohol bottles sat. He poured another glass and narrowed his eyes at the decor of the room. He'd had the basics when he first moved in, the old family dinner table and chairs, his father's armchair, his bed, bookshelves. But when Rosalind Hallam had come into his life three years before, the idea of 'home' had taken on new meaning. This sanctuary of his became so much more sweet when he had come home to the smell of her cooking, or when she had greeted him with her customary kiss. The home was that much warmer after she had bought a new couch and decorated the walls with splashes of colour he never would have picked himself. She had created a real home for them, and it had become difficult for him to remember what life had been like before he had first met her.

That was all shot to hell, he thought in barely controlled anger as he sipped at the drink. After what he had learned today, he wouldn't be remembering their past with romantic nostalgia. No, he would not think of her with fondness and love. Those days were long past.

His gaze fell on the picture beside the television and his fingers tightened until his knuckles were pure white. Their wedding picture.

Both professing they hated 'posed' photographs, this one had been taken in between the official shots. She had been wiping a loose drop of champagne from the corner of his mouth, laughing while he grasped that wrist playfully. They were staring into each others' eyes as if there was nothing but pure love and happiness tying them together in that moment.

She'd been so clever. She'd known all the right tricks to draw him in. He'd had two hours to think about it, and now he knew. That little lying minx. How much of that had been contrived for the purpose of entrapping him, he thought as he gulped the rest of the drink down, resisting the temptation to pour yet another.

His mobile phone rang, and he fished it out of his pocket. He'd been expecting this, he grimaced, and he brought it to his ear.

"Bridges! What the hell!"

Rolling his eyes, he stalked across the room and slowly, deliberately lowered into that chair again.

"What do you want, Eddie?"

His partner, Edward Wong groaned on the other end of the phone, yet Matthew didn't care. So what if it was obvious he'd had a drink or two? Surely he was entitled after what they had learned that day.