Hang On To Yourself

Shy burst through the door, frustrated from work. She set her book bag down and sighed. "What's wrong?" Her husband, Emerson, asked. He looked fresh out of the shower. Shy frowned and sat next to him, laying her head in his lap.

"I got assigned to a new case. There's been a series of murders happening. We think they are all related. It's the same MO each time.The victims are dismembered and then a zig zag pattern is cut from the base of the neck down. It's been so damn stressful. All of the evidence we've found has led to nothing." She ranted out and sighed once again. Emerson frowned and played with her hair. "That's awful. I'm so sorry, ma cherie."

She looked at him with a worried expression. "Whoever is doing this is suspected to strike every Friday. Please be careful whenever you go out." Emerson seemed to hesitate slightly and then nod. "Of course. I promise." He gave her a warm smile and turned the TV on. They spent the rest of the night watching movies, helping her momentarily forget about her frustrations.

The following day she was at work as usual.Trying to find any clues as to who the sick person is behind these killings. "Mrs. Barrett, another body was found... It's only Tuesday."The person said and held an envelope filled with pictures from the crime scene. Shy rubbed her temples and frowned, reaching for the pictures.

Once they were in her possession, she took in a sharp breath. Whoever was doing this was absolutely sick in the head. She set them down and reached into her purse. Feeling around and then cursing under her breath. She left her USB back at home. How was she supposed to even get close to finding a suspect if she kept this up?

She grabbed her purse and began to head out. Explaining the situation to her co-worker. Once everything was cleared up she began her drive home. Parking and getting out.

She unlocked the door and search around her home office and found it. She was about to head back when she realized how quiet it was. Odd, Emerson hadn't come down at all. He usually slept in late but he must be awake by now, it was nearing 4pm. She walked up the stairs and into their shared room.

"Emerson?" She called out to him and looked over his body, gasping at what she saw. "Oh my god! Are you hurt? There's blood all over you?" She practically ran up to him to search for injuries.

"That's..." Her voice wavered, "that's not n-not your blood is it?" She asked suspiciously. He smirked and laughed. She looked into his eyes, they weren't the soft honey colored eyes she fell in love with.

He pulled out a knife and stepped closer. "I'm sorry, ma cherie." His voice was flat and cold. This wasn't her Emerson. She backed up against a wall and began to cry quietly. "Please, don't do this. I love you." she begged. There was no reaction from Emerson. He simply started her down. Almost as if he was contemplating something.

He raised his arm up, as if he was getting ready to stab her. The knife glistening against the natural light. His hand went down forcefully and she flinched. "Emerson! No!" She cried out, her tears flowing freely. Her knees went weak and she buckled to the floor, grabbing onto him and bringing him down as well.

Emerson laughed, his eyes glossy. She kissed him as best as she could. Blood all over both of them. Her brain was going foggy. It was too much. It hurt so bad. He slumped against her. He was quiet. Scarily calm. Her Emerson. The love of her life.

Emerson was dead.