Silhouette (Off the Record)

Silhouette

It was 12:02pm when I saw him to the door. "Thanks for your time." He said. I nodded stoically.

"I develope my writing on years of close experience."

Mr. Murdock's words would not leave my memory as it echoed again and again. What did he mean by that? "... Years of close experience", and why insist that this interview be off the record.

Walking into my sitting room, I glanced at my wife's picture at the far end of the gallery. Marie had died a couple years ago, the case closed, I insisted, so as to give closure more to myself. Or so I thought. Her case had been ruled as murder but mysterious in respect to the carvings on her skin.

I hissed in pain as a migraine hit me, making me feel dizzy. A couple more steps and the room spun, little dots converging into themselves and creating a massive void. I gripped the edge of a table and tried to steady myself but fell instead.

My wife ran towards me in the most beautiful gown I'd ever seen. She was smiling. She looked happy and less... Dead. Throwing her arms around me, she locked us in a tight embrace. Her Pyramid deluxe perfume engulfed my nasal senses.

She tried to speak but I kept her mute with my tongue in her mouth. Her breath caught in her throat and I could feel her shiver.

But... She tasted different.

Breaking off, her hand on my chest, she whispered, "Wake up.". I shook my head. I didn't want to wake up. I wanted to stay with her, hold her, feel her warmth.

"You can't stay here..." She persuaded, "They'll take you too."

The question loomed in my head, air attempting to produce the sounds from my speech organs as I felt the surge. Falling through the darkness, I felt the fabric of her dress tear as I tried to hold onto her.

I opened my eyes quickly but winced and shut them seconds later as the 100 watt bulbs assaulted them. The migraine had subsided but the throbbing in my temples persisted. Bringing my fingers to my face to massage my temples, I froze.

The fabric from my wife's dress wound around my fingers.

"What is going on?" I whispered to myself.

A light click of my entrance door got me on my feet. I glanced at the wall clock... 11:59pm. Who got me off the floor? Who put me on the sofa? and the piece of fabric was supposed to be...

I saw a silhouette and stood still.

I wanted it all to be a dream, I wanted to wake up now. The flash of light gleaming off the object as it whooshed towards me made me duck. The axe firmly stuck itself through my wife's picture frame and into the wall.

Glancing up, I saw the silhouette no more. I slowly gripped the handle of the axe. It was real.

I definitely was not dreaming.