My key grazes the lock, slips away. Irritation spikes. I try again, stabbing harder at the crooked hole, expecting it to slide in, click open. Nothing. He’s changed the locks.
Icy fog washes over me. I’m numb with incomprehension. He’s changed the locks?
Stepping back I stare up at the house. Our house. No, our home. A tidy, suburban pile. Semi-detached, red brick, square double glazed windows. Always cosy, even when there’s a North wind blowing.
I kept it nice, our house. Even when I was working. I’d be up at 4am, scrubbing, mopping, folding.
He said, “Relax, chill out. Come and sit down.”
As if. Bad things happen when you neglect the dark corners. Spiders. Dust. Things you don’t want to look at. Things that scuttle and climb. I didn’t neglect the dark corners. I cleaned under the cooker, behind the fridge. Then I went out to work, and when I came back I started over.
That’s how I found the earring. Maybe another person wouldn’t have noticed it. Or maybe they would have trodden on it in the dark, squealed a little. It was clear as day to me, winking amethyst purple, glinting in the fading sunlight.
I picked it up. God knows what I could’ve caught, picking up a dirty earring.
Not mine, but I already knew that.
I smelt it then, faint beneath the bleach. A smell of hot salt, warm bodies. Sex.
No crying, not from me. I don’t give in to things like that. A woman has to be prepared, has to take care of her house and her family. He’d been stupid, being tricked by whatever slut had rolled in our bed, but I would make it right. I would protect him.
It wasn’t hard, when all was told. I just watched. Listened. Waited. Lost my job, but who cares about that? No point in turning up when your family is falling apart. Odd watching them together, watching the way she let her paw him. Lift her skirts in doorways and cars. He hadn’t even washed his hands. Dirty slut, letting him do that. No hygiene.
It was easy when it came to it.
Easy to lock him in the bedroom when she went for a glass of water. Easy to slash her throat. Blood spurted across my kitchen, splashed against the all. Looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. I almost enjoyed that. Almost liberating. I knew I’d get it off; wipe clean paint in the kitchen after all.
Just the sound of his thumping disturbed me, his screams from upstairs. Not very manly. Almost off-putting.
I enjoyed cleaning her, tidying her. Used up all my Tupperware but that was okay. I could invest more. It was for the family.
When the police came they said it was the cleanest crime scene they’d ever found. I was proud of that. It’s on my record.
That was ten years ago now though, God knows what state the kitchen is in. I couldn’t wait any longer to find out. That’s why I broke out, came here. Found the keys inside the shed where they always used to be.
But he’s changed the locks?
I don’t understand that. Didn’t he know I’d be coming?
Written for the #DiceGames contest run by the fabulous Timony Souler following these rules:
This challenge will run over 3 days:-
· Monday 4th June
· Wednesday 6th June
· Friday 8th June
So, the RULES:
o You will roll a die – THREE TIMES
o Each number you roll will give you a PROMPT (Which can be found HERE)
o You will post a piece (between 250 and 750 words) on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
"keys, amethyst earring, bedroom."