"I’ll be home as soon as I finish up at work"…that’s what she had said so I let myself in and proceeded to start dinner. After awhile, she still hadn’t shown up so I opened a bottle of wine, poured myself a glass, and settled down in front of the TV. Was it the darkness that awoke me?! At any rate, I found myself lying on the floor by the coffee table, disoriented. Too much wine and too little food perhaps. As I made my way upstairs to the bedroom to change I first noticed the blood.

Not just a little blood, mind you, but spatterings of it leading seemingly everywhere. Cause for concern and caution, you might suggest. But in that dreamy, groggy state immediately following wakefulness, I decided to investigate. Oh yes, it was definitely blood trails that I found myself following as I ascended the stairs. Winding, irregular droplets led me to the closet in our bedroom where, as I started to open the louvered doors,… "Hey", she called as I wheeled around, startled! "I thought we were going out tonight since the kids are both out on dates’?" "Yeah, sure", I said. "But did you see all this…" As I was mouthing the words, I looked down to see…what? Nothing at all! Where was the odious trail that I had been following here just a few minutes before? "What’s wrong?" she asked, noting the obvious confusion on my face.

"I…I don’t know" was all I could think of. Should I tell her what I thought I had seen just a few moments before? I ventured it. "You’re going to think I’m crazy", I said, "but I was sure there was blood all over the floor leading up here to…". I stopped. The look on her face told me that something was very wrong.

"What’s wrong?" I asked as she began to sob. "I…I never told you", she stammered, "but this is where it happened." "Where what happened", I asked, but then remembered. The infamous ‘George’, her first husband, had committed suicide in this house. All at once it became both clear and confusing. What had I seen? By now the look of confusion on her face was obviously being mirrored on my own.

"George! How did you know this is where George shot himself?" "I think we’d better sit down" was all I could manage. After she had composed herself enough to talk, she said "I asked you a question!" "How in God’s name did you know that it was right here that it happened and what were you talking about, ‘blood’?"

I tried my best to explain my following the mysterious trail up the stairs into the bedroom. I could tell, however, from her swollen and incredulous eyes that I’d best discontinue the narrative for now. "He shot himself in the head right there in the closet and then staggered…" She stopped for a moment. "He…he staggered downstairs by the garage" "It’s OK", I said. "You don’t have to go into detail. I get the picture". "But HOW did you know and what blood are you talking about? There’s nothing on the floor here or downstairs. That was all cleaned up years ago!" She was right. Looking around there was nothing to be seen on the carpeting or the tiles, yet… "Well", I said, "I can’t explain it any more than you can. Maybe it was just some sort of odd ‘dream’ left over from my falling asleep downstairs earlier. Let’s just forget about all this creepy weirdness for now and go get something to eat. It’ll make us both feel better." I could tell that, while she was reluctant to let it go, there was also an underlying fear of further pursuing the matter. So I poured us both a glass of wine, turned off the oven and we proceeded, in silence, to go have dinner at our favorite restaurant. We talked about our day’s work, but I could tell that we were both preoccupied with our earlier conversation and its eerie implications.When we got back home, I proceeded to park the car in the garage while she took the remains of our unfinished dinner and wine inside. As I got out of the car, I looked around and wondered if any other mysterious ‘dreams’ might provide eventual insight into where poor old George had eventually succumbed. I didn’t think it particularly strange that neither of the kids’ cars was back, as we had returned fairly early and they didn’t usually return from their dates until we had settled down to watch ‘Law and Order’ or a video."Don’t forget to set the alarm and lock the door to the garage", she called down as I was getting our bedtime glasses of water. Odd, I thought, as the kids would be home soon and they usually performed these tasks so as not to disturb us with the long ‘wheeeeee’ sound the alarm makes when someone is coming in when it’s already set. Also, my stepson is prone to forgetting his key and doesn’t like to ring the front doorbell to get in if the door leading from the garage inside is locked. Given our evening’s earlier disturbing circumstances, however, I complied. Perhaps she wanted to be sure to be awake when they got home to see how their evenings went.

As I ascended the stairs I heard her talking on the phone. "Is everything all right", I asked as she hung up the phone. "Oh yes", she replied. "I’ve made sure the kids won’t be coming home this evening. My parents have agreed to keep them."

"Why on earth would your parents want to ‘keep’ an 18 and 22 year old?", I asked. "They haven’t both stayed over with them in years!"

"Whatever are you talking about", she said with mock sweetness in her voice. "They’re only 8 and 12 and they stay there all the time these days, it seems, since you can’t seem to keep your HANDS OFF THEM!!" she said with increasing anger in her voice.

It was then that I caught my reflection in the vanity mirror! I recognized his face from the pictures I’d seen of him with the kids when they were little. I also recognized the gun in her hand as I backed toward the louvered closet doors…

Copyright 2007 Thomas P. Wood, Jr.
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