My Dearly Departed

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Fool me once.. shame on you

The aroma of my bleach pine sol cocktail overtook me as I finally plopped down to watch my novellas after a long day of wor-.. housekeeping. Hair tied, kicked back, chilling with no makeup on, I hear the front door fly open and return closed with haste. In a swift movement, I tossed the rag I was fumbling with under my seasonal throw pillows. The drops that fell outside performed what seemed a crescendo as the door slammed closed. I internally flap, ‘Amateur mistake, why didn’t I lock the door’ to myself until I am bombarded with a familiar voice, but instead of encroachment, it is wrapped in distress. “Is he here?! Where is he?” comes from the foyer of my home. As I turn back, I am met with my ‘could’ve been’ mother-in-law who, if she used all this energy she was emitting in my spring-cleaned home and raised a man who recognized the significance of love and commitment, wouldn’t be experiencing such an episode, today. I have no pity, but alas, I acquiesce. The mother of my long-time, live-in boyfriend, emphasis on boy, was standing in my home, dripping water droplets coated in what smelled to be coconut oil on my brand-new wooden floors. My blood began to boil as she tracked her wet shoes through my home.

“Where is who?” I asked, annoyed. “My son. I’ve been calling for some hours now, and he just has to be here. I know it. I just-“-knock knock-.. saved by the bell. As I make my way to my door, the door knob is turned, and in comes two chocolate-covered arms bursting out of their polyester sleeves, attached to a man who I would ta-.. focus Liane. I picked up my jaw. “Umm, officer? May I help you .. in my entryway, sir?” The officer hesitates and apologizes in a voice I had previously thought could only expel from the lip of Barry white himself. I am in shock but am dying to know how my dwelling was graced with my such an edible piece of– don’t get me started. I invite him in for tea as I try to hint to my in-law that her visit has been overstayed. Her inability to read the room precedes my attempt to eliminate her presence, so I oblige.

As I turn from the stove, kettle in hand, I am rushed by my in-law. ‘This is what I was trying to tell you. The police came by, and they said he’s gone, Liane! Xavier is gone”. I quickly painted a look of shock over my face, but before I could respond, there was another ring. Ring ring. Instantaneously, the gorgeous chocolate Ken of a man picks up his phone, and his eyes meet mine. This was all happening faster than originally anticipated. Dedicate yourself, Liane. He hangs up and clears his throat. ‘Originally, my mission here was to inform you of the deceased. However, now, I must inform you that we have taken a suspect into custody. ‘A suspect?’ cries out my in-law. “w-what? H-how? So fast?”.

I’m lost in the distance.

It is not long before I am brought back to reality by the faint screams only an agonizing mother could release. I blink myself back into the present.

By this time, the officer has come closer to console this grieving woman. I stumble into the nearest seat at the breakfast nook. The officer proceeds to confirm Xavier’s demise. Stabbed. 12 times. A crime-riddled with passion.

As he further explained, the blood, the wounds, the screams.. it all seemed so familiar.

‘And as for this suspect?’ I asked through the frog in my throat.

‘A Miss Lianna Whitney was taken in after we recovered the murder weapon near the scene,’ he begins to explain. Ahh, the mistress. ‘Your sister?!’ my in-law screamed, bursting my bubble of vindication.

‘Estranged’, I reply. ‘Seems like a fatal attraction after all.’. I wipe my eyes and stand up straight. ‘Thank you, officer, but I think we’ve had enough implosions for the night, and I should really be getting her home,’ I say while embracing the wailing woman now on my floor. I really just scrubbed this wood, and this was a well-oiled woman.

The officer nodded in understanding, but before he could show himself, my in-law asked one last question. She wanted to know where the officers found the knife. He proceeds to explain it washed up in a storm drain.

‘A storm drain?’ I asked myself. That’s not where I left it. My Dearly Departed
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