Broken glass

Today is Tuesday and it’s Fandango’s 92nd Story Starter. He provides the start, and the rest is up to us.

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When I walked into the kitchen, I noticed that there was broken glass all over the floor. I paused for a minute wondering how that could have happened. Jeanne and I had gone to bed last night at the same time and neither one of us had gone downstairs during the night. Had to have been the dog chasing shadows. Speaking of, where was Galahad? It was odd for anyone to be in the kitchen without him padding in to see what there was to eat. He’ll show up, I thought.

I went into the pantry and grabbed the broom and dustpan and walked back to the kitchen. I started sweeping the glass and that’s when I saw the blood under the kitchen table.

And then the arm.

My heart skipped as I bent down and looked at Jeanne’s broken body. Her skin was paler than the kitchen tile and her eyes— they held fear even in death. I felt my stomach start to rise when I saw that the fingernails on her right hand had been torn away as if she had been clutching something when she was… And further up her arm I saw the severed Brachial artery still oozing blood.

There was a newspaper clutched in her left hand. I pulled it free and saw that she had written something just underneath the masthead. The writing was messy – shaky – and partially covered in blood. She must have written it just seconds before she…

I was able to make the writing out: “The man in the taxi – he’s here. Don’t wait, go to Rolland now.”

The man in the taxi? I had no idea what she meant. What man? What taxi? We hadn’t been downtown in weeks, and we hadn’t been in a taxi in… I don’t know how long. And don’t wait? Rolland? I straightened up, still holding the paper and walked to the phone. Holding the receiver, ready to call the police, I looked her note again and this time I noticed the date of the newspaper – April 11th.

The chill started at the base of my spine and ended at the bottom of my neck. Today was April 4th.

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