I found myself sitting in a dimly lit room, nervously tapping my foot on the cold hard floor. A single chair sits in the center, the feel of the weight of the room closed in on me. The air felt heavy as the sound of the clicking clock echoed through the room, my heart racing as I anxiously awaited the arrival of the police. My mind was filled with thoughts - I couldn’t help but replay the events that led them to this moment. The uncertainty of what would happen next just intensified me. My palms grew sweaty as I wiped them on my jeans, desperately trying to calm myself down. 

Eventually, I heard footsteps approaching the door. The sound grew louder as my nerves reached my peak. The door creaked open, revealing the stern faces of the police officers. I could feel my heart beat harder in my chest as I prepared myself to face whatever lay ahead. I knew that they had to stay calm and put, even though my nerves were still running wild. With a deep breath, I braced myself for the conversation that was about to unfold. What really happened to my husband that night? 

The officer takes a seat on the rusty metal chair, unfolding his yellow notepad labeled with the words “Corey J. Lewis.” He writes down a few things on his notepad before taking a quick look at my face, squinting his eyes at the sight of it. 

“Nice to be back with you, Evangeline,” He grasps his hands together, leaning in closer to me, clenching my nerves up more and more. “Before jumping in, I must know, did your husband ever appear, and even in the slightest, to have any symptoms of depression?” 

“N-Not that I am aware of, no,” I stutter, trying my best to make eye contact. 

“I see,” He wipes out his pen and aggressively starts writing as I try my best to control the shakiness in my legs. “I have come here today to inform you about your husband, Corey’s, potential murder, am I right?” 

“Yes, have you found anything new? Please tell me so I can end this nightmare,” I feel as if I am begging like a dog trying to get food from my owner just so I can have some sort of reassurance. Maybe then, I’ll be able to sleep at night. 

“Yes, ma’am, and it has been concluded,” The officer informs me while putting his hands together and inching closer to me, his eyes locking into mine. I can feel the anxiety rushing through me, begging for reassurance.

“Your husband didn’t actually die from murder,” Suddenly, my heart drops. I give the officer a stunned look, signaling him to continue. 

“It has been discored from the autopsy results that he was, indeed, a victim of suicide” That’s when I couldn’t even think any more - All of these thoughts, wonders of who could have done this to my beloved husband, all disappeared. I knew it couldn’t have been true. 

“That can’t be possible - I know my husband, he would never,” I panic. 

“Actually, it was not your husband who unalived himself - It was somebody else he had hired to do it for him,” Suddenly even more thoughts rushed through my head. Nothing made sense anymore. I just wanted to know what really happened. 

“Tell me who now! You have to tell me!” I pull closer to the officer, putting my hands out in front of him. 

“Ma’am, that information is confidential-” 

“Tell me or I will find out for myself-” I whip out of my chair, hovering over him, demanding him to give me the answer I pleaded as I let my anger and frustration get the best of me. 

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down before we call security,” He backs up and puts his hands out in front of me, acting as if I could attack him on the spot. Although, I could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t going to tell me anything. 

“You can do what you want, but for all I know, you are all some dirty little liars.” That was all I can remember from that day. Still, lying at the edge of my bed, my arms hanging off the sides, staring into the ceiling, I still can’t stop replaying this day in my head. It has been 2 months since my husband’s murder--Or should I say, ‘suicide.’

I toss and turn in my bed, not seeming to escape the thoughts. I feel as if the ghost of my husband is always watching me. 

My husband was a famous author, always known for his twisted and unexpected sense of mind. I have never really read them myself, but I have heard the chants of the people and how amazed they were by his creations. I thought maybe one day I would try it, but since he’s gone, I feel as if my eyes won’t lock with the words. 

However, my curiosity often takes control over me. I feel the need to see his creations to not only return his legacy, but to keep his memory alive. Something was telling me that this was the only way I could heal from the recurring nightmares I have to mourn. Maybe then I could find the reason he wanted to leave his whole world behind. 

After hours of staring at the ceiling and thinking, I slowly lifted up my body, sore from laying in the same position for too long. 

I slowly but surely lean upwards and lay my feet off the bed to slide on my slippers. I slide my fatigued feet over to the office room and take a seat in the chair my husband spent many of his days in. I scooch in closer, hovering over the laptop as the sickening apple logo stands face to face with me, waiting to be opened. I start to doubt if I should even be doing this, but thinking of the things that could be in here makes me think otherwise. I lay my finger on the edge and tilt it open slightly as the bright screen blinds me. 

I expected to have to put in a password, but instead, the laptop was wide awake to a set of folders, only one being opened named “unfinished.” It was like it was leading me on. I thought since it was probably a private document, I shouldn’t open it; But my instincts took over and I moved my finger across the mousepad and hovered the mouse over the document. 

I tap my hand on the desk as I watch the document load and see only a few pages of work. As I glance through it, I notice a familiar date. ‘Male, March 2nd, 2016, 9:34pm.’ That’s when my heart dropped. That was the exact date and time my husband had died. How did he guess his own death date? 

Striving for more, I look through it again and notice that the main character in the book is a 40 year old male with dark brown hair and green eyes--Exactly how my husband was. I was flooded with fear as I realized that this writing wasn’t just any ordinary writing, it was something way more. 

I hardly closed the laptop shut and pushed it away from my reach as I stood up quickly out of my chair, biting my nails aggressively, nothing even seeming real anymore. I’d thought I should just drift off to sleep so I could finally wake up from this recurring nightmare of mine. 

That was the first time I had slept in days. 

Nothing was new today--I woke up and did my norm. I grabbed my coffee, toasted 2 pieces of bread, and sat down on the sofa to watch television. It was so late at night, about 2am, when I read the story, and none of it even feels real anymore. 

I reach over to pick up the TV remote as I sip my steaming hot coffee. There it brings me to Channel 8 News. 

“Here today we have another case of the death of 38 year old Benjamin Croft, who was unexpectedly murdered this morning at approximately 6:12am, if you have any information about the case you can contact the family here,” States the News Reporter. 

My head raises as I hear a familiar name.. Benjamin Croft, my husband’s good friend. I had no clue he had passed away. 

That’s when I remembered that I had never finished my husband’s story last night. I was too afraid to go back in and read it, but now, since it is daytime, I feel a bit more comfortable. 

As I zone out I realize I didn’t finish my husband’s story, as I was too much in shock. I decided I should look into it a little more, forgetting completely about the news. 

Without cleaning anything up, I head straight for my husband’s office just to be face to face with that same apple logo on the computer. I once again lie my fingertips on the cold metal edges and tilt it up. There was the same document, already opened in front of me. 

I scroll down a little farther from where I was and as I am scrolling my eyes stop to a familiar date. ‘Male, (first suspect’s friend), May 5th, 2016, 6:12 am’ followed by the case of ‘Female, (first suspects wife), May 5th, 2016, 7:00am.’’

First suspect’s wife? I think to myself. That’s when it came to me. The first suspect was indeed my husband - And the first date is today, the day my husband’s friend died. I took another look at the dates - Both of them are today. 

I slowly look up, my eyes as saucers. I slam the computer shut and whip out of my chair, aggressively pulling my phone out of my pocket. 

In fear I struggle to enter in the password, not being able to control the shakiness in my hands. I fear as if someone is watching me and could come out any moment now. As I reach to dial the numbers ‘911’ on my phone, the time ticks. 6:50 am. I aggressively touch the call button and raise the phone up to my ear, checking my surroundings at all angles. 

“911 what’s your emergency?” A woman answers. 

“Y-yes I really need you to send the police because I think I am going to die,” I stutter rapidly as I check out my window for anyone. 

“We will be sending someone your way right now. Please stay on the line with me in the meantime.” The woman says in a deep, calm voice. I can barely catch my breath, watching out the window begging and pleading for the police to come before the time comes. The clock ticks faster and faster every second as I start hallucinating the sound of police sirens. 

“Open your door for me, police are here.” After a few dreadful minutes, I hear those words which relieves the stabbing pain in my stomach. I can barely keep my balance as I walk over to the front door, the cold breeze coming through my house as the police lie on the other side. 

“Hello Evangeline, we are going to need to do a quick inspection of your house immediately to ensure you are safe in your surroundings. Is it okay if we come in?” The 3 armed officers ask, dressed in all black and about 6 feet tall. 

“Yes, please come in,” The police officers stomp the dirt off their shoes before stepping up into the house which holds deep loneliness and regret. They stand in the middle of the living room with a stern look on their faces. 

“Evangeline, do you feel safe right now?” They tilt their heads towards me, making me feel under pressure as they stare deep into my soul. 

“What do you mean?” I check behind me, to the left of me, and to the right. Nothing. 

“Are you sure you’re safe in your surroundings?” They scooch closer to me, hovering over me, making me feel like I am uncomfortably trapped within their space. 

“I’m not sure what you’re..” I backed up a bit, never feeling this alarmed from a police officer. 

“Evangeline.. Check the time.” I look up at the officers as they hold an unsettling and deceitful look on their faces, one of them reaching for their gear. I reach for my phone and tap the screen. 7:00 am.