The picture on the white wall

I was sitting on our cosy, comfortable white couch and starring at the picture on the wall. It was our wedding picture. He had put his arms around me, pulling me closer and had exclaimed “She’s mine”. I had blushed till my cheeks went red and he had laughed kissing my soft lips. Someone had captured the moment at the right time and now, even after ten years it felt like no time had passed. We had danced to ‘She wears my ring’ by Elvis Presley. We had been swinging, whirling and moving slowly holding each other close. It wasn’t our first dance though; we had dated for almost a year before marriage. He knew how much I love Elvis and he had deliberately chose the song to make my day more special.

When the song ended he had stolen me from the crowd. We reached a room and he took me in his arms again, kissing me with passion. I pulled off and told him that I loved him. He responded to that with another kiss and by sliding his hand on my back, unzipping my gown. His hands and lips had lingered all over my body and mine, all over his. The moment is still fresh in my mind. We made love for several hours. I remember the moment he fell tired in my arms. He was breathing out loud closing his eyes and savoring the moment. When he opened his eyes he looked directly into mine and he told me that he loved me and that he always will.

The tape played ‘I will be home again’ by Elvis. I looked at the wall clock, it hit 8 and I knew he will be home in an hour. It was our anniversary; I had already cooked him a delicious meal, visited my best friend and boasted about our special day. I got up and decided to take a good shower. I stripped out of my dirty clothes and walked into the shower. As the water dropped on my soft naked skin, I shivered, thinking of the night that was ahead of us. I cleansed my body with rose flavored soap; I wanted to make the night perfect. I slipped on my red velvet maxi. The dress was deep necked, full arm and had a cut on the left, from a little below the waist to the end of the dress. I looked at the clock again, it hit 9. He would be here any minute now. I felt tickles down my spine; after dimming the lights, I lit a few candles on the dining table. I knew he would be happy seeing what I have done for him. He would scream out of surprise, lift me up and turn me, telling me how lucky he is. He will probably get me a piece of jewelry, help me wear it and then, we would make love to each other all night. I was too thrilled at the thought of how happy we will be. I poured myself a glass of wine and then walked back to our elegant cough. I sat crossing my left leg over right, showing off my beautiful, smooth, long leg. I took a sip from my glass as the clock hit 9:30. He was supposed to be back by now. He had never been this late from work.

The clock showed 10:30 and I had gulped five glasses of wine but there was still no sign of him.

“What happened after that, Maria?”

“Why should I tell you anything?”

“Because I’m your therapist and because I can get you out of this mess.”

I laughed and bent across the steel table reaching for her. “Can you lend me a cigarette?”

“Now, I’m not allowed to do that. What happened after that, Maria? Tell me.”

I laughed again and she knew she had to break some rules to get what she was looking for.

“Alright” She murmured, reaching to her bag and gave me a cigarette. I lit it and inhaled the first puff looking right at her and exhaled it laughing.

“It was then the police arrived, wasn’t it? Tell me, Maria. Did you murder your husband?”

I had. Wasn’t it obvious? My blue jeans and white top stained by my husband’s blood were still lying on my bed. I had cut him into five pieces and put him in the closet. His blood was still fresh on the white couch and on our beautiful wedding picture on the white wall even after three days. I had been starring at it all day, wondering how the drops had managed to fall on the picture. The house smelled like a graveyard and I had been living in that junk!

The doorbell rung at 10:30. I got up from the couch, darkened my lipstick and opened the door with warmth and affection. I was expecting Charlie at the door with flowers in his hand and a bright smile on his face. I wanted to welcome him with a lovely kiss and laughter.

It was the laughter that I first heard when I walked into the house that day. I immediately recognized Charlie's voice, but I also heard another woman’s voice. It sounded familiar, like I had been hearing it all my life. When I walked into the room, I saw her naked skin sticking to Charlie’s. I knew who she was that very instant. How could I not? She was my best friend! We had known each other all our life. She was my maid of honor, my soul sister and she had always stood by me. When my mother fell sick three years ago, I had to leave town for a month. She had agreed to visit our home often and help Charlie with house work. Charlie had praised her for days.

I had just walked out of the room and sat silent on the couch. My dear friend just flooded out of the house with shame and my husband had tried taking to me.

“Honey, I can explain.” He said. “It is not what it looks like. What are you hiding in your hand?” He asked. It was then I had jumped on him and stabbed him a thousand times screaming “Why?”,  “Maria … wait!” he begged, “Maria ….” He screamed. After a while I noticed that he didn’t speak anymore. I had kissed him a hundred times and asked him to talk to me but he did not respond. I had cried for an hour sleeping on his chest. Then I had started playing with my knife, drawing patterns on my husband's body, cutting him into tiny little pieces. I still loved him, I kept him safe in the closet. Why? I didn’t leave the place for three days, I hadn’t gone anywhere out expect for an hour on our anniversary day. I had to meet Merlin, she was my best friend and I had to tell her what I have planned for our anniversary. I had rushed back home as soon as I could.

I was disappointed when I opened the door. It wasn’t Charlie; there were a couple of police officers standing outside.

“Is there a problem, officer?” I asked.

“We’re afraid there is, ma’am” one said. “I reckon, Miss. Merlin across the street was your friend? And that you visited her a few hours back?” said the other.

“Oh, yes. She is my best friend. What is this about, officer?” I asked

“You will have to come with us ma’am. Miss. Merlin has been murdered.” They said.