The Evil That Came

Part 3: The shattered pieces

As night fell and the crescent moonlight glistened over the house, the wind howled icy, crisp air against Greg's face as he walked home. An unsettling quiet hung over the house as Greg approached. The willow tree, its branches heavy with leaves, cast a cold, unnatural darkness that clung to the house, starkly contrasting the warm glow emanating from neighboring windows.

 He fumbled for the door combination, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine. The porch light, usually left on by Lisa, offered an unwelcoming glow. He pushed open the slightly ajar door, the rusty hinges groaning.

Goosebumps rose on Greg's skin as he pushed the door open. He looked around the house's first level. Although Lisa's absence was apparent, her favorite light pad reading chair was empty; nothing seemed out of place, and relief washed over him. Then, he walked up the stairs to the second level and peeked into his main bedroom, but she wasn't there. Worry seemed to rear its ugly head again. Breathing intensifying, he opened the door and quietly walked to the bathroom. By this point, Greg's eyebrows furrowed. It's our anniversary, and I hope she is just trying to surprise me.

Greg gave the room one more glance and saw nothing. But then... a single, unanswered question flickered in his mind. Where was Lisa? A metallic tang hovered in the air, a sharp invasion of his nostrils. Leaving Greg's heartbeat pounding louder and louder in his chest. He then walked over to where his unborn twins' room was supposed to be. He breathed another sigh of relief; he didn't see anything wrong. The silence was deafening, but the room was dark, covered by the willow tree. He reached for the light switch, his hand trembling slightly. With a click, the room flooded with harsh yellow light. A choked sob escaped his lips. And then, a single, dark shape shifted in the corner of his vision.

 Greg's world unraveled, each heartbeat a jagged shard of grief. Blood was displayed on each wall. In the corner of the room was a handprint stark against the soft yellow of the wall and a pool of blood on the carpet floor. Panic suffocated his body. Greg stumbled back, a choked gasp escaping his lips. His vision blurred, tears stinging his eyes. Greg looked towards his unborn baby's cribs, seeing his beloved wife lying there slumped against the bars of the cribs with her hands near her stomach. Greg couldn't move, paralyzed, but when he came to, he walked over to her, hoping for some sign of life. By then, he noticed her eyes opened and glazed over. A silent scream caught in his throat, not accepting that his wife had just died.

The police arrived, their footsteps heavy with dread. They surveyed the room, their expressions mirroring Greg's horror. The forensics team descended, methodical in their search for answers.

Greg was still in a state of shock, rocking back and forth in a fetal position, crying.

She's dead. He kept saying in his mind, still not accepting it.—how could this happen? Why Lisa? Why our unborn twins?

They questioned him, and since the police had nothing on Greg, they gave Greg a place to stay. A couple of hours after Greg's wife's murder, flocks of reporters had already told the public what had happened. Greg was grateful that the reporters didn't know where he was. He just wanted to be alone and try to make sense of this incomprehensible act of violence committed towards his wife and him.

Days blurred into weeks of the infamous Greg O'Dunn not being in sight; " The sudden death of the billionaire philanthropist Greg O'Dunn's wife, Lisa O'Dunn, captivated the world. Who did it and why? No statement has been provided on the ongoing investigation into her death." The talking head on the holoscreens stated. Greg waved his hand to turn off his screen. He was now entombed in darkness in his living room.

One day, Greg sat in his office, surrounded by the ghosts of laughter and life. A knock on the door startled him. General Alden, known for his stoicism, stood there, his face etched with an uncharacteristic sorrow. "Greg," he said, his voice gruff but sincere, "I'm so sorry for your loss."