[ WP ] You are a detective who has closed every case but one , a serial murderer who has taunted you all your career . After retiring you start to suspect your significant other .

The joggers always set him on edge. He was n't sure if that was because of his twenty-seven years of service as a police officer and detective, always chasing after people committing petty crimes, or if it was just old age settling in. That did n't change the fact that the autumn trees were in full bloom, and their afternoon in Central Park was almost picturesque, with a sea of bright orange leaves on the ground beneath them, and the ancient tree branches extending their limber fingers over top. 
 
 
 `` This is nice, honey, I could get used to this lifestyle.'' His wife, Sharon, said to him as they strolled through the path. 
 
 
 He responded with a simple `` Mmm. ``, as he was still in awe of the image of a place he had wanted to visit since childhood. 
 
 
 Wallace Smith was fifty-eight years old, while his wife had just entered her 50s. Smith was a newly retired police officer, who had spent all of his life until this point in Pittsburgh. He decided that he and his wife should move to New York City to finally experience the `` big city'' life. 
 
 
 `` Hey, whatever happened to that'Red Scarf Killer'?'' Sharon asked abruptly, almost startling Wallace. `` You stopped telling me about that case all of a sudden, like it just disappeared and never happened.'' 
 
 
 `` The Red Scarf Killer? We never caught him.'' Wallace responded, `` Sick bastard.'' He muttered under his breath. 
 
 
 He did n't enjoy talking about his work, especially to those that are n't or were n't involved. His wife, however, always had a knack for his stories and would enjoy hearing about the homicide cases that would pop up on his desk. 
 
 
 `` Why do you always refer to the killer as'him'? Did it ever occur to you that it may have been a'she'?'' She asked him, almost annoyed. 
 
 
 `` Huh. You know, that's an interesting theory, honey. You should work that lead and see where it takes you.'' 
 
 
 `` Probably farther than you, Mr. Smith.'' She said, in a tone he did n't particularly like. 
 
 He found it strange that she would address him this way, especially after all their years of marriage. 
 
 
 `` Sharon, please, after three decades of police work I'd appreciate it if we could not talk about my work for the next ten minutes, and enjoy this walk. And could you please not call me that?'' 
 
 
 `` Why not?'' 
 
 
 `` The Red Scarf Killer would constantly send me letters. Letters that were written very formally, almost like I was being invited to a wedding, or a fancy dinner or something. I do n't know, it just kind of got on my nerves after a while.'' 
 
 `` How come I've never heard about this? You never told me about any letters.'' She said to him, sounding almost bothered. 
 
 
 `` I did n't tell anybody. I found it weird, and quite frankly, creepy. Besides, this happened before we met; it never came up.'' 
 
 
 `` You know, I always thought the Red Scarf Killer was the most interesting out of the bunch,'' Sharon shared as she changed the topic, `` Methodical, yet bloody. Precise, yet with a hint of savagery.'' 
 
 
 `` Is there a reason we're talking about a case that went cold nearly a decade ago?'' He asked, quickly becoming annoyed. 
 
 The bickering between the two was something that had been occurring more and more as the years in their marriage went on. He often found Sharon testing him, pushing him to points where he would feel uncomfortable. 
 
 
 
 `` No reason.'' 
 
 
 Smith was n't sure if it was because her age was starting to catch up with her or not, but he found that Sharon was starting to bring up the past more often than before, almost like she was reminiscing of a time long gone and lost. 
 
 
 His back was starting to flare up, something that had been bothering him for the last couple of years. It often got to the point where he would no longer be able to stand upright, needing to lie down or lean against something. 
 
 
 `` I always found it interesting that the *Red Scarf Killer* was actually a *White Scarf Killer*, and that they would simply line the scarf with small, very sharp hooks that would pierce the victim's neck during strangulation and in result paint the fabric red.'' She noted, almost excitedly. `` Is n't that neat?'' 
 
 This kind of behaviour was normal for Sharon. Getting overly excited while talking about criminals was something he had gotten used to. Although it was n't something he particularly liked about her, he thought the fact that he could share the load of his stressful work with her at home was nice and convenient. 
 
 `` Yeah,'' he said while exhaling with a deep breath, `` Real neat.'' 
 
 
 He took a moment to sit down and hopefully ease the pain running down his spine. The sky was beginning to darken as the October afternoon in the park was starting to come to an end. She sat beside him. 
 
 But a sudden realization washed over him. He wanted to look to his left, to where Sharon was sitting, but the pain in his spine was getting to the point where he could hardly turn his neck. He could only see her in his peripheral vision. 
 
 `` Wait a minute,'' He spoke while enduring the pain, `` We never released that information on the killer.'' He took a deep breath immediately after finishing his sentence, closing his eyes as the nerves in his back began to dig into him. 
 
 
 `` Shhh, do n't talk honey, you'll only hurt yourself. You're in enough pain already.'' Sharon said to him in a comforting voice, unlike the tone she had used in their conversation before. 
 
 
 He tried to look at her again, but his neck would not cooperate. He felt his body stiffen as each breath became harder to inhale. 
 
 
 `` Go to sleep, Wallace.'' She whispered. `` I love you.'' 
 
 
 

