[ 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 .

Someone once told me that lemon juice and dish detergent are the perfect way to clean blood out of carpeting. Or, shit, was it baking soda and scrubbing bubbles? Damnit, I never pay attention to the little things... you were so right, honey. 
 
 Ray Parker would have known, that little shit. He was the master of cleaning a crime scene. Hell, we called him the'murder maid'. 
 
 Vomit, bile, blood... the aftermath of the poisonings were excessive and grotesque, but Ray fucking Parker would grab a bucket and tackle them like a morbid hound over a plate of lasagna. 
 Shit, I'd be happy, too, if the cops contracted me to clean up my own murders. 
 
 I think these things to detach from the moment but it's only too soon before it hits me, and just like that I'm reduced to a madman sobbing and pressing stains of what was my poor, sweet wife into the soft, white walls we picked out together a lifetime ago. 
 
 Doubled over on our soft, stained carpet I'm screaming. I'm forcing the spike in my gut through my lungs; a long, haunting wail to whatever unseen power could put such darkness into someone so caring. 
 
 There were other ways, Jenny! God dammit, if I knew you would have... 
 
 Counselling. She wanted counselling. She wanted someone to talk to. She wanted me to talk to, but instead she had a wall. A pathetic, drunken wall that was never able to move on from Ray fucking toothpaste and bleach Parker. 
 
 Even after being fired, after being made a laughing stock for being the best friend of a serial killer, even after I said those horrible, horrible things to her... all she wanted was me, who I was before the fall, and she fought to the death trying to get him back. 
 
 It comes to me the way she watched me that first night the news reported that the killings happen again. A woman stood outside of a nice house reporting that the gruesome mass poisoning of a dinner party at the home of a police sergeant resembled those committed by Ray Parker. The house belonged to my old sergeant, and if it was anything like it was before,'gruesome' did n't scratch the surface. 
 
 She expected a revival; that her broken husband would see this and find his purpose again. Instead her hero clenched him fists into the armchair before bringing every ounce of rage and confusion to the surface. Any woman would have left after a night like that, with their husband breaking things and shouting incoherently like a repulsive, overgrown child. 
 
 Today all that's left for me is a note. 
 
 
 My Hero, 
 
 I ’ ve missed you for so long, baby. 
 I had to try, I hope you understand. 
 They hurt you, and they hurt us for what they put you through. 
 I wanted to see my knight in shining armor feel alive again, but 
 now I know that that man is dead. 
 Without you I am nothing but flesh and bone, as my soul dies with 
 yours. 
 Goodbye, love. 
 Jennybean 
 
 Eventually I pull myself up and begin pressing harder into the soft, white, lemon scented wall. 
 

