[ 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 .

Last one to leave the scene. Every. Single. Time. 
 
 I go through my ritual - the same ritual that has been vital to me closing every case that was thrown my way over the past 16 years. It weighs on me now, though. The visualization has taken on too real of a form. It invades my mind - rapes my thoughts. Struggle. Death. A shadowy figure that has been dodging me for years moves just past my reach. FOCUS! 
 
 I shake off the hopeless frustration and begin to walk the house, take in the scene. This is fresh. A woman on the tech team tells me the time of death was roughly 6 hours ago after a quick, first evaluation this afternoon. The jarring visuals of a husband and wife propped up like morbid mannequins in bed - covered in blood. Covered in death. 
 
 I take in the scents, the vibe of the home. A grocery list written hastily on a Post-It note is stuck to the husband's side of the bed. A grocery list that held so much promise six hours ago, will go unfulfilled. I close my eyes for a moment. A lifetime. I get to an almost zen-like focus and begin asking the tough questions. Who is my perp?! The signature bedroom scene of a couple in bed answers the question for me. It's the one killer that has evaded me for almost a decade. But who? I re-trace the steps as I see them in my mind, as soon as I get into the flow of the visualization my phone vibrates. The sensation makes me flinch and my eyes click open and I'm back to reality in an instant. I glance at the screen - my wife. Vodka tonic, hold the tonic please! 
 
 Ever since she discovered my infidelity last month nothing has been the same. I feel like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I answer the phone with a fake cheer that I know will be recognized immediately for what it is. Surprisingly this time is different. Angela tells me she misses me, wants me to come home for dinner. She knows nothing of the crime scene I'm currently immersed in. I take one last look at the Anderson's as they sit up in their bed, jaws wide open and lifeless, opaque eyes staring back at me. They beg me to find their killer, beg me to look deeper.The Andersons will have to wait - Angela is in a good mood and I need to hold on to that with everything I have if this marriage is going to work. Goodbye Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, hello Angela! 
 
 As I walk through our foyer and take in the familiar sounds and smells of our home, I feel hope. Hope that Angela and I can go back to what we were. Happy. Plans for a family and a long life together. She waits on the stairs for me in a black silk nightgown I bought her on our first anniversary. She never wears that. I decide not to bring up the Anderson's crime scene and the killer that I've been searching for obsessively for years. That's what's to blame for the destruction of our marriage. This fucking unstoppable force that will not stop killing. I ca n't handle the stress anymore, the anxiety and fear of never being able to nail down this monster. I know I'm close to finding the killer, the Anderson's might be the key. I want to share that with Angela, but not tonight. 
 
 I undress and she rubs my shoulders. A sensation I have n't felt for six months. We go through the normal small talk about our day - I do n't mention anything of the double murder I just came from. Angela is talkative tonight for a change and I am listening for all of 2 minutes before my mind slips back to the crime scene and tries to piece it together. She is babbling on about the gym and her mother and a conversation she had with her sister yesterday. 
 
 `` Are you listening James?'' 
 
 `` I'm sorry baby, mind is still on work. How about I grill us some steaks and we open a bottle of wine? What do you think?'' 
 
 `` I would love that,'' Angela replies cheerfully. Too cheerfully. 
 `` How is the Anderson's case coming along?'' she asks me. 
 
 It slips out so easily. I almost bypass it and begin to answer until it clicks in my brain and I'm left speechless. I never told her about the Andersons. The department has n't made a statement to the press yet. 
 
 We stare at each other for a moment and in that moment I think I may have misunderstood her. I did not. Confusion turns to shock, turns to horror in a heartbeat. I try to remain calm and excuse myself. 
 
 `` Oh, you know.'' I say. `` Hey, I'm going to hop in the shower before dinner, I'll just be a second.'' I get up and move to the bathroom. She nods her head and makes her way downstairs. 
 
 I took too long to respond. It registered in my eyes. I lock the door behind me and stumble for my cell phone. I call the Chief of Police on his personal cell. No answer. I text him, `` CALL ME IMMEDIATELY!'' I turn the water on and try to think. Fuck! This ca n't be happening! Angela?! Could she actually be the monster I've been looking for all this time?! I press my ear to the door. I do n't hear her in the bedroom. I formulate a plan in my mind - I'll grab my sidearm from the dresser and lock myself in the bedroom until I can get a patrol car here and we can figure out exactly what's going on. I hold my breath as I listen for the faintest sound outside the door. Nothing. She must be downstairs - now is the time to move. I tense my muscles with anticipation - just dart across room, grab the sidearm, and hop back into the bathroom, I tell myself. 10 paces, tops. 5 seconds. I prepare myself mentally and swing the door open wide. 
 
 Angela is staring back at me with a sickening smile on her face, and a knife in her hand. I'm frozen to my core with terror. That smile stays glued to her face as I feel cold steel slide inside me. Our last embrace. 
 
 `` Adultery can be a killer.'' She states with a malice I ca n't comprehend as she grabs me by the hair and pulls me toward the bed... 
 

