The door opened quickly and violently, as if someone was breaking in, but Maddie knew otherwise. Brandon stumbled in, hiccupping as he went, closing the door behind him, fiddling with the keys in his hand before sighing angrily and waving at the door, as if the air would lock it for him. Drunkenly, he turned, swaying heavily, his arms swinging around him like vines around a tree. As their eyes met he stopped, in his drunken state assuming she hadn’t seen him. Her glare was fixed and arms folded. She was wearing what she did every night, a long grey nightie, one she had worn since their wedding, ‘easy access’ she had called it. But now her face wasn’t the same as that night, it was stern and furious with flared nostrils and wide eyes.
“Where have you been?” Maddie demanded, quoting almost every wife whose husband had come home inexplicably drunk.
“Out,” Brandon said quickly, trying his best to hide his slurs.
“Where?” she demanded again. He huffed at her.
“Out,” he repeated. This time, she huffed at him, taking a step closer. Now, Brandon could see the fury in her blue eyes and her withdrawn tongue as she held back her shouts.
“You better have a bloody good reason,” she seething, breathing heavily through her teeth. Brendon huffed at her again, pushing aside her anger clearly written across her face.
“Did you miss me?” he teased, still swaying, his arms dangerously close to the framed pictures on the table beside him. Maddie recoiled slightly, her anger slowly fading into sorrow, tears building in her eyes. She bit her lip and sucked in cool air before looking back at him.
“Yes, I did,” she said. Brandon jolted back slightly at the sincere, contained answer, swinging himself steady again. “Because while you were off galivanting around town with your friends, I was here, tucking our daughter into bed. And as I am doing that, my phone rings. I have to stop saying goodnight to her to answer it. It was from my father…” she hesitated, breathing in sharply again but her eyes never left his. “My mother died.” She finished. Even through his drunken vision, Brendon could see Maddie’s eyes well up again, more tears falling down her face. He brought a hand forward to pull her closer but she stepped back, lightly pushing his hand to the side and he let it fall, confusion spreading across his face. She took in another deep breath. “This is how it’s been since the beginning. You go out, get drunk, come home late and I'm already asleep and I find you passed out on the sofa. Thought it was funny and cute to begin with, but then it got boring and annoying. But then, you stopped, cleaned up your act, but, since last week, you’ve been sneaking out to drink, leaving me alone. And not only that, but alone with your infant daughter.” Once she had finished, Brendon had started to cry, the warm tears gently falling down his face, creating a river as they meandered down where the wrinkles of smiles used to form.
“Maddie, I,” he started.
“No,” she interjected, her voice stern again. “I have lost my mother, your daughter has lost her grandmother, a woman she will never remember. I lost someone and the only person I could talk to was our daughter, who was confused about why I was crying in the first place! I don’t want her Christmas ruined with the memory of her grandmother’s death! And you weren’t here for me, or for her. I don’t feel like I can rely on you anymore.” Brendon opened his mouth but she barged past him, heading for the stairs.
“Maddie, please I’m…” he tried, but she didn’t turn. As she reached the stairs she stopped, her back still to him.
“I'm taking Rachel to my brother’s tomorrow,” she said after a moment, her voice warbled with tears, holding back the urge to run to him. “We can talk more after that.” With no further words, and ignoring Brendon’s wails and desperate calls, Maddie walked up the stairs and to their bedroom, where she didn’t sleep.
Day 1
Closed Eyes
Closed Eyes
Deafening
Deafening
Closed Eyes
Day 15
E s t 2 0 2 0
Chapter 3: Suspicious Suspects
“Barbara,” you say. “Can you give us a moment with your husband, please?”
​
Without a word, she stands and leaves, calling for Jack as she does. You check your watch. It’s about 4:02.
Harry glares at you as she goes.
“Please, Mr Rune,” you say with a half-smile. “Sit.”
“What is this?” he demands and he follows your instructions. “An interrogation? You gonna break my arm if I don’t give you the right answer?”
“No, no,” you insist. “That isn’t what this is.”
“And we’d start with your fingers anyway,” Wishwell mutters. Luckily it’s quiet enough for Harry not to hear.
“Then what is this?”
“A conversation, Mr Rune,” Wishwell sighs as he sits. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
Harry seems to relax in his seat. “Good.”
Wishwell nods and smiles. “Did you know Alfie Rodwell?” he suddenly asks.
“No.”
“Never met him?”
“Never heard of him.”
You and Wishwell share a glance. “Interesting,” you say. “Because your wife says otherwise.”
He shuffles. “She does?”
“Yeah,” Wishwell continues. “Tells us you knew that the two of them dated for a time before you were together.”
“So?” Harry asks.
​
“And she tells us you're the jealous type,” you add. “Did you not like the idea of her ex teaching your son.”
“I don’t what—”
“See, I think you have met,” you continue. “I think that once Alfie knew he was teaching Jack, he came to see you.”
“Or more specifically, Barbara,” Wishwell says.
“Wha— Wha—” Harry splutters.
“So, your wife is talking to her ex,” you say.
“Maybe she’ll leave you,” Wishwell adds.
“Maybe, she’ll take Jack with her.”
“Then you’ll be alone.”
“And all because he came back into town.”
“Now— Now hang on a—” Harry tried to say, but you and Wishwell have a ball rolling you don’t want to stop.
“But what if he left?” Wishwell asks.
“How thought?” you pitch in.
“Ask him to go?”
“He won't want that. And then boom, same outcome.”
“Bribe him to leave?”
“What if he doesn’t take it?”
“Boom, same outcome.” You can see Harry’s mind whirling as he tries to find an excuse, a place to jump in.
“Maybe there’s only one way then.”
“Yeah. You know, to keep your family together.”
Suddenly, the two of your fall silent, leaving Harry to squirm in his seat. Slowly, Wishwell leans forward.
“Where were you this morning, Mr Rune?” he asks.
From the man’s seething chest, a growl emerged.
“That bastard deserved to die,” he snaps, looking at you. “He was going to take my wife from me. My son.”
With a flat expression, Wishwell stands and produces handcuffs from behind his back. He pulls Harry to his feet. “He just wanted to see his son,” he mutters as he slaps the metal over his wrists. Silently, he drags him away, Barbara and Jack peeking through the banister, watching him leave. You step up to them.
“I'm sorry for your loss,” you say gently before exiting the house.