I know this is a bad idea.

Deep inside my mind, I've already pinpointed all the dangers of my behavior, all the whispers it can lead to, especially after what happened with Anika. I'm too aware I'm still under close scrutiny, even if I was allowed to leave the crime scene.

But I don't care. I can't stay in this house, glancing at the corners obsessively, jumping at every whisper of the air conditioning, any longer.

So, in spite of my better judgement, I put on my track suit, and decided to go for a run.

I usually don't run on weekends. I know this will be another issue, but then again, so much has happened to me lately that I'm more than justified to change my patterns. I think about it long and hard as I lace up my running shoes. The ones I wore last time. The ones which left sole marks in the opposite direction from the one I was going in.

That's insane.

And I can almost convince myself that it is. That I didn't just go through everything I have over the past two days. That I didn't see more blood than I ever had in my life. That I didn't see someone's skull crushed in and felt nothing. Though, to be fair, I probably would have if it wasn't Anika. Or maybe I'm so shocked by the turn my life has taken that I'm completely desensitized.

I sit up off the final step of the stair case and prop my foot on a higher step for some lunges. The rest of the house is quiet and I haven't put my earbuds in yet. Steve is on his PlayStation again, his headphones on. It annoys me, but I try to let him be. I know this situation isn't easy for him either. But this time, seeing as I'm about to leave the house for a while and be alone, I have to disturb him.

After I'm done stretching, I walk over to him and tap his shoulder. He jumps a mile high, dropping his controler.

"Jesus, Eva," he breathes, taking his headphones off.

"I'm going out for a run," I announce, ignoring his exaggerated reaction. He should be able to tell when people come near him. "I'm taking the usual trail, so it should take me around forty minutes to be back."

"Yeah, I know," he says, picking up the control again and pausing his game. He then narrows his eyes at me. "Why are you being so specific?"

Is he daft? "I want you to know where I am in case something happens."

His entire body tenses, and I'm convinced that he forgot everything while being entranced in his game. I clench my fist to keep the bubbling anger in. Does he care that little about me? How can he go on like nothing happened?

"Maybe you shouldn't go out if you think something will happen." His voice is flat.

"And do what? Stay in and watch you playing videogames on the only TV in this house?"

He frowns. "It's the only way I can unwind for a few moments."

"How long have you been playing?"

He doesn't answer because it's been hours. "What's going on? You never had an issue with this before."

I hadn't been involved in murders before either. But I don't want to tell him this. It's so obvious that I shouldn't have to mention it at all. He should know this one a moment in which he should support his wife.

There are still scratches on his face from the shards of the broken plate. I'm tempted to ask him again what really happened with that, but I don't think I could handle an argument in which he'd insist that it was my doing. The wariness in his eyes points to that much. I'm next tempted to ask about the mistress theory again, but even if it were true, he would be a fool to admit it now.

I don't believe in it either. Not before, and especially not after Anika. Whatever is happening, it's obviously related to me, not him. Which is why he should hug me, hold me against him, not glare at me as if I'm a dangerous dog a moment away from biting.

"I didn't do anything," I say.

"That's not what I asked. Not what we were talking about." He sounds defensive now.

"Who cares about your stupid game?" The anger is bubbling again as frustration grabs hold of me. Tears fill the corners of my eyes, but I will not let them fall.

"Apparently, you do. Do you want me to come with you or something?"

"I didn't do anything to you! Or to Anika!" Why don't you believe me?

He steps back, hands raised in a placating manner, eyes wide with obvious fear. "I never said anything about Anika."

About Anika, not about himself. I want to strangle him. Preferably with the chord of his stupid PlayStation. How did I not see what a lousy husband he is? He doesn't know what's inside my soul. Any normal human being would assume that the violent death of my boss is traumatic. That I'm affected at least by having to see her body.

And yet, he still acts as if he's the one who needs coddling. Why can't he step up for one freaking minute and take care of his wife? Come with me... He'd only ruin my run and get in my way.

"I don't want you to come with me," I say between my teeth. "It's very obvious that other things are more important than your wife." I nod towards the TV.

"Now that's not fair! You know I hate running."

"Yes. Running. That's the issue here." I whip around and stalk out, aware I should go before I say or do something I might regret. Like start crying in front of him.

I'm not a violent person. On the contrary, I tend to just suck it up and move on, act like it doesn't matter. That makes me an actual pushover. And yet, I feel so resentful and so strung out that it's hard for me to control myself.

Once in my front yard, I take a few deep breaths and put my earbuds in. I need music. Screamy, violent music. It has the gift of calming me. I can't believe Steve managed to wind me up so badly. I can't even trust him to make sure I come back on time or explain where I am in case the police come calling.

Just to make sure there would be no questions asked later, I glance around and fortunately spot the neighbor across the street watering his plants. He's glancing at me, seeming a bit frightened by my presence.

Even if it hurts my face, I smile and wave at him. "I'm going for a run," I call out.

"Good luck!" he calls back, obviously confused that I'm speaking to him. I don't even know his name. I think his wife's name is Jen, but Steve and I don't go to a lot of neighborhood barbeques.

I turn my back to him and head out on my usual trail, the music already blasting in my ears. My entire body is jittery and I can't focus on anything. My eyes still sting with unshed tears. After only half a mile, I stop and take in deep breaths. Why am I still angry? I've been so good at calming myself down these past few days. The fear and frustration is making it hard this time.

I close my eyes and take in deep breaths, trying to channel the calm I felt after the lightning incident. At first, all my resent seems to build up inside me in one giant ball that threatens to smother me, but then, like magic, it fades away and I can smile again.

I need this. This escape, this relaxing run. And after I calm down, I know things will be better. So I open my eyes again and stare straight ahead. Wind flutters through the trees and the sun is shining overhead. The trail looks beautiful in the morning. I don't often see it like this since I usually run at night. I can enjoy the view and the music. I switch it to something upbeat and optimistic and am on my way again.

My muscles unwind even as they work to propel me forward, and I find myself enjoying the run. I suddenly halt, my heart stuttering in my chest. I don't trust the sudden optimism I'm feeling. I turn around, my eyes darting among the trees, looking for anything suspicious. 

Last time I was here, I was convinced that I was not alone. The feeling isn't there this time, but I can never be too careful. Who knows when the shadows will appear again. They never gave any warning and I was too freaked to notice the oddities then. This time, I plan not to let anything slip away so I glance at the ground, looking for potential other tracks. There's nothing. Just my own, heading in the right direction.

I can't help but smile with relief. I turn back around and continue my run, my mind blissfully filled with the lyrics of the songs and not any bleak thoughts. I need this respite so much, and I allow myself to enjoy it. There are no storm clouds, no electric sizzle in the air, no chilling wind and no shadows. Maybe it's over. Maybe things are finally back to normal. After all, this day has been completely devoid of shadows.

Much sooner than I'd like, I complete my lap and reach my backyard. I'm sweating and panting, but feel revigorate. Once I see the house, however, the unease returns, even if a lot less potent than when I left. Instead of going in through the back door like I usually do, I circle the building back to my front yard. My neighbor is still there, tending to his begonias.

I breathe a sigh of relief and wave at him. Still looking confused that I'm paying him any mind, he waves back.

Maybe we should start talking to our neighbors more. Or even do something as simple as stay out in the sun. Steve should take a break from that PlayStation and come out with me. He doesn't like to run, but we can take a walk around the neighborhood. Then maybe we could finally talk about everything and feel like a couple again.

Determined to put all bad blood behind us, I go in.

"Steve, I think we should go out," I call, taking my earbuds out and placing them in their case. "We've been so stressed up lately, and the sun would--" My words hitch in my throat as I step into the living room.

For a few seconds I just stare, my eyes wide with horror. Then, a ragged scream leaves my lips.

The TV is still on, the game Steve was playing running even if the videogame character is dead.

My husband is on the floor, his face purple, his eye bulging out of his head in an unnatural way, as if they're a second away from bursting out of their sockets. There are thin veins broken in his eyes that make the white of them red.

He stares at me unseeing, his fingers, curled around the chord tightened around his neck. The chord of his PlayStation controler. His lips are forming a terrified O, every muscle on his face paralyzed in his final struggle with the object that cut off his air.

I scream again. And again, until my throat is raw.

I don't even need to go over to know that he's dead. Even so, I see it, the note of accusation in his eyes, like I did this.

And what if I did do it? After all, didn't I wish that he'd get strangled by that chord? Didn't I think it more than once?  Who cares that I was away, that it doesn't make sense? This can't be a coincidence. It just can't.

Because eve as I scream, I can still hear the rattled breaths in my ears. This time, there are no whispered words, but I'm convinced that there's a chuckle. The thing, whatever it was, is amused by what happened.

Death is funny.

My husband is dead.

And I can't do anything but scream.

👥

Chapter WC: 2,028

Total WC: 17,040

Well, someone is getting might close to 20k. I'm not sure who, though. 🤔

And more murder... It appears that anyone who wrongs Eva gets what's coming to them. But she was away on her run. What does this mean? Is there a simple explanation or is something creepy and paranormal happening? And if so... Who is next? That poor, unsuspecting neighbor? The detective?

Can Eva do anything to stop this? Stick around and find out!