911
“I have a crime to report,” the man paused, concentrating on the silence. All around him, the only sound was the rushing water below and the cars moving in the background. “The murder of a Miss Lillian Rice at 335 Rock Meadow Drive.”
The man hung up, throwing the phone away, over the balcony, and into the freezing river. Why? He could it be traced back. He had bought that phone in cash four weeks ago, only using it just now. He sat down on a bench, awaiting a noise that he wanted.
As he sat there, he crossed his arms, watching the snow fall lightly into the ground. The pure white snow enveloping the ground as it made the night seem more innocent. A perfect night to be tainted by red. Just as the cold air blew, sirens sounded in the distance, growing nearer and nearer until three police cars zoomed by, frantically turning up the hill to the street he had given.
The man smirked, getting up as he noticed some lights turning on in the nearby neighborhood. Walking to where the cars had gone, he saw the massive houses fade down the street, the wealthy folks walking out of their houses as they looked down the street to the massive mansion some houses down. This was the town he lived within, where reputation and secrets meant everything to anyone. Hell, the pressure was too much on some that they would take their own lives to escape it.
He walked up the hill, knowing the eyes of the folks were locked on him, wondering why he was out of his house.
He knew the game he would now have to play when he went to the crime scene. He had rehearsed his lines countless times for the past months, knowing exactly how the night would go.
The police were out of their cars by now, and an ambulance had also arrived as the door to the massive house was broken down. Police were like an infestation around the biggest house on the block, searching every corner of the house as they tainted it. To the rest of the town, this house held the most perfect family imaginable, but now, things would change.
Tape was set up around the perimeter as he approached the house just like some of the neighbors.
“Sir, we are going to have to ask you to step back, this is a crime scene,” a woman officer warned him. She did not knew who he was, she was new, he planted her here. He hired her though blackmail of the police commissioner and made sure new faces would join the force. New faces who were not the best.
He knew exactly what to do now.
“What the hell is going on? This is my house!” He snapped back at her, acting frantic and worried as shock crossed her face. “My wife is in there, what is going on?”
The woman walked back to a male officer decorated in more badges. The male walked out to him, bowing his head in respect as he remembered who this man was. “Mr. Maxwell, there has been a report of your wife’s murder. A male called in reporting it,” the officer explained and Mr. Maxwell’s face dropped, remembering to keep up the game.
“Where is Lillian?!” He yelled, pushing past the officers as he ran inside.
Just as he entered, he saw the police in the piano room, and there, spread across the top of the piano, naked, and limp, lay the body of his wife and Luna, Lillian, the beauty of the town. A woman once full of life now the victim.
He fell to his knees, yelling for her, but on the inside, he was smiling wider than the Cheshire Cat.
