Lost and Found

                                                            Lost and Found

                                                         By: Bryce B. Stoskopf 

A lonely man can be a dangerous thing.  The constant detachment between himself and his fellow man or any kind of partner can plant, sprout, and therefore flourish a volume of unspeakable emotions of dread and horror.  Days and nights of desperation can drag the loneliest of souls into the darkest of quarters with only its own voice to produce words with.  Where does this continual need for companionship come from?  Where in our brain does it feed and how can it give the soul peace.  Well of course these are questions that are way beyond the realm of everyday cognitive thinking, but it is these kinds of inquiries that allow man to dig deeper into the most complex thing in the universe; the human brain.  

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Tonight is one of those nights.  The sky is as black as can be, rain fires from invisible clouds that pound the body of my car like bullets.  Driving back home from another day of mundane work at my mundane job.  My stiff suit and cheap tie makes me question what the hell am I doing with what little life I have been given.  I have a theory that the only thing that keeps me from killing myself is my wife.  Looking at her picture that is hung up in my cubicle is what keeps me going, day after day, after day.  She puts up with what little personality I have to offer. Somehow it doesn't bother her that I won't talk at all for a few hours after I come home from work.  And she always has a smile on her face.  This is a smile that could melt the heart of Satan himself.  This I know for a fact because he told me so.  

Melanie was not only my angel on earth but, she was the best wife a man could ever ask for.  She always had music playing in the house whenever I walked in the door.  She always dressed sharp and smart even when just relaxing in the house.  She loved to cook, (often encouraging me to help her) even though she would occasionally burn something, I would still eat it just so she wouldn't feel so bad.  Her hair always smelled of roses when she came in from working in the garden and lips so soft it would feel like kissing a feather.  

The rain began to clear up as I turn down my street and pull into the driveway of our house.  It is my guess that she is out shopping because the inside of the house was completely black.  As I walk in I could smell something burning.  The fireplace was exhaling fogs of grey and black smoke slithering through its iron cast screen.  It was rare that she started a fire, specially when she was home alone.  The smoke alarm then begins to scream with a sting.  

"BEEP. BEEP. BEEP"

Before I could even reach up to disarm the thing my doorbell suddenly rings so loud it almost gives me a damn heart attack.

"Mr. Tunnel.  Are you Mr. Tunnel?"

"Well, yes I am."

"Detective Stanley",  He pulls out his badge and I.D. to let me know he is a legitimate officer.

"And this here is my partner Detective Grey.  Mr. Tunnel would you mind if I come in."

"What's going on here?"

"It's about your wife Mr. Tunnel."  He paused for a moment and cleared his throat as if building himself up to confess his sins to a catholic priest.

"Your wife...your wife, was found dead a few blocks from here.  On the playground of an elementary school.  She was murdered Mr. Tunnel.  A elderly woman walking her dog reported a female in jogging attire laying face down on a playground.  We found what looks to be like ligature marks on her neck, which means she was strangled to death by hand or with some kind of cord or wire."