Chapter One

Julianne Bentley swung wide into the driveway after a long day of work. Getting out of her Lexus, she looked toward the house with dread, her husband Stan had been sick for days. She knew there would be puke to clean-up, soiled bedding to wash, and other vile remains to spend her precious down time taking care of.

Worst of all, she thought, was the whining. “Oh, my stomach hurts… oh it hurts” Julianne muttered mockingly, as she wheeled her rolling laptop bag up the curved walkway.

The house was quiet “Let me guess…” she whispered to herself.

Continuing the thought in her head, in case hubby was listening …probably asleep on the couch, kitchen a mess and miraculously over his sickness…  The last part she emphasized with an eye roll.

“Unlocked, damn it!” she grumbled angrily, stepping into the house.

“How many times Stan… you have to keep the doors locked, especially if you’re sleeping!” She emphasized the last part by yelling it really loud, hoping to wake his lazy ass up.

With no answer, Julianne flipped on the light switch left of the front door. She stood staring, mouth open in hesitant confusion.

The kitchen was a mess, but not the kind of mess she expected. It was really a mess, like a pack of wild dogs got into the cupboards & trash, type of mess. Only the Bentley’s didn’t have a bunch of dogs, or even one. They had a cat, but the cat didn’t do this, Julianne was sure of that.

She slowly walked further into the house, now able to see the entire kitchen. There were empty packages torn & strewn around the floor, chips, crackers, dry pasta and rice, almost everywhere.

Two of the cabinet doors were on the floor. “Why would you take the damn doors off the cabinet?...” she thought aloud.

“...I mean… they just open… they didn’t have locks, what the fu…” Then she noticed the oddest part, as if there was some part more odd than another.

There were brown smears on the walls & the partly open fridge doors. At first she thought “Feces… good god, he’s so sick he shit himself.”

Looking closer, she realized it wasn’t crap, it was too reddish in color. She thought it looked like dried blood, not really better.

Julianne slowly stepped back, her mind raced to find an explanation that wouldn’t require her to run down the street, screaming. Her high heeled work shoes crunched on the various dried food stuffs festooning the floor. Then it clicked in her head, the wrapper on the counter, the blood.

“Its blood from the beef… not my murdered husband…” She said it quietly, hopefully.

The shredded vacuum pack plastic for a five pound roast lay half hanging off the countertop near the fridge. The meat was nowhere to be seen and a quick look in the fridge confirmed it was not sitting in a glass bowl, sucking in delicious marinate, where he was supposed to have put it.

She crunched the rest of the way through the kitchen, slowly taking it all in. “He… better have… a damn good explanation…” she quietly growled.

Closing the fridge doors as she passed, she tried to think of some reason, any reason, not to kick his sorry ass out, sick or not.

“Stan!” she yelled, entering the narrow hall to the master bedroom.

“Stan! Are you here?” she demanded, rounding the corner into the room.

Stan was there, he was sitting on the bed, eating… the cat. A minute later Julianne Bentley was running down the street, screaming.