Murder Mystery - H.S

53

Trigger Warning: This chapter
will contain some torture,
and will have some
writing described violently

Harry.

One relentless month without her, without the comforting chaos of our kids. It felt like an eternity, an agonizing stretch of uncertainty that clung to every passing second. The silence of the house echoed with the void of her presence, and the unknown gnawed at my every waking thought.

I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think properly. Staring into the mirror, I saw a worn reflection—eyes bloodshot, a scar etched beneath one eye from the fights in the ring. The gym had become my refuge, a place to unleash the pent-up stress, each punch a desperate attempt to drown out the deafening silence of her absence.

Each hit that my body received was something I deserved. I deserved all the pain for hurting and breaking away from my family.

Every blow resonated with a strange satisfaction, a fleeting escape from the relentless worry that gripped my heart. Running my hands through my hair, Splashing cold water against my face. The shock of the chill sent shivers down my spine, a brief distraction from the relentless ache within.

Home felt unfamiliar, an emptiness that lingered in the air. I needed Juliet's warmth, the safety of her embrace, and the reassurance of her love. In that quiet house, I looked for the laughter of our kids—the infectious joy that used to fill every corner. Their absence left a void that seemed unsurmountable. I craved the simplicity of their smiles and the melody of their laughter—something to break the haunting silence that surrounded me.

II couldn't bear to spend a moment alone with my thoughts. Alcohol, paperwork, drugs—anything to numb the pain. Since the day she left, sobriety has been a stranger to me. Another empty packet of cocaine sits on the bathroom counter, a stark reminder of my descent into darkness. This room, once filled with laughter and love, now holds only memories of my darkest days.

It's the only place I allow myself to unravel, to succumb to the weight of my grief. I close my eyes, picturing her—them, my children, my wife. I'm haunted by the knowledge that my failures have shattered their lives. If only I had been a better man.

I could have protected them better, instead I filled our love with lies.

My eyes burned as I looked away, leaning down and running my nose along the last line. I tilt my head back and closed my eyes, relaxing into a state I was going to enter. Emerging from our bathroom,  I walked down the stairs, casting a glance at the closed playroom and purposefully sidestepping it. I hadn't mustered the courage to step inside; the remnants of Christmas were still all over the ground. The mess we didn't care to pick up because we wanted to be in our little world.

"Harry." Zayn nodded at me, and I entered my living room. Bottles of empty whiskey lay on the coffee table. Takeout food because I haven't been too bothered to cook. My mind wandered to different questions and emotions. "I was looking at people who were connected with my mother back in the day, and I found a list," he says, pointing to the very obvious case files on the table.

"I picked out the top five that stand out the most. When my mother was first murdered, these were on the list, but we never really investigated into it." He says, "I'm not sure why, but my father said it wasn't important." grabbing all the files, I run my eyes quickly at all of them. One woman and four men. "These people were involved with Rose back in the day; one in particular was having an affair with my mother.

"And who was that?" I asked. Usually, it was always a man. Always the one that had an affair. Zayn stays silent for a few minutes. "My father talked to him about Rose's murder, but he was just as shocked. He had nothing to his name at that time. He was nothing." I looked up at Zayn and watched as he lost himself in his train of thoughts, like he was remembering a day only he knew. "His business started off because of my mother. She shared her products with this man."