Started as His Wife (ON HIATUS)

587

Vincent's POV

"I'm home," I announce as I walk through the front door. 

Immediately, my nostrils are attacked with the smell of sulfur. 

"Dinner smells interesting," I comment, slipping into the house slippers.  

Approaching the kitchen, I see that the light are not even on. Quickly flicking on the lights, I rush over to the stove. Nothing. I move my head around, trying to follow the smell to its source, and finally land on the toaster oven, where two thick, black slices lay on the foiled tray. 

"Wendy, you burnt the toast!" I yell. 

She would've burnt the house down too if it wasn't for the timer. 

No response from Wendy. 

Is she taking a nap?

I check the living room couch to find it empty as well. 

Jeez, did she walk upstairs by herself?

I jog up the chairs and open every door as I make my way down the hallway, even popping my head into the closest that we store bedding in.  When I get to the master bedroom, I open up to a massive mess.

All the drawers of our dresser is opened with clothes bunched in heaps, dangled on the corners of the drawer, or fallen onto the carpet. The sheets on the bed have been dragged towards the side where Wendy usually lays down. In our closest, a similar mess has been created. Since neither of us wear jewelry, I check if anything has been taken by looking in the office. My fears are confirmed by the disappearance of both of the laptops, and it seems to have been taken in a rush, as the cup of pens and stationary containers have been knocked over, spilled around the legs of the desks. 

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I grab at nothing. 

Where's my phone?  

I'm about to go another frenzied search when I hear the front door squeak open and the tapping of shoes against the hardwood. I look around and pick up the pair of scissors that fell to the ground before creeping down the stairs. Turning my head in the direction of the front door but keeping it low, I try to steal a glimpse of the intruder. 

He must be trying to not leave footprints as evidence.

I see a wide-shouldered, bulky man at the front in a dark gray hoodie. He's bent over, struggling to kick off his shoes. Looking down at the blunted ends of scissors, which I realize now are kiddie-sized, I render them useless against a man of that size. I abandon my only weapon and lay it quietly on one of the steps.

He takes off his hood just as the shoes comes off and shakes his head to loosen his hairs. 

Now or never!

Rushing towards the burglar, I tackle him with the side of my body, sticking out my arm out to drive my elbow into his back. However, in the rush, I lose my own sense direction in all of the commotion. Suddenly, I feel air knocked out of me, a passing of pressure traveling form my back to my chest. I feel the intruder's thick arm pressing down my upper chest, right below my neck, as he's towering over me with one knees to the ground. My vision is blurry as I blink at the silhouette of the massive man. 

"Where's my wife?" I demand, coughing as I struggle to break free, but the arm stays firm on me. 

"She's gone."

"You ass—" I begin to yell when I rethink the soft voice I just heard. 

"Are you drunk?" the burglar asks again.