How far would you go? (Currently Editing)

Luke

Luke woke suddenly. The morning light was breaking through the curtains, sending beams of sunlight into the dark bedroom. Luke's eyes were heavy. His stomach hurt and his head felt like he had been struck with a hammer. He had drunk too much vodka last night and collapsed into a deep sleep.
He briefly heard the commotion outside and wondered what the noise was about, but his mind was too hazy to acknowledge anything. It was hard enough to keep his eyes open. How much had he drunk?

It took twenty minutes until Luke was able to get out of bed. He staggered toward the bathroom and leant over the toilet bowl. He was going to be sick. To his relief it was only a feeling. Washing his face, he splashed cold water, hoping to wake himself up.
The sight that greeted him in the mirror was not pretty. His deep blue eyes were blood shot, his trimmed stubble had turned into an unkept beard and his face was red and puffy. Luke looked a mess. He threw more water onto his face and went to the kitchen. He needed coffee, lots of strong black coffee.
He heard more noise outside and pulled the curtains back to see what was going on. Two police cars and a fire truck blocked the street and Luke peered intently at the scene. What was going on? He tried to focus, but his vision was still blurry, and he pulled the curtain back. Something had happened. He ignored his hazy thoughts and grabbed the brewing coffee pot.
Two cups later he felt energised and poured himself a third. Time to find out what was going on outside.

Showered, dressed, and looking a little more human, Luke stepped out into the chilly morning air, and surveyed the scene. It was not the presence of emergency vehicles that confused him, it was the sight of the house. Russell and Debbie's house. It was burnt to a crisp. Blackened and smouldering in the morning air. What had happened? How had he slept through this?
He was shocked by the sight. Then his shocked turned to panic. Russell and Debbie. Were they ok? Russell would have been at work if this had happened in the night. What about Debbie? Luke raced over to the nearest officer. The older man, his uniform crumpled, his hair a mess, and his heavy eyes, told Luke this man had been here all night.
'Excuse me officer,' asked Luke. 'What happened here?'
The officer stopped what he was doing and eyed Luke up and down.
'And you are?' he asked, without any expression in his voice.
'I'm a neighbour. I live here.' Luke pointed to his house and the officer nodded.
'Well, Mr..' he paused waiting for Luke to fill in his name.
'Luke.'
'Well, Luke. As you can see there was a terrible fire last night.'
'I can see that!' said Luke, trying not to sound sarcastic. 'What about Russell and Debbie?'
'Well. That's a little more complicated.'
'Are they ok? Please I just want to know they are all right.'
'I'm sorry to be the one to tell you. Mrs Knight died on the scene.'
Luke stepped back, stunned by the news. 'She's dead?' he stammered, his voice sounding breathless.
'I'm afraid so,' said the officer.
'What about Russell? Is he OK?' Luke felt like his legs beginning to crumble under him. Debbie. How could she be dead.
'He is at the station. That's all I can say.'
'What! Did he do something wrong?'
'I'm sorry Sir. That's all I can say. Can I help you with anything else?'
Luke shook his head and felt like he had received a blow to the head. Debbie was dead and Russell was with the police. Gazing at the blackened house, Luke began to wonder what had happened. Did Russell do this? Impossible. Russell loved Debbie more than anything, he would never hurt her. Debbie had no enemies. Everyone loved her. Why would someone hurt her? These questions rushed through Luke's mind while he searched for answers. He found known and felt more confused than ever. This was turning out to be a week from hell. First Jessica, now Debbie.
He quickly looked around the crowd of by-standers. Some were his neighbours, others were curious strangers, who had come to check out the scene of death. One of them could have done this. Luke remembered those crime shows he loved to watch. The killer sometimes stays on the scene to admire his handywork. They could be here, watching and enjoying this moment. Luke studied some of the faces, looking for anyone suspicious. Yet, his skills as a detective were lacking and he looked crazy spinning around, glancing at the crowd. Then he thought about Jessica. She had died in an accident. Did someone kill her? Luke walked back to his house and dismissed the thought. It was stupid. His priority was to help Russell. But how? Unless Luke was suddenly a Lawyer, there was nothing he could do. Frustrated, Luke shut the door, and decided to sort more of Jessica's things out.

Luke had emptied every box from the wardrobe. He was not paying attention to the contents, he just poured it all over the floor. His mind was elsewhere. The image of the blackened house lingered in his mind, and he pictured poor Debbie trying to escape the burning flames. Why was Russell with the police? Did they suspect him?
His thought of the police reminded Luke of the bag they dropped off yesterday. Jessica's personal effects. The contents of her car. Handbag, phone, keys, and other assortments of things from the vehicle. He had left the box in the kitchen, afraid to peer inside.

Staring at the battered box, Luke touched the coarse cardboard. He missed her and felt like his life was unravelling around him. He should never have let her leave the house. They were going to Venice; they were going to have a child. They had their whole life ahead of them. Now he had nothing. Just his miserable thoughts.
He took a gulp from the vodka bottle and wipe the spillage from his messy beard. Get it together, he told himself. Another mouthful. They burning liquid slid down his throat and Luke took a deep breath. He ripped open to tape and examined the contents. He instantly pulled away. Jessica's handbag. She took it everywhere. He grabbed the bottle and took a long drink, shallowing hard, and enjoyed the relief as the alcohol dulled his senses. Then he felt the tears roll down his face. He could not keep doing this. He had to get his life together. That is what Jessica would have waited.

This time he reached in and pulled out the first thing his hand touched. Jessica's phone. Her lifeline. She was always on that thing. It had annoyed Luke that she would use it while watching TV. She would glance at it while eating dinner, causing a few arguments.
Holding the device in his hand, he realised how stupid he was and regretted complaining to her about silly things. Luke found his hand shaking as he touched the screen and the phone lit up. It still had some life to it. Not much, but enough to display the picture of Luke and Jessica from their trip to Cornwall last year. Her smile. It was mesmerising. She was looking back at him. Luke could not pull himself away from the picture. She looked happy. Her big smile lit up the screen, and Luke could not hold back the tears. He thought about the wonderful memories they had shared together. I love you, he whispered at the phone.

Luke was lost in the moment allowing the salty tears to flow down his cheek. He briefly noticed the red notification over the message's icon. Two messages. Unread. He felt sick. These were the last messages sent to her phone. Worst of all there were numerous missed calls and voicemails. From him. His trembling finger hovered over the messages. Two messages. Click.

Hey babe. Please call me. I need to see you. What you said yesterday was a mistake. I can't live without you. Let's talk. Love you.

Luke stopped reading. His eyes were fixed on the name. How was this possible. He covered his mouth, hardly able to belief what he was reading. Alan x.
Luke dropped the phone and stumbled back onto the sofa. Alan, the headmaster. He was seeing Jessica. His Jessica. No! No! No! This could not be happening. It was a mistake. He stood up and grabbed the phone. Reading the message again, Luke's feelings turned into anger. Alan. How long had this been going on? He slammed his finger down on the phone and the second message appeared.

Did you tell him? The baby is mine. I know it. Come back to me and we can be a family. Please Jessica. I love you. Alan x.

Luke tossed the phone across the room and screamed. The device smashed into pieces after striking the wall. Luke rushed over to the phone, picked up the broken fragments and threw them across the room. He stamped on the remaining parts scattered across the floor.
'No! No! No!' he yelled aloud. 'This is not true.'

He paced around the room, his mind in a frenzy, slamming his fist into the chairs and knocking over vases. How could Jessica do this to him. Luke finally rested, crashing back into the soft chair. The room looked like a bomb sight. Broken pieces of china littered the floor, with sections of colourful petals dispersed across the floor. Chairs were tipped on there backs and pictures lay broken across the surfaces. Luke was red faced and breathing heavily. His heart was crushed, and he immediately felt the sensation of utter betrayal rise within him. Jessica had looked him in the eye and told him she was pregnant. With their child. It might not even have been his.

The full vodka bottle sat on the sideboard, and Luke grabbed the bottle, knocking back a half of its contents. He sighed in relief. Another large gulp. He breathed out again. Then finished the bottle. By the time he had drunk the burning liquid, Luke had forgotten his troubles and lay semi-conscious on the sofa. He drifted in and out of sleep, imaging Jessica's beautiful smile. Tomorrow he would confront Alan. Then make him pay.

Finally, he knows the truth. Luke is too pathetic to do anything. What do you think? Shall I pay Alan a visit?