In the seconds leading up to him dropping his coffee mug. Bloody wash towels had greeted him on the lounge floor as he entered and raising up his eyes he had seen a battlefield were the lounge once was. Broken bottles were all over the cream ceramic tiled floor and on the mahogany coffee table in the middle of the room. The sofas were stained with blood, the tv turned upside down on the floor and the glass door leading to the veranda broken to pieces. It looked like a scene beyond the actions of one who had simply drank themselves over their limit and in their stupor had found themselves overly subjected to anger and agression.
Recovering from the initial shock Michael reassessed himself, he barely had any large cuts and even the ones he had wouldn’t give off a substantial amount of blood. So the blood in the lounge couldn’t be his. The reality of the situation hit him like a brick to the face and in that moment he could no longer comprehend anything. Even the simplest of mathematical problems like adding one plus one would have eluded him. He sat down on the ground where he stood, breaking down into tears. Overcome with that fear of the unknown. Realizing that the evil within him might actuality have the propensity to carry out cruel acts of a great magnitude.
A few minutes pass and Michael finally gathers himself together, taking a deep breath before standing up. He slowly traces his way through the gruesome mess in the lounge, all the while creating possible scenarios of the past nights events in his head. With clenched fists and a clenched jaw he continues making his way on. A mere metre away from the glass door he concludes to himself there must have been an intruder and whatever actions he took were justified. That all to familiar moment people have of self absolution after making a somewhat questionable decision.
By now his heart is racing and he’s nearly hyperventilating. He’s about to see the possible actions of letting loose the demons he hides within. At the intense fear of his own actions, the strength escapes from his legs and with his left hand he grabs onto the nearby wall. Though he had grown up in an extremely religious family, Michael himself was of little faith but in this moment he looked up to the heavens and he did the holy trinity. Then forcibly propelling himself forward, he took the last steps and was finally in front of the shattered door.
The glass was broken outward a clear indicator that whatever happened had happened on the inside. Questions ran amok through his mind. Was he still sure it was an intruder? If they were in the house, it could have be someone he knew right? The most torturous question he wondered about was that “Did he kill them?”
Staring on outside the door there was a large pool of dried blood, central to the area covered by the glass. To the right of the door he noticed large lumps of soil, which he soon realized were from his broken flower pot. Still he searched on all around, looking for the missing link. A body. Possibly dead but hopefully alive though there wasn’t one to be found. Not finding one was met with a mixture of disappointment and joy. Still absorbing in all which was before his eyes, he was oblivious to the fact that a car had pulled up to the front of his house.
He heard three thunderous bangs on the door as if someone was trying to break it down, followed by the words “Mr Sterling it’s the police open up!”
This sent a freezing cold shiver through his body, this was it, the moment his legacy was cemented as a murderer. His eyes darted all around as if he would see an answer or a plan of action written on the walls. The loud knock was repeated and acting on instincts alone Michael walked out barefoot onto the broken glass. Immediately breaking into a run, headed directly for his neighbour Ryan’s open garage door. This was the race of his life and the closer he got to the finish line (His neighbour Ryan’s garage) the stronger became the belief that he was being chased behind by the cops. He didn’t look back, guilty or innocent he wouldn’t let the police near him. He wasn’t putting his fate in their hands. All the way as he hustled his feet into motion as fast as they could, in his mind he fought off all thoughts that hinted he might be guilty..
-To be continued