With his over-filled bowl of corn flakes, he made his way into the living room. He sat on the couch, turning on the TV with the remote control. As per usual there were only tacky morning makeover shows and various other shows which he found unbearable.
After watching a random, uninteresting talk show for almost half an hour, he switched off the TV, frustrated. Suddenly the room was eerily silent. He could feel dread and isolation slowly start to seep through the walls and creep toward him, surrounding him like a pack of hungry wolves. Not willing to succumb to the hold she had over him and the house, he shook the feelings off and got up. “To hell with this.”
With that, he exited the living room, grabbed his coat from the radiator by the stairs, and left the house.
Richard pulled up outside the supermarket. He felt his jean pockets for his wallet and shopping list, locked the car, and then proceeded toward the supermarket entrance.
Pushing a cart with one hand and holding the list in the other, he glided down each shopping aisle, collecting various items from the list, including several others from his memory. He almost never wrote down lists. He would always try to remember any tasks—which was what got him into his mess at work in the first place. If only he could have remembered to backup the missing files before the system crashed, and then everything would have been fine. No added stress. No time off work. And just maybe, he could have avoided dealing with a dead woman.
As he strolled around, he aimlessly filled the cart with things he and Nicky didn’t really need—like a giant pack of toilet rolls he was sure that they already had. Just in case. A multipack of crisps, even though she had forbidden him from buying such things because of her ongoing diet. And of course several bags of dried fruit, which neither of them needed nor wanted.
This was exactly why Nicky always did the shopping.
Reaching the register, he placed the shopping on the conveyer belt and watched the lady as she scanned each item.
“Would you like a hand with the packing, sir?” the lady politely offered.
“No thanks,” he replied, shaking his head and smiling. “I’m all right.”
After he had refilled his cart and paid the cashier, he walked away, heading for the exit. Passing the supermarket’s café, he paused for a second to readjust one of his plastic shopping bags, making sure that the eggs were still at the top of the bag. As he started up again, something caught his eye. Attached to the wall on his right was a large cork notice board, filled with various For Sale items, business advertisements, and other public notices. Fixed to the left corner of the board, and overlapped by a few other cards, was an A5 sized poster, with a small photo scanned in the center, and the title, ‘Have you seen me?’ printed in bold letters above it. He leaned in for a closer inspection.
His heart nearly missed a beat.
Written beneath the photo was the name Christina Long.
The bottom half of the poster was buried behind another pinned flyer. He pulled the drawing pin out, letting the flyer fall to the floor, revealing a small paragraph.
Missing since June 2012. Please could you contact Carl Jones with any details of her whereabouts? My number is 0798575433332. Thank you.
Richard’s mouth began to dry up, and a cold sweat formed on his neck and forehead. With a trembling hand, he pulled the poster from the board, causing several other notices and drawing pins to fall to the floor. He ignored them. Eyes wide open, he examined the photo. Despite the fact that she was wearing a tee shirt and a pair of blue jeans, and her brown hair was tied back, there was no doubt in his mind that it was her. No matter how faded the photo was, no matter how small, it was the woman in the white dress.
The woman from his house.
He could barely breathe.