Milk

Tears dripped down his face. He looked over to watch as the plain sheet covered his young wife's face.

It made no sense. On his way home from work he'd gotten a call to pick up some milk. All right, not a hard thing to do.  He drove quickly through the town. The day had little to no traffic, a very bizarre thing for that part of the town. He pulled to the grocery store nearest his house and bought a gallon of milk. Nothing out of the ordinary for him at all.

He drove the rest of the way to his new house and noticed Jack's car in the driveway. Jack was his best friend, nothing would have been wrong with his scar being there if he sitting on the porch steps or waiting in his car, Jack and Angie had never gotten along.  She probably convinced him to wait in the house. After all it was summertime and humidity was terrifying on the hundred and something degrees day.

He pulled into the driveway a happy whistle fleeing between his lips. Nothing like coming home to a new beautiful house and a gorgeous woman. 

He opened the front door to the home and put his keys in the little dish set out on the door side table. He slipped out of his suit jacket and hung it in the hall closet just like any other day. He walked to the kitchen, Mmmmmm whatever was in the oven sure smelt good.

He pulled the refrigerator open and put the milk inside. He shut it and moved shuffling his feet into the living room.   He kicked off his shoes and plopped down onto the couch in the vacant room.  The remote lay glistening on the coffee table; something that inviting should not be ignored. He reached for it and the sun was glaring off Jack's car blinding his eyes through the window. Oh yeah, where was he?

"Jack?" he called standing back up ad moving towards the stairs leading to the second floor. Angie sometimes would paint after she started dinner, she would know where Jack was lurking.

Near the top of the stairs he heard a noise form one of the extra bedrooms. Not a good noise, one of fear of pain. The noise had been muffled as if someone was forcing the noise softer so it wouldn't be heard.  He quickly moved through the hall and opened the doors to the linen closet pulling out the gun Angie had hidden in there.

He silently crept back down the hall pushed the door open and fired off three shots in rapid succession at the man in the room. The body stilled and a scream pierced through the air.  He moved closer and saw Angie crying over the now dead man lying over her in the bed.

"You killed him," she cried latching on to him and whimpering, as if she cried hard enough it'd bring him back.

It took a minute for him to understand what he saw. His wife was clinging to her attacker in anguish.

He looked at the man whose blood was coloring the sheets and noticed Jack's sandy hair.

"You bitch." He whispered understanding dawning on him about what he saw.  "You cheating whore."  He clicked another round of the gun into place and pointed it at her.

"Adam what's wrong with you?" she asked fear flowing through her voice. She moved to reach for him and blanket covering her feel revealing her bare chest.

The gun went off and she slumped over joining Jack in the land of the dead.

He sprinted down the stairs and into the laundry room where he dowsed the gun in bleach. 

Calmly he then walked out of the house and drove to the grocery store and bought another gallon of milk. The women behind the register had to chuckle with him about his unfortunate accident of ramming the keys through the other one and spilling the milk all over the interior of his car only blocks form home.  He drove back down the streets and smashed his keys into the bottle at the crossroads he'd told the cashier throwing the bottle onto the side of the road. He got home and called the police, it was a good 45 minutes before they got there.

He was sitting in the living room; distraught the only word the officers could descried him.  His eyes were bloodshot and tear tracks lined his face every now and then another tear making its way down his face.

The officers moved up the stairs to where the man said the victims were. In the bed was the poor mans wife. A single wound in her head, the blood smearing the light blouse she had on.  On the floor slumped in an awkward position was the man Adam said was named Jack, his now late best friend. There were three holes in the expensive suit he was wearing.

Police swarmed the scene taking evidence and pictures form all they were worth. Two detectives during the months of investigation came and asked Adam questions, did she have any enemies, anyone threaten her recently, where had he been, along with others.

"Getting milk." Told them. The Police checked with the cashier and even watched the surveillance camera; he was in and out of the store within twenty minutes. Only barley enough time to get from where he said he'd spilt the gallon and out on a good day, with all the traffic around that area.

The cops were even able to find the gallon he had through out the window with the hole in its side.  After months of investigation no leads were found, but Adam wasn't questioned again.

No one remembered that on that day the traffic was freakishly slow, and he had more time in that twenty minutes then he'd ever need.

The End