#$$#$#$%#$% #$&*#&$*#&$ PROPER FORMATTING!!! ITS NOT WORKING! Ok, so from here on in remember that FIRST PERSON IS FLASHBACK AND THIRD PERSON IS NOW. Omg, I am going to kill FFN………………anyway, enjoy my dears!
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The telephone rings and she runs to it, wondering who could be calling her at this time of night.
"Hello?"
"Is this Mrs. Kelly?" the voice on the other end is gravely and sharp, short stattaco sounds that bespeak of discipline and hard work.
"Yes…………"
"This is Officer O' Conner of the NYPD. We're sorry, ma'am, but it seems that your husband has been shot………."
Her stomach twists at his words, jumbles of feeling passing through her body in one second. She drops the phone with a weak, limp hand and falls onto the sofa next to the end table. From on the mouthpiece she can hear a muffled voice frantically calling her name.
She settles into the soft, faded brown cushions and remembers………
***********************
I saw Jack Kelly for the first time when my brother brought him home. Tall and unbelievably handsome, I fell for him in a second, and when he had left later that night I peppered David with questions.
"Who is he?" I asked my younger brother, who had just turned 16 two months ago. He looked back at me with his smiling blue eyes, a teasing glint making them glow.
"He told you. Jack Kelly."
"No, I mean, where is he from? What's his background? C'mon, David, he must have told you something."
My brothers eyes shuttered close at my words, and I pulled back a little, wondering what I had done wrong.
"I don't know anything." He replied. And that was the end if it, for him.
But not for me. Not even close.
Through the next few months and even years, Jack and I grew steadily closer. Eventually, one bright spring day in April, beneath a sunny sky and the green leaves of "our" tree, he proposed to me, in the sweetest way imaginable - simply, a kiss upon the lips sealing our pact to be together forever and ever.
Papa wasn't happy about it at first. "How is a poor reporter going to support you?" He asked, sighing when he saw Jack's stained fingers and smudged face. But my fiancée's eager face and charming words won them over eventually – they had always liked him – and we were married.
Ah, the white dress and candles, the flowers and cake and music……..nothing meant more to me, though, then Jack's beaming face and tender kiss when he finally kissed me as my husband. Yes, those were the good times………….
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Sharp raps on the door pop her out of her trip down memory lane, and she struggles to remain upright as she walks to the door. Tripping slightly over the stained welcome mat, she opens the door to the two blue-clothed men standing on the other side.
"We're terribly sorry." The taller one says, gray mustache quivering along with his meaningless words.
"Thank you." She says, her emotions so close to the surface it's all she can do to keep from exploding.
"Ah, yes, well………." The shorter one says awkwardly, fidgeting with his cap that is clenched between his hands. "In these typed of, er, homicide cases, we need someone to come and identify the body."
"So sorry, Mrs. Kelly, truly." The taller one says again, and as he continues to talk she recognizes that this is the man who called her. She tunes in once again at the end of him monologue. "……….come with us down to the station."
"Excuse me?" she asks, not certain if she has heard him right.
"You must come down to the morgue with us, you know, to see if this is really your husband." The shorter policeman says, running his fingers through his short black hair before replacing his wrinkled cap.
"And you are?" She asks. This officer looks a little young to be assigned to murder cases.
"Officer Black, ma'am. Er, would you be able to come with us now?"
"Terribly important that we get this over with – " Officer O'Connor beings.
"In order than we don't have another serial killer on the loose –" The other interrupts.
"And we can begin the investigation right away." O'Connor finishes, glaring at his partner.
She looks on in mild amusement, watching this battle of wills take place in front of her. "Of course, gentleman, I will be with you right away." She says graciously. "Just let me fetch my hat."
Obligingly, the two officers stand by the door and watch as this pretty young woman gathers her things. One on either side, they lead this surprisingly calm woman down the steps to the outside, escorting her into their police car gallantly before squealing off.
And she sits there and remembers once more, another time and another place, fingering a locket around her neck……….
******************************************
The first year of our marriage was heaven. Jack was the sweetest husband, an excellent lover, a wonderful potential father. Everything was all sugar and spice and all was nice; each day better than the next.
"Jack!" I would say at the end of each day, when he came home to a full-cooked meal and a clean house, pretty wife awaiting him.
"Sarah!" He would reply, his charming grin lighting up the room even more than the candles I tried to light whenever possible. He would pick me up, swing me around, and kiss me passionately, all the tension and strain of the day exploding every night at dinner. Sometimes we even forgot to eat…………..
We were the typical cliché couple, sugary sweet to each other in public and always pleasant. Jack worked, I stayed home and kept house. I was happy, even thought the feminist movement was starting at the time, and there were rumors of war in the air. I had no desire for either conflict.
For our first anniversary he got me a stunning necklace, a locket actually. One side was a cameo of myself; the other was a picture of him. On the front was inscribed "To Sarah Jacobs Kelly: Together for all eternity." Corny, yes, and Jack must have told the jeweler what to write – he was never good with sentimentalities.
I had gotten him some little trinket; a studded tiepin, I think it was. Small and insignificant compared to the dazzle of his present, but he proclaimed he loved and stuck it in his tie right there.
God, how I loved him then. Hazel eyes melting as he looked at me, blond hair mussed from all the times his fingers ran through it. We finished the night with a beautiful dinner cooked by Jack himself, and a bottle of wine.
I thought that life could never get any better.
*********************************************************
She gazes out the window at the passing lights, listening the chatter of the men in the front. At the details they did not tell her –
"Shot through the head, he was, blimey, I ain't never seen anything like it before."
"Ah, you ain't seen nothing yet. All comes with the job."
She watches as they pull into the station, and Black comes around to help her out of the car. The night is frozen, stars in clear contrast to the inky blackness. She marvels at the beauty of it before being whisked into the gray building and down a flight of stairs to a brightly lit morgue. A desk and chair stood there, filled with a little man with a baldhead and heavy sideburns scribbling busily.
"The newest stiff, Adams." O'Connor says shortly, gesturing to the little man. "Please, ma'am, right this way."
She walks past tabled of white-sheeted figures, swallowing the urge to gag. She never thought it would be this way………….
"Over here." Adams says, whipping a sheet off a table. "Bandaged his head, I did. Now you can't see the bullet hole. Bloody big one it was, too. Wonder who did him in?" He grins with relish at the possibilities, showing off crooked teeth.
"Oh my………." She sighs, swaying slightly.
"Terrible, ain't it?" Black mutters, looking over his shoulder suspiciously. "This is going to be one hell of a case."
"So? Is it your husband or not?" O' Connor asks, impatiently.
"Yes, yes it is………….."
***********************************************************
Something started going sour about a year and half into the marriage. Things were still fantastic on the outside. But inside……..
Everything was off. The smiles were fake, the kisses forced, Jack's touch cold and unfeeling.
I was panicked – what was wrong? Was it me? I tried my hardest to bring the romance back. I cooked better, bought sexier nightclothes, anything. For awhile it worked, and Jack was back to his old self, nice and funny and loving. He even brought flowers home for a solid week, for no particular reason - violet roses, my favorite.
But it wore off soon enough. Nothing was wrong, per say, but the tension was so thick it was unbearable. Jack was gone at work all day, and those were my only times of relief. I started to visit my mother and my sister-in-law, Emily, much more.
"What's the matter?" Emily asked me one evening, as we sat together in her apartment knitting. I had just missed three counts, and was tugging at the yarn with such force it almost snapped.
"Nothing." I sighed, relaxing my grip on the soft blue strands. I was trying to knit a scarf for Jack.
"There must be something." Emily said after a pause. "I haven't seen you this depressed since Les went away to school and he didn't write you for three whole weeks.
I laughed softly at the memory. "yes, well, he did say he was going to write every day……..can you blame an older sister who practically raised him for being a little worried?"
"It's more than that this time, isn't it." Emily said, with her uncanny ability to know what was wrong without me even telling her. That's part of the reason she was such a wonderful person.
"Yes." I whispered, giving up the charade. "I don't know what to do. What's wrong with me? Is it him?" I threw the knitting into my lap and burst into tears.
"Oh, Sarah." Emily came over, hugging me tight as I sobbed into her shoulder. "Every relationship had problems from time to time! Don't worry, you'll pull through it, trust me."
"I – I don't think so." I hiccupped, wiping my eyes. "It's something, and I can't put my finger on it."
"Maybe – " She started, then stopped. "First tell me what's different."
"Well," I started, "It's a lot of little things." I thought hard. "For example, he's taking more time in front of the mirror every morning, but he doesn't come home till much later. Says he has to work on the paper. And he always looks guilty, and he blows up at me whenever I accuse him of something – not really, accuse, you know, more like 'who ate the last apple' type of thing – and he keeps bringing me little gifts, but they are always something I know we can't afford, and always all wrong for me."
I paused.
"Dear," Emily said, looking deep into my eyes, "Don't get mad at me, please. Promise me."
"I promise." I said, puzzled.
"Jack…………..he might be having an affair."
And then everything clicked.
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End Part I. More to come! Review!!
