The door opened slowly as Ethan slunk in, rain-soaked and emotionless. He set his jacket on the coat hook by the door and the water dripped from the hem, creating a sad spreading puddle on the floor.
His thoughts berated him ceaselessly, and his apathetic façade broke down with each moment that passed. The fragile and exposed nerve endings had tied themselves in knots, inflamed and swollen and throbbing painfully with every breath he took, with every beat of his heart. He stood in the foyer and felt his weight pressed into his soles, felt his ribs expand and compress with his diaphragm, felt that he was functioning at the bare minimum, that he was living, and that was more than others could say. He looked to a framed picture of Shaun on the wall and expected a smile to twinge at the corner of his mouth. None came. "I don't know if you'd be proud," he confessed aloud to himself. "I hope you're not ashamed of me for what I've done."
Shaun's young face gazed back, unmoving, open to interpretation. There will be no more victims, Ethan decided with bittersweet reprieve. The last one was taken tonight.
He walked to the landline and dialled Madison. The phone rang once before clicking to life.
"So which is it?" She asked, as soon as she picked up. "Everything fine, or do you need me?"
Ethan hesitated, thinking for a moment, wincing with each word that passed through his head. "Everything is fine," he answered finally, and broke the silence before it broke him.
"Did you get to the warehouse and back?" She asked like a journalist, starting with the facts.
Professional, Ethan noted, and it was easy enough to answer "yes."
"Did you find anything there?" She pressed, eagerness growing in her disembodied voice, itching for the story.
A moment passed. Different levels of truth floated before him, some too raw to speak aloud, others so vague it felt more honest to lie. "Closure," he replied simply, and it was as truthful as he could speak without shaking. "Just closure."
Her digitized voice had begun to say something else, but he set the phone back on the hook absently without hearing a word. Lightning lit the room with white electricity as he slid the burnt and bloodied blue sweater off scarred body. The trash bins outside were flooded with rainwater, and he smiled nostalgically as he placed the sweater in the garbage. It took on water quickly as it bubbled up through the holes and lilted peacefully to the bottom. Placing the lid on half way, the stormwater drummed nonchalantly on the plastic can and the water inside filled slowly, slowly, even after he had gone inside.