Aidan
Three Years Ago
The October evening air is crisp, cool, and filled with a sense of festive anticipation. Though it's dark outside, I know the trees in front of my property have transitioned from verdant green into vibrant shades of gold, chocolate, and crimson. The moon isn't quite full, but it hangs high and bright in the sparkling night sky, with thin wisps of clouds floating across its face.
I love this time of year – partly, because the cooling temperatures are a welcome relief from the nearly endless heat and humidity that plagues this area. But mostly? I just love this season in general. Always have.
Halloween, naturally, is my all-time favorite holiday, and I go all out for it every year. The front of my property has an elaborate graveyard set-up, complete with creepy props, ghosts, monsters, and goblins. Smoke machines are pumping out fog underlit with eerie green lighting, giving it an otherworldly aura. And on the night of Halloween itself – tomorrow night, actually – an elaborate, scary maze will be temporarily constructed on the rear of my property for the neighborhood children to enjoy.
Yeah, I'm a big kid myself when it comes to Halloween – in fact, I might even enjoy it more than they do.
Although I love autumn here more than anything, during the grips of summer down here in the South, I often curse my older brother Liam for snagging the far more temperate Northwest territory of Anderson Development Enterprises.
Of course, Savannah isn't without its charms. The architecture is amazing. The city itself is beyond beautiful. Personally, I consider it one of the most beautiful cities in the entire country. And the women – at least, in my experience – are beyond incredible.
Though, some might think I’m biased since I snagged one of the sweetest Georgia peaches ever born and am making her my wife.
From the moment I first laid eyes on Madeline Halsey, I knew I would spend the rest of my days with her. Five-foot-ten with long black hair, eyes that sparkle like polished jade, and rich, tawny skin, Madeline could have graced the runway of any fashion designer around the world. In fact, she’s rejected modeling offers from some of the industry's best.
Maddy knows she's a knockout but doesn't let it impact her personality or attitude at all. She’s said before that she doesn’t deserve any praise or adulation for a fluke of genetics.
The thing I love the most about her, however, is her brilliant mind. She is easily one of the most intelligent people I've ever met. I'm not ashamed to admit she has at least ten times more brainpower than I do. The woman is gifted, and I'm constantly in awe of her mental prowess.
She has a Master of Science in Biomedicine and eventually wants to go back for a Ph.D. Her goal is to cure some of the deadliest infectious diseases known to man, like Ebola or Malaria. She wants to leave a lasting impact on this world and help save it.
I admire my fiancée. She's a constant source of inspiration, and I feel like the luckiest man in the world to call her mine.
I pull my Range Rover into the driveway of our recently purchased home. Fleury House is a sprawling three-story estate done in a Gothic Revival style of architecture – most people would call it a mansion, I guess. We fell in love with it the moment we saw it, and I knew I had to have it. Sure, its thirteen bedrooms are probably overkill, but the house itself, not to mention the ten acres of manicured grounds surrounding it, are utterly incredible.
With its high pointed roofs, intricately carved archways, and beautiful and intricate wrought-iron work, Fleury House is my dream home. In the back are horse stables, extensive gardens, and a large fountain that looks like it belongs in the palace of some French king.
When Maddy and I saw it, we instantly knew this was it. This is where we would start our family.
I get out of the car and look around the front of the property, enjoying the elaborate decorations. Unlike many places around the U.S., our little community still has a lot of kids who enjoy getting dressed up and doing the whole trick-or-treating thing. Which I'm glad for. I hate how Halloween seems to be dying out in some parts.
Satisfied that everything out here looks to be in order, I stroll up the walkway to the porch, musing about how perfect life is. I really don't understand how I've been so fortunate, but I'm grateful for whatever guardian angel is looking down on me.
I may have drawn the short end of the stick territory-wise, but to me, the perks of the South are invaluable.
I unlock the door and step inside, rushing to reset the alarm before it goes off. I punch in our security code – 8068 – before I realize the alarm isn’t set. Odd. Normally when I work late, Madeline and the staff are very careful about making sure the alarms are set, and the house is secure.
Granted, Savannah isn't the South Side of Chicago or anything, but I was always taught to never take chances. Maddy is the same way. You never know.
“Huh,” I mutter to myself as I set the alarm.
I walk through the foyer, taking in the elaborate decorations that fill it. We hosted a Halloween fundraising party a week ago, and the inside of the house is decorated as ornately as the outside. The party was a huge success, and a lot of money was raised for some local charities and non-profits.
As I continue through the house, I smile at the life-sized mummies and monsters that fill the space along with some giant spiders, cobwebs, and bats.
I head down the hallway at a brisk pace as the sound of my shoes clicking against the hardwood floors echoes around me. I closed a massive deal earlier today and am in the mood to celebrate.
“Maddy?” I call out. “Where are you?”
No answer. Frowning, I walk through the arched doorway and down the hall that leads to the kitchen near the rear of the house. Sometimes, she curls up in the kitchen or the sitting room adjacent to it with a glass of wine and a good book. When I walk through the kitchen and into the sitting room though, it’s completely empty.
“Maddy?” I call again and still get no answer.
I glance through the French doors to the grounds out back, but she isn’t out there either. I don't know why, but a vague sense of foreboding ripples through me. I'm not prone to getting the heebie-jeebies or freaking out about things unnecessarily, but something isn’t right. There's a stillness and silence to the house that isn't normal.
I walk back to the foyer and start up the staircase. “Maddy? You up here?”
My feet make no noise on the carpeted stairs, and when I reach the landing, I pause. There's a strange and profound silence on the second floor. It's as if the entire house has sucked in a giant breath and is holding it. A dark, ominous tension saturates the air, and my pulse begins to race.
“Maddy? Babe? Where are you?”
I head down the hallway toward our bathroom as the dread in my heart grows deeper and darker with every step. I want to believe I'm being paranoid, and that when I step into the bedroom, I'm going to find her in the tub, headphones on, oblivious to the world around her. Like usual.
The pessimistic, nagging voice in the back of my mind continues to whisper horrible things, scaring me to the very core. I need to calm down. I’m letting my anxiety and paranoia get the best of me.
Our bedroom is at the far end of the hall, and even from yards away, I can see that the door is slightly cracked open. Light from our room spills out in a thin, bright line on the carpet. By the time I reach the door, my irrational fears have overwhelmed me, and I'm trembling. The knots in my stomach are constricting tight, and it's difficult for me to breathe.
And I don't know why.
As far as I know, there is absolutely nothing to fear on the other side of that door. Maddy is sleeping. Or in the bath. Or doing a dozen other, non-threatening things. I can't explain what I’m feeling, but it’s permeated my very soul. Something bad is waiting on the other side of the door. Something very bad.
Taking a deep breath in, I reach out and push the door open. It swings inward with a soft creak and the light inside the room floods out into the hallway, spotlighting me. The scene inside is incomprehensible to me. I stare at it for several long seconds, unable to process what I'm seeing. It's the most gruesome Halloween tableau I’ve ever seen.
The coppery scent in the air clashes with the comforting aroma of lavender Madeline prefers in her candles. Under that, there's something else. Something primal. I'm not the dramatic type, but I can only describe it as the smell of pure evil.
As I finally realize what I’m looking at, I fall to my knees. The inhuman wailing from my throat echoes down the hallway as tears stream down my face.
* * *
The red and blue lights flash and pulse as they flood in through the windows. I'm sitting on the sofa in the front sitting room, holding a glass of scotch in my trembling hand. For the last few hours, the driveway has been filled with cop cars and other emergency vehicles, and a virtual army of people have been coming and going through the house. Most of them avoid my eyes at all costs, but the few who've been brave enough to make eye contact with me have had an indescribable expression of pity on their faces.
If there's one thing I hate more than anything, it's being the recipient of somebody's fucking pity.
I raise the glass and take a deep pull, draining it. The bottle rests at my feet, so I quickly pour myself a refill, staring down aimlessly at the amber-colored liquid. I close my eyes and grit my teeth as the parade of images float through my mind, looping through my consciousness like a highlight reel from hell.
I see Madeline and blood. For a second, I almost believed it was fake. An intricate Halloween prank.
Ultimately, Maddy's vacant eyes were what convinced me that what I was seeing was real and not some fucked-up movie prop or something. They were her eyes. The ones I'd spent countless hours staring into. Eyes I had effortlessly lost myself in. The eyes of the woman I loved.
They were wide. Glassy. Unseeing. The look on her face is something I'll never be able to erase from my mind; it was one of absolute horror. Shock. Pain. The fact that she spent her last moments in this world afraid and in pain will haunt me for the rest of my life. Wondering if her last thoughts were of me, questioning if she was waiting for me to show up and protect her, to save her – I'll never be able to shake that. Ever. I know that much already.
“Mr. Anderson?”
I look toward the sound of her voice and see a woman I've never met before staring down at me. Her eyes are kind, and the tone of her voice is gentle. I take another sip of my drink and clear my throat, taking a moment to compose myself.
“Yes?” I say. “I'm Aidan Anderson.”
“Detective Carrie Brown,” she says. “May I sit?”
I nod, and she takes a seat on the couch, turning to me. I offer her the bottle, but she shakes her head and gives me a small smile.
“Ordinarily, I wouldn't pass up a scotch as fine as that,” she says. “But, I'm on duty, so I have to pass. But, thank you. I appreciate the offer.”
I nod again and set the bottle down. I really don't feel like talking to anyone right now. I just want to be alone and drink myself into a stupor, and when I wake up from that, rinse and repeat until my consciousness is a blur.
A commotion on the stairs draws my attention, and though I can't see it from where I'm sitting, I hear the banging of the gurney coming down. The sound of it crashing on the hardwood in the foyer echoes through my head and I feel my heart shattering all over again.
“Mr. Anderson,” Detective Brown says. “I just have a few questions. Please.”
I know she's trying to distract me, to keep my focus from the procession heading out the front door, but I have to look. She puts a hand on mine and gives it a gentle squeeze, but I ignore her.
“You might want to look away, Mr. Anderson,” she says softly.
“I have to,” I say. “This is my fault. I owe her this, at least.”
I watch as the medical examiner's team wheels the gurney in the direction of the front door. My eyes fix on the black bag on the gurney, knowing full-well that my Madeline is in that bag. As I watch them pass in silence amid the gruesome and gory Halloween decorations in the foyer, it strikes me as fitting – almost like they're wheeling one more decoration into the room.
Except, it's no decoration. It's no movie prop. It's no petty Halloween prank. The woman I love is in that goddamn body bag.
My heart tears into pieces as I watch them wheel Maddy out through the macabre carnival in my foyer that suddenly feels incredibly inappropriate. Or maybe, all too real. As the gurney disappears through the doorway, I can’t help but wonder if her eyes are still open wide.
Why hadn't I closed them? Why did I just leave her there, lying in all of that blood? Why hadn't I cleaned her up? Taken care of her? Why hadn't I done anything?
“Mr. Anderson –”
“Aidan,” I say absently.
Though the procession has passed, I can't seem to turn away. Part of me wants to believe that this isn’t real. That it's all part of some horrible nightmare. Or maybe, I've had a stroke, and this is just some terrible delusion. Something. Fucking anything but reality. A small part of me wants to believe that Maddy will come bounding through the front door any second and greet me with a sweet kiss.
But, when I feel Brown's hand on my arm again, I know this isn’t a delusion. No dream can save me from this. This is reality. This is my new normal. Madeline, the love of my life, is gone. Forever. Taken from me.
“Aidan.”
I finally turn to Detective Brown, feeling the tears welling in my eyes. I fight them back, refusing to let them fall. My pain and my grief are my own. They're private. I clear my throat and run a hand through my hair.
“Yes,” I say. “Ask your questions, Detective.”
She shifts in her seat, looking slightly uncomfortable. She avoids my gaze and looks down at the small notepad in her hand. It's a blank piece of paper, so I'm not sure what she's looking at, but whatever. I don't care enough to ask.
“What time did you arrive home this evening?” she asks.
“A little after eight.”
“Did you see anything unusual upon arriving home?”
“You mean, other than the body of my murdered fiancée?” I ask.
Her cheeks flush with color, and she falls silent. I can feel her discomfort radiating from the other end of the couch like heat from the sun. I let out a long breath and try to calm myself down a bit. She's only doing her job. Not to mention the fact that alienating Detective Brown, or lashing out at her, isn’t going to do me any good. She's the one who can get justice for Madeline. It won't bring her back, but knowing that the son of a bitch who did this is either rotting away in prison or strapped to a table, taking the needle, would be a small comfort.
“I'm sorry,” she says. “I didn't mean to be so insensitive.”
I run a hand over my face and take a long swig of my drink, but don't say anything. I don't really have the words right now, to be honest. It's not her fault. I know Detective Brown doesn't deserve to feel the brunt of my anger. Or my pain.
I let out a breath. “When I came home, the alarm was off,” I say, my voice ringing hollow in my ears. “Or hadn't been set at all.”
“I take it that's unusual.”
I nod. “We're pretty careful about making sure it's set, yeah.”
Brown jots something down in her notebook. After that, she goes on with a tedious list of questions. I listen as best as I can and respond in kind, although everything I say sounds wooden, even to my own ears. I hear myself speaking, but it sounds like I’m hearing myself from a distance. Like I'm not even inhabiting my own mind or body – like I'm just floating through emptiness, completely numb to everything around me.
Brown's questioning goes on for almost an hour, and by the time she's finished, I'm exhausted. Honestly, after switching from the glass to chugging straight out of the bottle, I figured I'd be drunk by the end of it. But, it seems like no matter how much I drink, I remain painfully sober.
“I think that's about all I have for you at the moment, Mr. Ander – Aidan,” Brown says. “I'll touch base as soon as I have any information for you.”
I nod. “Please find out who did this, Detective,” I say. “Please find this bastard.”
“I will,” she says. “I promise you I will.”
As I watch her walk out the front door and close it softly behind her, I wonder if she's actually going to be able to keep that promise – or if it's just some false platitude meant to placate me in the moment. I hope it's the former but suspect it's the latter.
Or maybe, I'm just a cynical asshole.
I sit back on the couch and lean my head on the cushions, staring up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the collection of macabre decorations all around me. Everything suddenly feels ominous. Oppressive. Suffocating. I'll have them taken down and thrown away tomorrow. Suddenly, Halloween has lost all appeal to me. The one holiday I loved the most is now tarnished forever.
The love of my life, my partner in crime, and my best friend is gone – forever.
The last of the emergency personnel finally leave. Without the wailing sirens and their strobing, flashing lights, everything falls still and silent once more, and I realize I’m alone.
Truly alone.
When the tears start to fall once more, I don’t even try to stop them. I know that I can’t. A strangled, primal scream filled with anguish and agony rips from my throat. I lay down on the couch, my body racked with sobs, as the grief overwhelms me. I let it pull me under and nestle me in its dark, cold embrace.