Is this a dagger I see before me its hilt towards to my hand?
Why the hell am I quoting Shakespeare at a time like this. My name is Malcom and I am pretty confused at the moment.
My wife lies dying on the floor before me, a bloodied knife is in my hand. The large double doors are wide open and the police are looking at me like a shark looks at tuna.
Hungry.
Expectant.
Confident.
Perhaps I should explain how I came to be in this position...
For almost a year there had been suspicions about relationsips outside of our marriage. Text messages from strange numbers,a phone call from family that had to be taken in the bedroom. The door shut. Postcards from strange lands with no signature. What would you think dear reader?
It even got to the stage where facebook friends were scrutinised for evidence of some strange public love affair. Photos of each and every "friend" examined for a glimpse of the supposed love of your life. What was a paranoid non schizophrenic to do?
I did what any sane man would do, I hired a private detective. His name was Marcus Steele, I know it sounds like an 80s porn star but I even saw his birth certificate and his passport. I am naive enough to believe these cannot be faked. Anyway, his name and credentials do not matter, what matters is that he produced hard evidence.
My wife, the woman I had loved, cared for, sweated over and sacrificed so much of my life for was in correspondence, regular correspondence with another man. It was even suggested, actually evidenced, that they had met up on more than one occasion.
This was why I was here in this situation.
I received a phone call from Marcus stating a rendezvous for my wife and this man. I knew I had to be there to see with my own eyes, to witness the betrayal I longed to be false. I managed to make my way across town and infiltrate the building before the deceivers arrived.
It was a small village hall. The type you see on sad documentaries where they have a dance once a month and an old mans birthday party just before he pegs it. I only just made it into the small sports cupboard before HE turned up.
The smell of stale sweat and mouldy gym equipment made my eyes water. Luckily the open slats on the cupboard door afforded some respite, but still I found difficulty in breathing whilst I waited for the betrayal.
She walked in first, looking around nervously, looking for her man to appear. She had dressed in the skirt and blouse I had bought for her on Valentines day. An elegant Valentino outfit that accentuated her figure. My fists were clenched tightly as I watched her pace around the room.
She only had to wait around 5 minutes before he turned up. His smart suit and chiselled good looks just made me want to burst from my hiding place and smack him square in the mouth.
"Darling, I'm so sorry I'm late. He doesn't know anything about this does he?"
My wife looks down at the floor and shakes her head.
"He doesn't suspect a thing."
"Excellent, but you know it can't last for ever. We will have to be even more carefull now. We can't have him finding out about us, not now we are so close to our dream."
His effeminate voice grates on my mind. I want to grab him by the throat and put his head through the nearest winow.
"You are right. It would be shame to spoil all our plans now", she replies.
He reaches into a the small holdall he has brought with him. A silver, razored edge knife gleams in his hand.
"Will this be adequate?" he offers.
My wife smiles and nods
"Perfect"
It is at this point I lose track of events. I burst from the cupboard suprising them both.
I barrel into this imposter, this lover of my wife, this man who wants me dead. Catching him off balance I seize the blade from his hand and without thinking, plunge it deep into his chest. She screams in horror, this once wife of mine.
I turn, not even caring about the blood on my face and body.
"You're next" I mutter
She backs herself against the wall, "You don't understand it was meant to.."
The rest of her sentence will never be completed as I thrust the knife into her neck.
Each stab is punctuated by a shout fro me and an expletive about her lineage..
"You (stab) bitch (stab) I never (stab) could (stab) trust (stab) you..." you get the drift. I don't want to swear on record.
It was a post-lady who called the police. She heard screams coming from the village hall and poked her head in to see what the commotion was. All she saw was me standing over two bloody and ruined bodies talking to them as if they were children, "You should not have been so naughty, you knew you would be caught" etc
It was only when the police turned up and asked me what was going on (with their weapons drawn) that I came to terms with my actions. What made it worse was looking at the knife in my hand and seeing the engraving...
"To Malcom on our 30th Wedding Anniversary, may this cut the cake for many more years, love Katy"