House Problems

Shards of broken glass littered the floor. Jeremy became aware of the crime when a piece shot through his foot after a wrong step, painting a ruby-red trail across the hardwood and stumbling upon the dead body.

It made Jeremy recall the time he found his poor grandmother dead. He was only nine. In a similar fashion, she was lying in a puddle of her own blood in the kitchen. She fell and cracked her skull.

It was a tragedy. A freak accident.

But the crime in front of him today was no accident.

This scene was brutal.

Violent.

White-colored glass splayed like shrapnel across the kitchen. Splatters of blood glazed the walls, pools of it strewn on the floor and even pieces of the broken vase were stained red.

The lifeless body made Jeremy’s stomach lurch. It was cruelly misshapen from what appeared to be a hard-fought battle of life and death. The body lay so defeated that he imagined they put up a good fight, not because they thought they’d live, but because they couldn’t go without at least trying.

Their stomach was cruelly ripped open. Gangly intestines curling around the corpse. Their dark hair matted in an even darker crimson. The eyes open, pleading for mercy – or for death.

The killer took their time, like a sick game, toying with the victim.

However, there was one silver lining to this. Now that they were dead, they would no longer bother Jeremy.

He had Gina now, the girl he’s been seeing for a couple of weeks. He couldn’t be bothered thinking about them while Gina was over, wondering if they would ever surprise the two of them, frightening Gina and scaring her to leave or think less of him.

And, Jeremy reminded himself, things like this happened all the time. But didn’t someone have to be punished? Because now, it was Jeremy’s mess to clean up.

The culprit has to be either George or Charlie.

Charlie is a young easy-tempered lad. He’s the friend that you always want around and others don’t mind if he’s there. But he’s messy. He’s the one you always have to clean up after. The one that gets carried away and can cause . . . accidents.

George on the other hand, is the opposite. Temperamental, self-serving, irritable. But he’s careful, clean and stays out of trouble. But isn't that who you usually have to watch out for?

Jeremy called them. He could make them crack. He could find out who the murderer was.

Charlie answered his call, but George avoided it.

Already a tell-tale sign, Jeremy thought to himself.

George finally sauntered in, revealing himself as the perpetrator. But Jeremy had to ask – had to see the shame and the guilt in his eyes.

“So which one of you did it?” Jeremy's voice cracked with annoyance, his eyes darting between Charlie and George, seeking a sign of confession in their silent standoff.

Charlie’s eyes sank to the floor. He hated being talked to like that.

But George . . . George’s eyes revealed nothing. Rather, he stared into Jeremy’s eyes as a challenge.

But it was George who broke the tension. He began walking away to the living room, leaving red footprints in his path as his quiet hubris.

Jeremy shrugged, “Why do I even bother?”

Jeremy grabbed a muslin cloth in the drawer and swaddled the rat’s body, tossing the mutilated carcass in the trash.

He begins wiping the blood off the floor, and sweeping the glass into the bin all while muffling under his breath, “Bad kitty, George. Bad kitty.”

At least the rat problem was finally fixed.