The Wedding

Margaret Anderson wrung the white dress over the sink, desperately attempting to remove the bloodstain.

It had been her grandmother's and her mother's, and then hers, lace enveloping the body to showcase feminine beauty, tailored to perfection.

If only she could have had children.

She couldn't shake the scene.

They were in a beautiful venue in Austin, Texas, outdoors underneath an arc decorated with blooming white roses.

The pastor—Bob Miller—was dressed in appropriate garb for the ocassion, and asked Sarah, "Will you be Brad's lawfully wedded wife?"

"I will."

"You may kiss the—"

BOOM.

A bullet shot through the air, hitting her in the chest.

She immediately fell to the ground, lifeless.

Brad was paralyzed. He stood there, rigid and stiff. Clearly, the man was in shock.

He couldn't stop staring at the blood lacing his bride's white gown.

Whoever did it left before shooting anyone else. His aim was spot-on, and he was wearing a black mask, completely dressed in the same hue.

Margaret caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye.

She chased him down, her common sense leaving her out of rage.

"You! You son of a bitch!! Come back her—"

He drove off, but she was able to capture his license plate on her camera so she could show it to the police.

***

After the incident, she called Brad. He was home, and had been for weeks.

"I'm alright."

He was clearly putting up a false front...

"Yes. I'm still on the couch. Why?"

It had been 14 long days, and the man had only gotten up to eat, devastated. He'd consumed five bottles of beer last time she'd checked in on him, and that was only two days after Sarah's death.

"She was a such a lovely bride," he said, audibly trying to hold back his tears, then hung up the phone.

***

The day of the incident, Margaret had called detective Donald Madison. He had arrived at the scene, but it had been too late: the driver had already left.

He had asked the usual questions.

"I'm sorry this happened. Do you have any other details on the killer?"

"He was about 5'8", but he was wearing a mask. The man was completely dressed in black. I know he was a man because I chased him, and I heard him utter an expletive. It was a man's voice."

"Thank you. We'll let you know when we have more details."

"Thank you, sir," Margaret replied, before running to the nearest bathroom and weeping her eyes out, bending over the sink and groaning in despair.

***

Donald examined the plate number, then tracked it down.

It was a black Mercedes, but it was empty. It was back in the showroom, without a blemish.

A car salesman showed up, black hair greased back with a black suit on and a royal blue tie. His shoes were polished to perfection.

"Hello, sir. It's Mike Bender. How may I help you?"

"It's Donald here."

The detective no longer used his last name. It had gotten him into too much trouble before.

"May I take a look at this fine vehicle?"

"Yes, sir. Of course."

"He drove it to a rather inconspicuous location and swept it for DNA.

Unfortunately, a lot of people had DNA on these seats.

The killer was smart. He'd covered his tracks.

He looked at the car once more, and the license plate number.

I can't believe it. This belongs to my son. I can't arrest him. He's only 19. If I don't, my job is at stake. Shit.

He returned the vehicle and drove to his son's home.

"Ronald!! I can't believe you. Killing a woman in cold blood like that."

"She broke my heart, dad. That bitch."

"You can't just go around killing your exes. If we all did that, there'd be no one left. Honestly, I can't believe you. You know how this makes me look, right? I have to arrest you. I have no choice."

With tears in his eyes, he said, "Ronald. You are under arrest for the murder of Sarah May. I'm sorry, son. I have to."