Thread: Farewell, My Lovely (Quix & Xana) - Completed Story

RE Farewell, My Lovely Quix Xana Tom had been on the go since six o'clock that morning, had confirmed that the brutal rape and murder of a woman was the work of a serial-killer, interviewed her friends and acquaintances, and spent hours perusing telephone phone and computer records, without coming up with one iota of substantive evidence, or feeling as if he'd located a direction in which to turn. The only break, and sustenance, he'd had all day was the quick lunch with Lila, and the Detective was mentally and physically exhausted, frustrated, and impatient. Not a great combination. The words that accusatory tone that accompanied them his words was unintended, and he was about to apologise for it, when Lila reacted with anger of her own. To Tom, in his current state, that was akin to a red rag being waved at a bull, and the apology stopped in his throat as he broke the embrace, and stepped back. Where have I been? When was the last time he'd reacted with such instant anger, to an innocuous beginning? Oh, Tom knew the answer to that the argument before they were married where, for the only and only time he'd come close to striking his wife, but at the last moment had managed to redirect the punch at the hallway mirror instead. Lila's reaction to his loss of self-control, had scared Tom, and he'd been depressed for days afterwards with thoughts that he may have lost her, until she'd relented, and he'd promised it would never happen again. In the years since, it never had, and Tom had put that down to his own ability to maintain his temper, without possessing the slightest awareness that Lila deliberately avoided bringing up the subjects that could incite him. When the man did find himself angry, there were other targets to vent his rage on. A suspect who fell down the stairs, and fractured his arm, one who resisted arrest, and had to be forcefully subdued. Self-defence. Self-preservation. The Police Department provided the perfect cover for those with anger issues, and the majority of time all pent-up emotions were released before Tom arrived home. However, this night was different, and as he stared down his wife, the man's hands curled into fists by his side, and heat roiled inside him. His fingers pressed into his plans, and he winced at the scratch of nails against flesh, totally aware of what was happening, and attempting to control it. Tom's entire body tensed, then he quickly turned away, to break the intense eye contact, and almost ripped the drawer completely free of the night-stand when he stepped over to reach in and grab the gun. Jesus fucking Christ. Tom hissed as his gaze found Lila again, and he thumbed the safety back and forth. I don't why I bought you this. If there was an intruder, you'd be dead, or raped by the time you managed to get the damn safety off. Or end up shooting yourself. Or me. All confusion about what had elicited Lila's fear left his mind as Tom jumped to his own conclusions about a possible intruder, and approached her again, eyes red and narrowed. He didn't stop until his body touched hers, and he was right in her face, so close that were was no need to raise his voice, however he still did. Where have I been? Who was I with? I was at the office, Lila. Alone. Attempting to solve a rape and murder. Next time you're more concerned about my dinner going cold, than a woman's life, why don't you fucking call? Tom could feel the veins pulsing in his neck, and the man took a deep breath as he held her gaze, with one fist clenching and unclenching by his side, and the knuckles of the other turning white from the pressure with which they gripped the gun. Then suddenly, he lifted an arm to shove her roughly aside, and his tone turned ice-cold. I'll sleep in the guest room, and try not to think about what you really meant by those questions, otherwise I might just do something I'll regret. As with the argument before they were married, the door slammed shut with enough force to shake the foundations, but at least this time, he had the common sense to leave before he'd become angered enough to put his fist through a pane of glass. Or Lila. The killer would have been pleased with the results of his night's work.