Another Red Stain on the Carpet.
By: Barbara King
Tags: Creative Writing, Horror Fiction, Thriller Suspense, Thriller, Horror

Photo by Barefoot Communications on Unsplash

Sometimes I wonder why I bother having a white carpet until the moment comes when I have to clean it.

It becomes a chance to distract myself from all the bullshit that’s making circles in my head.

Keeping my focus on the task at hand, grabbing the bucket, filling it with water, and getting down on my knees ready to scrub my hands through its hair is the perfect distraction.

As I start to clean, I start to drift.

The man who came into my office today, a picture of Adonis. He stood tall and had a strong gait I couldn’t help but idolize him as he walked through the door. His blood-red clean pressed shirt hung open at the collar and I could see slight tufts of chest hair. Without having to offer one he came right up to my desk and after pulling the chair forward sat directly across from me.

“I need your help.” The first words he ever said to me. I was caught.

“My wife and I are going through a nasty divorce and she’s trying to take my children away from me. My boys are five and seven and they need their father in their life.” He moved his blue eyes from mine to the picture of my little girl on the desk. He shifted his salesman voice into one of a broken man. “You must be able to understand. You have to help me keep them.”

I told him I would do everything I could for him.

After discussing details about the divorce, his children, and the relationship with his wife, it was agreed that an appointment was made for the next day to stop by the house and meet the children.

The man was being charged with five counts of infidelity including another wife, three girlfriends, and a prostitute who stole his bank information and lead to his discovery. And he wanted to raise two boys to be outstanding young men.

The spot on the carpet has now turned into a slight pink and it’s time to get the bleach. The smell is strong but one I welcome. It’s familiar from the many times I’ve had to clean this carpet. Red stain after red stain always on this carpet. It just seems to be the color it attracts. Red on white.

Early this morning I drove from my city home out into the country. Past farms and fields until I pulled into the drive of a little red farmhouse that seemed too grand to be nestled between two farms, but as I soon learned outside appearances don’t always reveal the sins that hide within.

Kelly met me at the door. Wearing a dark burgundy shirt and jeans he beckoned me into the house to meet his sons.

Peter and Michael were the sweetest boys I had ever come across, but something was wrong. Their manners were stiff like an actor without feelings but rehearsed to perfection.

Their father taught them well.

Inside the house was luxurious but unsettling. For a place that held two young boys, it was cleaned to perfection. As if the rooms were a museum instead of a home. The strangest part of the room was a small Confederate flag that draped over the fireplace.

After spending a few hours getting to know the boys and talk to them the sound of a key in a lock caught my attention.

Soon after, the boys’ mother walked into the room and the glass of water I had been holding threatened to break in my grip. Half of her beautiful face was marked by a dark bruise from jaw to the cheekbone and the story clicked into play, it was all an act. Something had to be done.

When the mother arrived I decided to take my leave and had Kelly walk me out. After looking into his eyes I decided to invite him back to my place to further discuss how we could go about his case.

As the bleach sets, I put away the bucket and rags.

When Kelly arrived his manner had changed from the one I had seen in my office and at his home. He was arrogant and made direct references to the reason he came to me for help. My looks and my body convinced him I was the one for his needs.

I handed him a glass of red wine and talked about his wife’s bruise.

He takes a large sip of the wine and angrily starts to defend himself.

His speech starts to slur.

His eyes close.

The bleach is beginning to take the wine out of the carpet nicely.

Next, I’ll work on the mud I dragged in from the yard and put away the shovel.