Hearts

                   Prologue

The smell of copper and gun powder hung thick in the air as she stood over his slumped body in that raggedy old lazy boy recliner. Past memories of fights over the chair flooded her mind and it took all t he strength she had to not shoot him again. Instead, she placed the gun in his hand, aimed it at the floor boards, and fired the gun again. She smiled to herself looking over his body one more time. His normally hazel eyes were beginning to fade to ice blue as his body finally realized that it was dead and no longer needed to retain it's coloring. Thick locks of mahogany hung in his eyes and over his ears. She hated his hair and was glad she no longer had to look at it, or him for that matter.

She smiled again, and went into the bathroom. She was glad she remembered to turn it on before pulling her small revolver from the dresser drawer and shooting him as he watched his favorite show, like he did every night after work. After she de-robed, she stood in the shower that was no longer steaming hot, but close enough for comfort. She took time scrubbing her hair with her favorite shampoo before rinsing it, then her face, and finally the rest of her body. When she done, she turned the shower off, pulled the curtain back and stepped out. The towel around her hair and her body, she stepped back out, and back into the living room. She began the process of faking her emotions, luckily she was already good at fake crying to get her way since she was a girl. She touched his body, making sure to get some blood on her hands, then reached for the phone to call the police.

She turned her breathing rapid and hard, the tears beginning to pool under her eyes, as she dialed the number. It rang a few times before an annoyed yet calm woman's voice erupted from the other end of the phone.

"Nine-One-One. What's your emergency?" the female voice asked her.

"I think... " she began, raising her voice a pitch higher. "I think my husband shot himself!"

"Okay, ma'am calm down. Is he breathing?"

"No, I checked. Oh, my god, there is blood. I can see the blood."

"Okay, ma'am calm down." She said again. "What's your name?"

"My name?..." she responded, playing the part of a hysterical and confused wife. "My name is Devan. Devan Johnson."

"Okay, Devan. What's your address?"

"15 -" she paused. " 15 Deadwood Lane. "

"Alright, Devan. We've dispatched EMS and they should be there shortly. Do you want me to stay on the line with you?"

"No." Devan began sobbing uncontrollably, at least that's how the tape will play back if it's ever reviewed.

She let the towel on her head fall to the ground, her dark locks tangled and snarled from the shower hung around her shoulders. She next to her husband, held his hand and rocked back and forth. She let the tears come freely, knowing full well what the EMS would expect to see when they came through the door. Now all she had to do was wait to hear the sirens stream down the streets as they approached her house.

After about twenty minutes she heard them, clearly. She wasn't sure if it was EMS or the Police though. She could never tell the difference between their sirens. Someone banged at the front door, and she screamed for them to come in. She wanted to appear the grieving wife, in her towel with blood on her hands, holding his as if not wanting to believe it or let him go. She heard the door open, and a female police officer stepped in. The woman was dressed in her uniform, dark blue almost black, stiff at the collar and the cuffs, did little for the woman's small frame. Her cap was pulled over her barely blonde hair that was pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. A silver badge and a variety of colored ribbons clung to her shirt over her left breast, and a name tag over her right. She walked in, her hand placed gently on the hilt of her gun in case she needed to draw it on Devan.

"Ma'am? I'm Officer Sims and this is my partner Officer Pitts. " The police officer motioned towards her partner, a fair skinned man with giant emerald eyes and light brown hair. His cap was tucked underneath is left arm, and he nodded towards Devan. But Devan didn't take any notice of them, she continued  to look at her dead husband.

"My.. husband... he shot himself," she stammered.

"I know, ma'am. That's why we are here." Officer Sims moved closer towards her, placing her hand gently on Devan's shoulder. "Ma'am we are going to need you to move away from your husband."

Devan refused to move though, she stayed and wouldn't move until EMS arrived. "No, I'd like to stay with him."

"Ma'am, I understand how you must feel. But we need to ask you a few questions."

Devan ignored Officer Sims and moved closer to her husband. She didn't want to leave just yet, the more of a show she could put on the less likely they'd expect her of being the actual shooter. The Officers didn't try to talk to her again until EMS arrived ten minutes later. They rushed in, an orange flat board in one hand, and a duffle bag in the other. They asked her to move out of the way, and she did. She scooted away from her husband's body and leaned up against the wall. She watched them work on him, knowing fully well that he was already dead. They just wanted to cover their bases and be able to tell her that they had done everything that they could've.

After they had left, she stayed behind with the police. The male officer, Officer Pitts, had grabbed a blanket from the EMS worker and draped it around her shoulders. After all, she was only in a towel. She thanked him kindly and began telling the female cop what had happened as she wrote it down in her note pad.

"He came home as usual, sat down in front of the T.V. and watched his favorite show. I told him I was going to take a shower, and that was the last time I saw him alive."

"Did he seem upset to you?"

"Not anymore than normal. I mean, he seemed the same as he did when he left for work this morning."

"And you didn't hear the gun shots?"

"No, it's hard to hear anything over the shower. It's got great pressure and tends to be a little louder than the average shower." Officer Sims looked at Devan, not giving away to any emotion she might have been feeling, whether she believed Devan or not. "I just came out, and was about to ask him what he wanted for dinner and I found him like that." Devan looked over at the chair her husband had been in and began crying a little. She put her face in her hands, trying to collect herself as much as possible.

"Where does your husband work?"

"He's a game engineer down at CoolGames.Com."

"Does he have unusual stress at his job, that you know of?"

"No more than the average person I suppose. He loves, loved, his job. We were getting ready to go on vacation in a few months. I just don't understand." Devan began crying again.

"Alright, ma'am. If we have any more questions we'll contact you. And if you can think of anything at all, any reason for your husband to do this, please don't hesitate to call." She left Devan by herself and with one last look of reassurance she closed the door to the house.

Devan smiled to herself as she went into her  bedroom. The smell of blood hadn't yet permeated her bedroom and she was glad of it. She thought of taking another shower, but didn't feel up to it. She climbed into her pajama's and slid into bed. She reminded herself to go to the morgue in the morning, and make arrangements for his funeral. She sighed with relief and pleasure to know that her husband wouldn't be climbing into bed with her ever again. She wouldn't have to smell burnt rubber or metal from him soldering all day in that small cubicle he called an office. She wouldn't have to hear him complain about how she didn't do anything all day but take care of everything. She slept peacefully for the first time in ten years.