Whose shoes are those?

There was a pair of old sneakers by the front door as I arrived home.

I should have taken more notice of them ...

They didn't belong to Claire, or to me, we don't leave shoes by the door, I thought. Entering our little house, I noticed the door opened easier than it should. We had learned in our time here the door needed a little extra push to shut properly. We had grown to love our little house's quirks like that, I gave the door the little shove it needed to close as I called out.

'Claire, babe? You home?'

There was a sudden flurry of noise from the end of the hallway and a soft panicked yelp. I quickly put my keys and bag down on the hall table, I'll lock my work stuff away in a sec. My other hand was still full of the bags of takeaway as I headed down the hallway. Passing our wedding photos, a sequence of stunning shots cantered around a portrait of the two of us, in our matching dresses of white and soft pink. Beside that was a fun photo of us with Claire's parents, all of us pulling silly faces and laughing. My parents did not attend.

'Honey?' I asked, checking the rooms coming off the hallway as I passed.

'You okay? What was that noise?'

I heard a muffled cry, followed by a ... was that a moan? Some noise I didn't quite catch.

The image of the sneakers by the front door flashed in my mind, followed by the memory of a photo I saw the day before ... at the station. Fear gripped me, I dropped the takeaway bags, the contents spilling over the floors. I ran to our bedroom. The smell hit me before I saw it all ... the smell of unwashed feet in dirty socks. My eyes went wide and I think I screamed, but I don't recall hearing anything in that moment.

A skinny man, rough and ragged from street life and addiction. He stood there in our bedroom, dirty jeans and torn polo shirt. Feet clad in filthy socks spattered with dried red flecks.

I should have taken more notice of the shoes ...

He was holding a large chef's knife ... wet with dark red life.

Laying on the bed, lifeless and void of the joy and hope she put into the world was Claire. Deep and bright red running down from her throat, pooling on the white carpet.

The shoes ... I saw them in the file on Steve's desk, he was investigating a string of B & E's resulting in fatalities ... why didn't I connect that when I saw the shoes?

My service weapon was in my handbag, I didn't like wearing it home. I tried to calculate if I could make it back down the hallway in time ...

A blur lunged forth in my direction. Sharp sting. Searing pain. I lifted my hand and it was coated in blood. I tilted my head down, saw the blade sticking in my chest.

The last thing I recall before everything went black was a dirty grin of brown teeth, one of the top incisors missing ... and his eyes ... they were void and empty.

Not Claire's eyes ... they were so full of life ... like the sky reflecting starlight. I would never see them again ... I try to remember their details.

I wish I had paid more attention ... at the station ... at the front door ...

'I'm sorry, my love ...'

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What happens next is up to you!

I want you to decide what direction this story goes in! (Yes! Just like those 'choose your own adventure' books!) So each part will end with two options of how it could go ... the one with the most votes after a few weeks will be the direction the story goes. At this point there is nothing in mind beyond the two options for prompts - so even I don't know what will happen yet based on the options!

Option One:

"All slowly turned to black and darkness ... there was a sense of water washing over me ... a peace never felt before. Then a soft golden light began to grow ... coming ever closer, and ever brighter ..."

OR

Option Two:

"Everything went black ... a humming filled my ears, chattering in the background, not discernible to me. A consistent beeping maintained a rhythm and kept in time with my heart, which I could feel pounding my chest as my confusion grew ..."

Vote for an option in the comments 🩷