Mrs. Johansson

The mornings were always the best part of the day. The way the sun shone through the curtains, calling the night to end its reign and shining the waking sun’s peaceful glow on a delicate world. The birds sang and the wind blew gently over a small house in a small town in the middle of nowhere. The large lake still and quiet reflected the light all around them. Mrs. Johansson loved being in the middle of nowhere with middle of nowhere people and middle of nowhere peace and quiet.

It only lasted a moment, it always only lasted a moment, before a sigh sounded from behind the young woman and a hand brushed her long, perfectly straight blond locks away from her face. The bed dipped as a strong arm held up the equally strong body of the man that always slept beside her, his blue eyes looking down on her with adoration and contentment. “Good morning, my love,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss her cheek, his lips soft and gentle against her as she sighed, satisfied with her process of waking up.

“Good morning, my love,” Mrs. Johansson responded, glancing up at his perfectly sharp jaw and that crooked smile that had reeled her in in the first place, only locking in her fate when she saw those crystal blue eyes across the room. He had asked her to dance. It had been their senior prom. High school sweethearts always seemed like the perfect love story to her, and that was exactly what she had. “It’s going to be a beautiful day by the lake,” she decided.

With a shake of his head, the man leaned down to kiss her neck, “Never as beautiful as you, my love.”

The bed moved again as her husband stood and Mrs. Johansson watched him for a long moment, memorizing the man’s every detail, his every move, the way he put on his button down shirt and trousers. The way he brushed lazily through his hair in the mirror. “I can make you breakfast,” Mrs. Johansson offered, “Eggs sunny side up, just how you like them.

Her husband turned to her. “You know just how to make my day,” he said, walking over to kiss her one more time before he buttoned up his shirt on his way out the door.

Then suddenly everything was quiet again and something odd tugged at Mrs. Johansson’s chest. There was something metallic in the air that met her nose harshly for a single second. It didn’t matter. She kept that smile on her face, the smile a perfect wife should always have on her face, as she stood brushed through her hair, slowly dancing around the room and finding a perfectly modest dress to slip into, and a matching set of jewelry to put on. Of course, she wouldn’t be complete without her makeup on. Her husband loved her red lipstick. He said she looked cleaner that way. Mrs. Johansson wore it nearly everyday, just for him. The red lipstick, the pink blush and the black mascara. She always told herself she looked like one of those girls on the front of those sheek magazines, pretty and perfect.

Once Mrs. Johansson could look in the mirror and see no imperfections in her appearance, no spots or scars, she nodded a small approval at herself and left the room. For only a moment it was dreary and quiet before a door opened and a young boy walked into the hallway as she passed him by. “Good morning, mother,” he called.

“Good morning, Bryan,” Mrs. Johansson smiled. “Beautiful morning by the lake, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful morning, mother, but never as beautiful as you,” the young boy responded, his dark hair and blue eyes matching those of his father. Bryan was a golden boy. Mrs. Johansson was sure she could keep him that way, he was a good boy, a proper boy, just like his father.

Though, there was nothing that gave her quite as much joy as the kind that fluttered through her when her baby came running up to her. “Mama!”

“Jemma!” Mrs. Johansson called right back, scooping up that little girl. “How’s my Jem?”

“Happy, mama!” the little girl giggled, the innocence practically bubbling out of her, “N’ beautiful just like you!”

“More beautiful than any sunrise,” Mrs. Johansson assured, clipping her daughter's chin playfully. The little girl had perfect eyes and brilliantly golden curls on top of her head. For a moment, Mrs. Johansson almost saw tears in the young girl's eyes, but when she blinked, they were gone, and that child was just as bright and cheerful as ever. “Do you wanna help mama make breakfast?” the young mother asked. All the little girl could do was nod her head with an eager grin.

Mrs. Johansson’s footsteps were cold as she made her way to the kitchen, her child’s hand in hers, gripping a bit tighter than normal. The kitchen felt odd and dark. Mrs. Johansson suddenly felt the urge to clean it, her husband preferred things clean, but she did not have time quite yet, she knew as she broke open eggs in a sizzling pan just perfectly. Her Jemma stood up on a stepping stool in order to see the stove do its work. Without a word she began to lay out strips of bacon on the pan. Five years old and so careful, so precise, just as every woman should be, it was like she’d been cooking for years.

They had a routine, this family. Mrs. Johansson had a schedule, one she kept to, pristinely. Everything had its order and everyone had their place. Mrs. Johansson’s place was here, taking care of her family. It what her mama had always wanted for her.

Arms surrounded the young woman’s waist while she set the table. Her husband sighed against her ear, “Just the way I like it. You really know how to keep a guy wrapped around your finger.”

“I certainly hope so,” Mrs. Johansson said as a grin spread across her face, “I did get the ring, after all. Someone had to be clever enough to tame you.” She was only teasing, but something was sharp in her chest, almost like fire.

“Tame me?” the man asked. “My dear, remember who tamed who.”

Mrs. Johansson looked back at him, expecting a sharp gaze to go with that taunting tone. When she caught sight of him though, it was as though he’d never spoken a word, his soft eyes and smile making her melt and all was seemingly forgotten.

While Jemma poured four glasses of juice, Bryan joined them, sitting down at the table for breakfast and beginning to serve the meal. It was Monday, the start of a new week and new possibilities. Absolutely anything could happen. So Mrs. Johansson reached out for her husband’s and her Jemma’s hand, bowing her head to say grace, after all this food, this family, this morning was a blessing. She could never forget to say thanks. The young woman squeezed her husband’s hand and he squeezed back just as Mrs. Johansson opened her mouth to speak.

That is when a knock came at the door. Mrs. Johansson didn’t look up as she stood. “I’ll get it,” she assured, though she did not need to. Still the young wife called out that she was in fact, “Coming!” before she gently opened the door just enough to peak outside. “Can I help you, officers?”

There were two men standing outside the door. One black, one white. They were looking at Quinn with concern as she smiled up at them. “Good morning, ma’am, we have had some complaints coming from this house,” one of the men said, the darker one.

Mrs. Johansson cocked her head to the side. “Complaints?” she asked curiously, “whatever about?”

“Ma’am, I’m Officer Kip and this is Officer Kingsley, may we come in?” the other officer asked, trying to pear around the woman who looked down shyly and stood fast in their way. “Ma’am, we really must insist—“

“Mrs. Johansson,” the woman corrected, in a sharp but polite tone. Still she couldn’t look these men in the eyes, unsure of why, however she needed the men to stop calling her ma’am. She was Mrs. Johansson.

“Mrs. Johansson,” Officer Kip repeated. “Do we have your permission to take a look around?”

With a glance behind her, not quite making it all the way back to the kitchen, she stepped out of the man’s way. “Don’t disturb my family,” she warned.

The officers stepped inside, their noses scrunched up. When Mrs. Johansson finally worked up the courage to look up at them, their guns were drawn. “Hands in the air! Don’t move!” Officer Kingsley shouted.

Mrs. Johansson gasped and dropped something to the ground. In her horror, she couldn’t even process what she had been holding. Her hands shot up in the air. No words would come out of her mouth. “Ma’am—“

“Mrs. Johansson!” the woman shouted again, her hands trembling in the air as she tried to figure out what was happening, however the entire world seemed to change in an instant. The sun had been shining that morning, she knew it had been, she could remember waking up to the sun in her face, she could remember the bright blue sky. Now it was dreary, dull and wet, like the whole world was crying.

“Mrs. Johansson, is this your house?” Officer Kingsley asked.

The young woman felt as though she couldn’t catch her breath. “Yes! Yes, this is my house! My family is here—“

“We have three bodies,” Officer Kip announced. Then he kept talking.

Mrs. Johansson did not hear a word after that. Finally, she looked down, lowering her hands. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear someone yelling at her. The voice was morphed. There were too many people in her head as she looked down at what she had dropped.

The universe stopped moving. Air did not reach Mrs. Johansson’s lungs, instead she stood frozen staring at an all too familiar doll that looked nothing like the innocence it had once embodied. It’s hair was tangled. It wasn’t possible. Jemma brushed her dolly’s hair everyday. The toy was still dressed in her nightgown. That wasn’t right either. Jemma should have changed her. Jemma loved her dolly. Why was there red paint on the dolly?

A scream ripped from Mrs. Johansson’s throat, still she heard nothing as her chest felt ripped into and broken all in an instant. She was sure she hadn’t felt anything in days. This dress was covered in a sticky red substance, something that should not be all over her. In her haze, her knees gave out and she fell to her knees, clutching at her dress, trying to remember how to breathe as a pain ripped through her violently, though no one had touched her. “Jemma?! Jemma!” she screamed. “Jem, mama’s sorry!”

“Mrs. Johansson, can you tell me what happened?” Officer Kingsley asked, still a bit wary of her. Words still could not form in the young woman’s mouth as she shut her eyes. Her head reeled, flashing her back into a world she’d lived in days ago, one filled with pain. “Ma’am, are you hurt?” he asked. “Who gave you that shiner? Was your husband hurting you?” Mrs. Johansson could not move, she could not speak. She smelled eggs and bacon and orange juice. It was a beautiful morning by the lake.

“Mrs. Johansson, did you kill your family?”

Blue eyes snapped up at that and Mrs. Johansson turned around to look at her table, her kitchen table. Her family was smiling back at her, gesturing for her to come back to the table. So she smoothed back her hair and wiped away those tears. Her husband said she wasn’t pretty when she cried. So she put on a smile and made sure her jewelry was perfectly symmetrical and straight. She walked back to that table and sat down, her gaze on the tall stranger in front of her. “These officers have come to join us for breakfast, my love,” she told him. “Is that quite alright? It’s just too beautiful a morning by the lake to send them away.”

Her husband smiled back at her. “Never as beautiful as you, darling,” he replied.

So the woman turned back to the two men, squeezing her daughter’s hand as Jemma smiled up at her. “What do you say, gentlemen? Care for some breakfast?”

It was such a beautiful morning by the lake.