Bringing the Body Back Home (prelude)

Lovers become memories and detectives become repair technicians.

It would be so typical of me to start this with some kind of romantic rambling, but I only have so many pages to get my feelings out.

The last time I visited Paula’s was in July of 2024. I… I think I felt like something was off as soon as I stepped inside of the store. Maybe I have a sixth sense. I’m not sure.

A siren spoke. “You get the bread and oats, I’ll grab the yogurt.”

I rolled my eyes jokingly. “Whatever you say, Meadow.”

She fluttered her eyes, and I studied her as she made her way over to the dairy section. It was a habit I had developed over the years.

The next couple of moments were an absolute blur and I can’t speak on it much without wanting to scream. I remember hearing a few piercing ones before being pulled into the employee’s room. Someone with a deep voice yelled, "Run! Run for your life!" Maybe they said something different. I'm not too sure. Little clouds of smoke and rain rush into my brain like a crappy day in the middle of summer in Québec City whenever I try to remember exactly what happened.

We barricaded the door using… I don’t know, whatever the hell was in there. I tied my belt to the door hinge arm and darted under a table with a bundle of bread. The room was white, but soon became a sea of black. Thankfully. The machines hummed like bees; quaint but very irritating, but everybody stayed silent. I never liked the sounds of machines. They buzzed like saws when you hear someone mowing the lawn from inside your house; in the background, yet painfully annoying...

I didn’t bother to text Meadow because I didn’t want to get distracted in case the attacker found me. Seconds felt like minutes; minutes felt like hours. The police came and got everyone hiding in there, and they told everyone to not look down as we escaped the store. But my eyes were too curious. That was the biggest mistake I made that day…

The beautiful woman I had once claimed as my own had just been stolen from me. And it wasn’t like I was going to get her back. Her body laid limp and still on the cold hard floor, smack dab in the middle of the dairy aisle, surrounded by a pool of red.

Meadow’s body and soul were nothing short of heavenly. She’d cuddle me and make me soup every time I had a bad day at work. She smiled and asked me about my day every day when I came home from it. I could go on and on, but I don’t want my anger and sadness to get the best of me.

I’d never get to spend another day gawking over cheesy romantic novels with her, or braiding her hair, or having picnics with her, or holding her close as I drift off to sleep ever again, all because of one idiot. My blood boils whenever I think about it. My pulse rose as I wrote this, but I suppose it is necessary to provide some kind of context for what I am about to write.

I solved hundreds of murder cases in my five years as a detective. I guess I didn’t quite grow cold to it by the time that Meadow and five others were pushed into heaven by some bastard with a knife.

I quit working as a detective the day after her death and started working as a repair technician soon after.

It’s been a year and a half since that cursed day. I’m sure I’ll get over it soon enough. But for now, I’ve got plans for dinner.