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Chapter Twenty-One

I wake the following morning, unaware of what the day will bring. Opening my eyes, I place my arm over my forehead. With a slight turn of my head, I glance at the space next to me. Oliver’s side of the bed was still made—like he didn’t come to bed last night.

I stumble out of bed, slip my feet into my black slippers, and put on my robe.

“Oliver?” I say, walking down the stairs.

No answer.

As I step into the foyer, my heart races. Shock and horror course through me as I see my husband, my love, lying motionless on his back in a pool of dark crimson blood, staining the pristine marble floor of our foyer. The only thing I could manage was a high-pitched, piercing scream as tears poured from my eyes.

“Oliver!” I scream, running over to him, checking for a pulse, but there isn’t one. He’s gone, dead, and once again, my life has trapped me in another hellish nightmare. I try to stand, but my legs are like Jello. I stumble back and hit the console table, gripping the edge for support. I run up the stairs and grab my phone, dialing 911.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

“My husband is dead! I scream into the phone. “Someone murdered him!”

I’m shaking so badly that I feel like I’m going to pass out again.

“Ma’am, I’m sending someone to your home right now. Is anyone else in the house?”

“No,” I can barely speak, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. “I have to go.” I end the call and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling while the taste of bile rises in the back of my throat. I struggle to hold back the vomit, threatening to escape. I fly off the bed and race into the bathroom, lifting the toilet lid and hovering over it. I stay like that for at least ten minutes, and then the doorbell rings.

I stumble down the stairs and close my eyes as I pass by my husband’s lifeless body. Opening the door, I see Detective Walker. Instantly, I step onto the porch and fall into her arms, sobbing like a lunatic while the other officers step inside the house.

“Shh. It’s okay.” She tries to console me.

“Walker, you need to see this,” one of the other officers says from inside the house.

“Come on, Mrs. Tate.” She leads me back inside the house, shielding my eyes from my husband’s body and over to the couch in the living room. “Hank, can you please stay with her?”

“Of course, Detective Walker.”

A few moments later, Detective Walker walks over, sits beside me, and takes hold of my hand.

“Can you tell me what happened here?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” I’m shaking. “I woke up this morning and noticed he didn’t come to bed last night. I found him when I came downstairs. Oh God,” I sob.

“The lock on the front door is broken,” one of the officers says. “It looks like a break-in.”

“Do you know what your husband was doing last night when you went to bed?” Detective Walker asks.

“He was in his office working.”

“And you didn’t hear a sound the entire night?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I took a pill last night before I went to sleep. It knocked me out.”

“What kind of pill did you take?”

“I forgot what it’s called. I fainted on the street yesterday and hit my head. I was in the hospital for most of the day. One of the doctors who saw me prescribed it.”

“Can I see the bottle?”

“It’s on my nightstand upstairs.”

“Hank, go up to the primary bedroom and bring me her bottle of pills. Make sure to put gloves on first before touching it. Mrs. Tate, do you know of anyone who would want to hurt your husband?”

“No! Nobody. Everyone loved Oliver. Excuse me. I’m going to be sick.” I jump up from the couch and run into the half bath.

By the time I was finished, Oliver’s body was being taken out of the house. I fall to the floor, with my back against the wall, covering my mouth while tears stream down my face. I can’t believe this is happening again. My husband, the love of my life and my perfect man, is gone, and he’s never coming back.

“Mrs. Tate, is there somewhere you can stay for a while? Your home is now a crime scene, and you can’t be here. Can I call someone for you?”

I gave her Samantha’s name and number. She was the only one I could trust. I overhear one of the officers talking to the other detective who showed up with Detective Walker.

“Twenty-two stab wounds. It looks like The Widowmaker strikes again.”

Why? Why would he say something like that? The Widowmaker kills men who cheat on their wives. Oliver didn’t cheat on me. I would know. I would know if my husband was cheating. But then again, I didn’t know Brian was.

“Mrs. Tate, Samantha is on her way,” Detective Walker says. “I still need to ask you some more questions, but I can hold off until your friend arrives.”