Prompt for August 25, 2016

Complete the short story/flash fiction, that has the following opening:

“I used to think that talking to myself was a sign of dementia or a crazy person. But now …?”

“Why the change, Detective Chanson? What happened that made you think otherwise?”

He squirmed on the chair, uncomfortable where the questioning was going, but he knew that he had to answer. After all, he had brought up the question and it was up to him to follow the leads and see where they went. “I told you about my wife’s death, Nicole’s death, and how it affected me, right?” He waited for the doctor to nod her head before continuing.

“Well, just last week I was in our house, my house, wondering where something had gone when something, let’s call it a feeling, came over me and told me to check the third box on the second shelf in the storeroom. I went downstairs, feeling a little silly for this feeling, and checked the third box on the second shelf. And there it was, one of the pictures from our wedding just a few years ago. A friend of hers had been the photographer at the wedding and she took one of our favourite pictures, a candid moment when we were just looking into each others eyes, and put it in a special frame. When we moved to the house she had it packed and we never unpacked it. Not enough time as she was murdered just six weeks after moving in.”

He stopped talking while he closed his eyes tight, willing those tears to stop their progress and go back where they came from. He knew he lost when the doctor tapped him on the knee with a box of kleenex. He opened his eyes, surprised to see tear drops on his shirt, and grabbed a couple of tissues to blot his eyes. When he was more composed he looked at the doctor with a challenging expression on his face.

“So,” she started slowly, “you believe that this is making you believe that someone, something, is talking to you? Giving you these ideas?” She looked concerned. Allowing a Detective to go back to work when he was having delusions was not beneficial to the force or the detective.

“I do, Doctor, I really do. You see,” he said, pulling his service revolver from his holster, “these voices told me about you. Told me what you do late at night to those poor unsuspecting people. Told me how you make them think strange things, then you abandon them. You see, Doctor, these voices want me to take revenge.”

Post a link to the story in the comments.

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