by Matthew A. Hamilton
He came home early because of the snow.
“Honey, I’m home,” he said.
No answer. He called again. “Honey?”
“So this is what an empty house sounds like?” he thought.
He looked out the window. The snow was coming down harder, bigger flakes this time. Trees danced in the wind, branches snapped.
He cracked his knuckles, then picked up the phone and called the police.
“How long has she been missing,” the officer said.
“Don’t know,” he said. “I came home from work early because of the snow. They said it was going to be a big one. She wasn’t here when I got here.”
“So she’s been gone for less than a day then, your saying.”
“Yea, I guess so. What does that have to do with anything?”
“You saw her this morning?”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “So you coming to help me find her or what?” His voice was a mix of worry and anger. “The snow is coming down harder now and I’m getting worried.”
The cop relented, didn’t see the point in keeping with the 48 hour limit.
They searched for his wife for a week, but didn’t find her. They questioned him after that, called him a possible suspect.
“Fuck you!” he yelled. “I didn’t kill my wife.”
The cops harassed him for another week, then quit. Two days after that, he called the life insurance company to ask about his money, asked how soon he could get it.
(Matthew is a US Peace Corps Volunteer serving in the Philippines. He has work in Metazen Magazine, Crows Nest Magazine, The Battered Suitcase, and others. He has forthcoming work in Black Lantern Publishing. He is a member of the online writing group, Fictionaut and a regular contributor to the weekly flash challenge, 52/250. After his Peace Corps service, Matthew will attend Fairfield University's MFA program in creative writing.)