PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
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Carousel of Life
This address you know.
You drive up to the house. The horses stand in the snow at the trough like a backwards carousel, all so very surreal as you flash your badge. The officer waves you in.
Your husband, questioning the coroner, doesn’t see you approach the bodies.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says.
Your little brother. His wife. Blood splatter. Immediately you observe the Beretta by her hand. Why? Last night they seemed happy, except for that one strange moment in the kitchen between your husband and brother when your intuition projected: “lovers.”
“We need to talk,” he says.