"For me a corpse has a beauty and dignity which a living body could never hold . . . there is a peace about death that soothes me." 

-John Reginald Halliday Christie (8 April 1899 – 15 July 1953), was an English serial killer during the 1940s and early 1950s. He murdered at least eight women – including his wife, Ethel – by strangling them in his flat in London. The bodies of three of his victims were discovered hidden in an alcove in the kitchen. His wife's body was found beneath the floorboards of the front room. Christie was arrested and convicted of his wife's murder, for which he was hanged.

Chapter 21

I slid the key into the front door with a satisfying clunk and unlocked the doorknob. Kicking the bottom of the door at the same time, the wooden entrance opened at my effort, sliding backwards so I could fit my thin frame through the gap.

The sound of high-pitched laughter filled my ears, my eyebrows raised in silent surprise. I recognized the voice as my mothers, giggling in the kitchen.

Approaching the kitchen quietly, I threw my belongings into my room from the doorway and proceeded forwards. I hadn't heard my mother laugh in a long time, so long—in fact—that I had almost forgotten what it sounded like.

When I reached the kitchen, the most pleasant and horrifying sight greeted me. My mother and father were hand in bandaged hand, swaying back and forth, dancing in the space between the two benches. Pleasant was the way my mother was laughing, was the way my father was smiling and was the way most of the bruising was gone from his body. The fact that he was out of hospital was the biggest and most pleasant surprise of them all. Horrifying was the way his skin was still so pale, the way he was effortlessly swaying in my mother's arms and the way my mother didn't seem to care that he should be resting in bed. He shouldn't even be leaving his room, let alone dancing around the kitchen where sharp and deadly objects waited to slip off the benches and strike into a persons flesh.

Over my mothers shoulder, his head finally turned to my general direction and his eyes widened at the sight of me.

"Dad." I breathed, a huge weight lifting off of my chest.

My mother dropped her arms to her sides, allowing him to open his arms to me. Unable to contain the mixture of emotions that built inside of my stomach, I approached him cautiously and gently wrapped my arms around his large stomach. He enveloped me into his warm embrace with the tightening of his arms around my thin frame.

"I missed you so much." I mumbled into his chest.

His only response was to tighten his arms around me one more time before letting me go, returning to his usual, unreadable self. It was the first time I was able to completely focus on his face, and I realized how much the accident had aged him. His hair, usually only streaked with grey, was completely discolored above his ears, and his bold patch had grown to the size of a large pancake. His eyes were sunken inwards. The dark circles under his eyes were grey.

My mother decided it was a good time to loudly clear her throat, driving my attention away from my father. Her hair was frail, but the glow in her cheeks made up for it. She was happy.

"Should I put dinner on?" My mother asked, not really giving us a chance to answer as she pulled out two large pans and turned on the heat.

She pulled chicken breast and green vegetables out of the fridge, preparing to make a basic stir-fry, which would taste dry and woody. I didn't mind. As long as it kept the hunger at bay, I wasn't picky about food.

I sighed and drifted over to the couch, leaving enough room beside me for my father. He sat down a moment later with a grunt of pain, the soft material sinking under his weight. I began to stretch my hand towards his, but stopped myself when I noticed the hardness in his expression.

It was weird; there was some sort of underlying tension between us, the string pulled taunt due to the situation at work.

I scratched the back of my head instead and switched on the TV. It wasn't too loud, I could still here Mum in the kitchen, but it was loud enough that she couldn't hear what my father was about to say.

"What is the situation at work?" He asked, not bothering to ask how I had been personally.

"It's under control for now. But no progress has been made on the suspect list."

"What about George? Did you speak with him?" He pressed.

I tired my hardest to stop my breath from hitching. I couldn't tell him everything George said, or my father would think he was the prison murderer.

"Yes. He said he doesn't remember much of the morning. But then again, I don't blame him, the guards hit him pretty hard over the head."

"That's no excuse. He needs an alibi, Emily. I thought we discussed this." He sighed heavily, his voice becoming bitter. "Do you have what he said on tape? Ill send it to the police for analysis."

"No." I said quickly, too quickly. My father's eyes broke away from the TV screen and zoned in on me. I hurried to come up with a lie. "I'm sorry father, don't be angry. I ran out of battery just before I spoke with him. I can see him again tomorrow and record it—"

"That is not good enough, Emily." He snapped, careful not to raise his voice loud enough for our mother to hear.

My heart slumped in my chest. It always hurt getting in trouble. But it hurt even more when I got in trouble because of a lie. Even though I didn't do what I said, I knew what his reaction would be if I ever did stuff up like that again. Instead of being supportive and giving me a second chance, my father openly despised my mistakes and made sure I knew of his disappointment.

The air fell silent between us. There was nothing I could say to fix it. And I certainly wasn't going to show him the real tape. I'd have to copy it to my computer and erase it from my recorder before my father went through my stuff, like he used to do.

"What else has been going on at work that I should know about?" He grumbled.

For a moment, my dark side surged to the surface, and I had the urge to slice into his skin with one of the kitchen knives. I didn't know how much more of his unwarranted disappointment I could take. But then the surge passed as quickly as it came, and was replaced by disappointment of my own. Why couldn't I be the perfect daughter?

"Dinner is ready!" Mum shouted from the kitchen.

I shot a sideways glance at my father, who was frowning at the TV screen, before quickly shooting up from my seat.

"Do you need help getting up?" I offered a hand to my father.

He glared at my fingers, curling his lips up distastefully, before he pushed himself to his feet. He hissed in pain as he stumbled to his feet, bandages covering the cuts and bruises that caused him pain.

I stalked over to the kitchen bench and sat on a round stool, suddenly very hungry. Pouring myself a glass of water from the water jug, I downed it instantly.

My mother turned around with the plates in her hands and shook her head.

"No, honey. I was thinking we should have a TV dinner. It will be more comfortable for your father that way."

I nodded in agreement and reclaimed my seat on the couch. It aggravated father more that he had to sit back down on the couch, because he had only just stood up.

Mum smiled as she took her place on the couch chair next to me, the smell of stir-fry wafting up from her plate in waves. She placed my plate on the coffee table and held Dad's in her arms until he sat down. As she passed him his fork and plate, she smiled at the both of us.

"Let's just be a normal family for a few hours and enjoy a normal dinner. No talk about work, no talk about the hospital. Only talk about this fabulous dinner and whatever crap is on TV."

"Okay." Dad and I said in union.

A small smile crept onto my face, as I was tempted to say 'jinx'.

We ate dinner with quiet chatter and the buzz flowing out of the TV. A sense of bliss calmed my racing nerves and the adrenaline that came with lying. It was nice to see my Mum laughing after being fired from her job and it was nice to see Dad out of the hospital bed. If it wasn't for our career choices and the tension that held strong between us all, we could have almost been a normal family.

I laughed softly as the cartoons raced across the screen and Mum kissed Dads forehead. I lifted my feet up onto the couch and rested my head against the pillows. My eyes slowly fluttered shut. It was nice not to worry about work for once. At least, not for a little while. 

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The calm before the storm ;)

Hey guys, this chapter is in no way edited so I apologise for any mistakes. 

If you don't follow me, you probably don't see my updates so I am just going to repeat what I said on my profile. 

I apologise for how long this chapter took to write, and how crap the emotion has come out. It is supposed to be calm and heart felt, but it hasn't really come out that way. Its because I have some stuff going on at home and its been hard for me to write of late due to writers block. 

Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter 

comment your thoughts 

xx Charli

PS. this is the last calm chapter before shit hits the fan haha