My Bride’s Murder Mystery

Driving home, Ruel murmured a silent prayer gazing at the starlit night, breathing in the winter air, and wishing the weather would favor him tomorrow. After many sacrifices the eagerly anticipated day arrived, ‘My wedding’, he exclaimed. Grinning, sensing a flutter in his stomach, warmth spread through his chest, sighed aloud, ‘Thank heavens, how did a jerk like me get lucky?’ 

With a fortnight left for Christmas, the festive spirit had enveloped the surroundings. The houses were adorned with strands of twinkling lights outlining the roofline, a wreath graced the door, and a vibrant mix of pinecones, red berries, and garlands of boughs decked the porch. Christmas trees, snowmen, and reindeer invited him to share the joy and magic of the season. People had one good reason to be merry but he had two. 

Cruising through the decorated streets arrived at his grand mansion. The 12-foot bronze gate swung open with a click of an automated button. Parking his car, reached for the phone. A habitual action ingrained over years. With a pang of familiarity, he dialed ‘Sweetheart.’ No response as usual. Persistent, he made a few more futile calls, eventually leaving a voice message to let her know he had reached home and requesting her to return the call. With a resigned sigh, he stepped into his luxurious suite. 

Fresh after a shower, strolled through the kitchen, pondering whether to forgo dinner and settled for an apple. Nestling into a leather recliner, he took a bite of the crisp fruit, closing his eyes, he thought, “Today marks the end of solitude. His wife would be beside him from tomorrow, and he’ll never feel lonely again’. 

Reminding himself not to be swallowed by anger, mentally compiled a list of tasks for the next day. Retrieving his phone, dialed the usual number, only to hear the familiar “not reachable” response. Sending a goodnight voice message, murmuring, “Just one last night of loneliness,” drifted into a peaceful sleep like a contented child.

Clara awoke to the jarring wail of the siren, pulled from a dreamy realm and anchored back to reality. Disoriented, she fumbled for the clock, the room still enveloped in darkness as the sun stubbornly withheld its morning light, letting winter maintain its dominance. The clock blinked, 5:00 am. Limping to the window peered down from the fifth floor of her apartment. 

Garda cars swamped the entrance. Feeling a surge of panic, she grabbed her shrug and ventured out. Descending in the elevator, the doors slid open to reveal four police officers stepping in. Clara’s nerves tingled with unease as she couldn’t contain her curiosity. “What’s happening?” she blurted. 

The officer shot her a skeptical glance. “Ms. Sasha,” he began but trailed off, leaving her hanging with an incomplete sentence.

Panic surged at the mention of Sasha. She knew Sasha. Everyone knew Sasha as the most humble, loving, and successful businesswoman who resided on the fourth floor. A wave of catastrophe overshadowed her. Desperate to distance herself, swiftly sprinted back to her flat. Trembling, slammed her door shut as if fleeing from an unseen ghost, frantically reaching for her phone.

The phone buzzed, pulling Ruel from his deep sleep. Startled, he reached for the phone, anticipating the familiar voice he longed to hear. Expecting the known voice, he murmured in a husky voice, “Hi Sweetheart.” His heart sank when the voice that responded wasn’t the one he had anticipated, but rather that of Mrs. Clara.

He hurried, persuaded, clarified, and responded to inquiries before finding himself where he stood at the moment. His gaze froze at the sight of his soon-to-be wife’s body hanging loose from the ceiling. 

His knees buckled beneath him, and collapsed sinking to the ground. Her natural fair complexion had turned to a haunting purplish, hands dangled, feet loose, eyes bulged out, mouth agape. She was in peach pajamas with a stark red stole wringing her bare delicate throat. The room reeked of death, a haunting stillness seeped into every corner.

A distant voice called his name. A gentle nudge brought him back to the present. He realized he had forgotten to breathe. Emotionless, devoid of tears or screams, too shocked by the harrowing sight of ‘His love’. 

Reality dawned, settling like a thick fog seizing him. “Why? Why?” The word echoed in his mind. Disbelief and despair crept in. Someone intervened, guiding him to sit on a chair.

In a matter of hours, they were meant to be united as husband and wife. Embark on a journey of shared dreams and a promising future. Sasha, his beacon of hope, was meant to dissolve his loneliness, and promise a life of companionship and shared happiness. The cruel twist of fate had shattered those hopeful dreams in an instant.

The voices of the investigators drifted, their discussion veering between suicide and suspicion of murder. 

She had earned a few enemies because of her success, the weight of which had led her to rely on antidepressants. Did the foes envy her so much that they decided to eliminate her? Could it have been the envy of adversaries that led to this tragedy? Or was she dreading the marriage commitment as she mentioned the other day? She had appeared content. Had she been hiding fear beneath her happiness? “How could this happen?” What had he missed? Ruel’s mind raced with questions. 

The aroma of fresh coffee enveloped the room. A voice broke through the haze of his thoughts, calling, “Ruel Sir, it’s already six. Your coffee, sir.” Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he reluctantly surfaced from the grip of his dreams, wishing that the haunting scene had merely been a figment of his imagination. But it wasn’t. Recurring dreams, vivid and painfully real, continued to plague him, each one a raw memory of that tragic day.

Glancing at the calendar, he realized eight years had passed, yet the pain lingered, fresh as if it had happened yesterday. He stumbled out of bed, a sickening feeling settled within as the relentless ache of loss clawed at his heart. Seeing his reflection in the mirror, he stared at the deep hollow eyes buried in dark circles, sunken cheeks, and disheveled hair as the dark shade of loss crept over again.

Time is the healer, people had said. But eight long years had passed, yet, time hadn’t acted as the soothing balm that people often claimed it to be. Ruel remained unable to overcome the profound loss of his beloved Sasha. To the world, that day marked their anticipated wedding, but only he knew that they had been living as a devoted couple from their college days. Their bond was pure filled with unconditional love. 

At the age of 14, he was the sole survivor of a devastating car accident that claimed the lives of his parents and younger brother. People had deemed him fortunate but he felt otherwise. The emptiness of that tragedy lingered all through his adulthood until Sasha walked into his life. She nurtured him like a mother and gave him the love of a lost family. Sasha had been his solace, the beacon of light in the darkness of his sorrow. She healed the scars, helped him cope with the battles of his mind, and taught him to fight his inner demons. 

Despite his efforts of counseling sessions, and psychologist visits—nothing helped the relentless ache in Ruel’s heart. Sasha’s memory remained an indelible part of his existence, something no therapy could erase. He attempted to engage in relationships, but the connections felt hollow and insincere.

He had got accustomed to this numbness, a lifeless state of living in her memories. Seated in an easy chair, he let the weight of weariness settle, closing his eyes as he whispered into the void, “I miss you, Sasha”

A response, faint but unmistakable, echoed in his mind. “I know,” came Sasha’s whispered reply. A peculiar calm washed over him at her imagined voice. “Come here,” she beckoned, without hesitation, he drew closer. In his mind’s eye, she enveloped him in a warm embrace, his head rested on her plump soft breast, and her protective hands snaked around him tighter, cradling him. Her fingers combed his hair, traced his skin, and brushed his brows as she planted an affectionate kiss on his forehead. 

In the depths of his imagined embrace, Ruel felt a surge of longing and intimacy. Clinging tightly to the ephemeral moment, he pressed a kiss against her, holding on with a fervor that sought to absorb every iota of sensation, storing each feeling within his very being. Every detail was savored, cherished, and consumed as if trying to etch her essence into his soul.

Under the imagined warmth of her presence, his frozen body began to thaw, and a gentle, soothing sensation coursed through him with the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing. It was a moment of profound intimacy, a figment of his longing for her, where he found a fleeting sense of peace amidst the emptiness that engulfed him.

Yet, amidst the intensity of their imagined reunion, he sensed a sadness. A faint taste of salt lingered on his tongue, and his cheeks felt damp. Realization dawned—he must have been crying. In the silence of his thoughts, every unspoken word was an echo of his undying love for her. 

A declaration repeatedly reverberated through the emptiness, ‘I Love You, Sasha’.