Home.

*Mild gore warning - no scenes of violence*

“Home is where his heart lays dead on the table. Not because I would murder him, or anything as grotesque as that. As horrible as it may seem, this was the unfortunate ending to what could have been a wonderful existence with a man I so truly desired.

I have always wanted him to love me. From the moment I laid eyes on him, dressed in my finest black dress and feathered hat, satin gloves adorning my trembling hands, I was smitten in a way that clenched my heart like a corset. He was divine. Beautiful face framed by long, wavy brown hair. Stubble ran along his strong jaw, and his eyes, those smoldering, dark eyes, stared at the ground as tears fell down his cheeks. He was so beautifully sad.

I will never forget that moment of falling deeply in love with a stranger. It stayed with me for many years, following along like a loyal puppy everywhere I went. It felt as if my eyes had been pried open by fate and I could finally see past the darkness of my own narrow mind. My body felt hot and cold, a sensation that drove me mad as Mother and I walked back home.

I was desperate to feel that again. Unfortunately, I knew not his name nor his family to inquire after him. He was gone in the blink of an eye.

So, when Mother and Father announced that I had a suitor at the door on the day of my sixteenth, only a month after that fateful meeting with destiny, my heart leapt into my stomach. A suitor meant that I was to marry soon. Hopefully to a man that would make me feel the same as that beautiful stranger.

I walked down the staircase to meet this suitor. Disappointing was the first word that came to mind as I stared at a boy no taller than myself and barely a hair on his chin. A baby face with flimsy limbs and a voice that had not settled yet. I cringed when he touched his wet lips to my hand. It was torture to sit through his drivel, smiling politely as my parents watched us like hawks hovering over their powerless prey.

Thankfully after only a few meetings, my parents turned him away because I threatened to starve myself should he come seeking my company again. They brought in five more young men after that. It was a busy five months of disheartening courtship. I went on supervised dates and spent countless hours smiling at boys who did not deserve my beauty nor my brains. I would use the starvation trick twice more before Father decided to lock me up day and night until I stopped acting like a spoiled brat, he would say. And should I be locked up then I would never see my secret love again. I obliged only to please him and one day find the man that had captured my heart.

Then, as if the gods above had heard my prayers, the suitors stopped coming. My Mother was so distraught, huffing and puffing each time she received a rejection letter from some poor young man’s parents. They blamed rumors about my pickiness and thought it better to not waste everyone’s time on me. I may have had an extra hand in spreading those rumors, but I would never admit my own sabotage.

Even so, I was delighted by the outcome. Mother and Father... hardly so. As punishment for my defiance, Father sent me away to live with an aunt in Moorestown. Along the coast. He said, ‘You better get some sense while you live there. When you come back, you will be taking a husband to your grave and that is final’--”

“As it should be! You sound like an awful little thing with no respect for your parents!”

“Well, Officer, how rude of you!”

“How rude of me? I didn’t go killing–”

“Breckley. Calm down or keep your mouth closed.”

“Sorry, Sergeant.”

“Ms. Penderton. Please proceed.”

“You would do best to keep his rude remarks under control. This is hard enough talking to you about all this.”

“Of course, of course, Miss.”

“Anyways. It was a tragedy that I, a young girl so full of life and love, was sent away to live with a reclusive aunt in the middle of nowhere. I had never loved my parents house, but oh, how horrible it was at Aunts! So wet and damp all the time, with nothing fun to do and only chores to pass the time. She would beat me at the drop of a hat for whatever silly thing I did wrong. I would cry and cry myself to sleep each night while thinking of–”

“Ms. Penderton. Apologies for interrupting but we need you to get on to answering our original question.”

“Oh my, look at me rambling on about things that do not matter to you. Being a scared sixteen-year-old has nothing to do with your investigation, of course. How silly of a presumption. Now, where was I? Ah yes, how awful it was to live with my aunt. So, once I turned seventeen, after living six months with that foul woman, Father finally allowed me home. He did not comment on the bruising along my face or the new skinniness to my frame. He only wondered if I had behaved myself and had a change of heart about my eventual marriage. I told him I would marry anyone so as not to live with Aunt again. My time with her broke the last bit of spirit I had left. Not that it matters to you, but those six months changed my life.

Three months later, I was betrothed to a young man named Larry Penderton, and six months after that, married under the eyes of God in front of a wrinkly old priest and a crowd of people I hardly knew. And I refuse to discuss our wedding night because there is nothing exciting to tell. My new husband was a dead fish. It was more fun to watch paint dry then listen to him talk about the only two things he liked: money and boats-"

"Ms. Penderton, please-"

"This is important, Sergeant! You need to understand what I thought about my husband. How dissatisfied I was with the whole thing."

"...Okay then. But please, stick to relevant details only. Please."

"Mhm. Anyways, that is how he made a living, if you didn’t know. Building boats and, after a few years, seafaring. He would be gone for weeks at a time, and I loved it. Every moment I had by myself was time spent thinking about my true love.”

“And how you could get your filthy hands on him, huh? Greedy little bit–!”

“Officer Breckley! Enough of these outbursts tonight. Keep it under control or you are out of here. Got it?”

“...Yes, Sergeant. Won’t happen again.”

“Please proceed Ms. Penderton. What happened years later? I assume you and Mr. Penderton had a few good years together.”

“If by good, you actually mean quiet, then yes. We lived life together for twenty years. As you know, he passed away two years ago from a heart attack. All that indulging in foreign food finally caught up to him. But when he was away, I would pine after the man I saw so long ago. I asked around for him and even visited unsavory places to see if I could catch him. I didn’t know if he was a gentleman or a ruffian, so I made sure to look everywhere. Even at the risk of my safety and reputation.

For ten years, I did this every day my husband was gone until he uprooted me and sailed me across the ocean for another ten long, long years. I tried to escape and run away back home to find the beautiful stranger. But it was no use. My husband caught wind of my feelings and kept me home or at events, plastered to his arm like a fancy doll. It was maddening. To kiss him but think of my love. To try creating a home and family even though my heart did not belong to him. It was worse than the torture at Aunt’s house. I was trapped between brick walls. A physical prison created by over-controlling parents and my lack of backbone to leave my marriage.

When Larry finally died two years ago, I felt a great weight had lifted off my shoulders and I could breathe without inhaling the stench of disappointment. I set sail back to my homeland. Back to the town where I left my love accompanied by the determination of a bloodhound. And when I saw him standing there on the dock dressed in fine clothing, my heart burst with the excitement of a young girl. I was a right mess after two weeks at sea, but I did not care. He had grown of course, with more facial hair than I remember. At his mother's funeral, it was only stubble. But there he was. So suddenly and so physically in front of me after so, so long.

Not that it mattered though. In my love-struck state, I failed to see the woman strapped to his arm and the child held in his other. He had a family. A small, perfect little family that I was not a part of.”

“So, that was your motive? You were not in his life and could not accept that?”

“No, Sergeant. I am no killer. I may be infatuated with a man that is not mine, but I would never kill someone he loved.”

“You do not have to be angry to slaughter a woman and her child. You could be vindictive or frustrated that she has what you believe is yours.”

“Once again, Sergeant, you seem to think I am capable of much more than pining after a love. I am not. I would hardly dare do such a thing. He wouldn’t love me if he knew, so why bother with such messy business? Instead, I bought a house on his street. It was easy enough finding out his name and address now that I had a chance to see him again. I followed him home and there it was on the house’s name plate. His name was James Atticson. It fit him perfectly.

I settled into my new home situated a few houses down and made it a habit to take walks around the neighborhood. Yes, I did follow him when I had the chance. And yes, I became friends with his wife. A lonely widow becoming friends with a vibrant young woman was the perfect recipe to get closer to him. His child was an adorable little thing and I often babysat for them on their nights out or trips away from town. That’s how I lived for another five years.”

“Until two weeks ago.”

“Until then, yes. When I found out my love’s family had been murdered in their own home, tucked away in bed while he was away for work.”

“And you know of anyone who may have done it? Considering you were his wife’s best friend?”

“Breckley. Final warning or I will kick you out of here.”

“To answer your pointed questions, Officer, no I do not. I know of no one who would wish her death. Especially her child.”

“How do you end up with his body then?”

“That is the easiest question you have uttered so far, Sergeant. I had it shipped to me after discovering that he died of a broken heart from the news. Sad enough to perish alone in a hotel while on a work trip. To be more precise for your report, everyone knows I was great friends with his sweet wife. No one questioned my late-night mourning sessions in the funeral home while they were preparing the bodies for the service. But when I looked into James' eyes as he lay on the morgue table, cloudy but as dark as I remember them on that day so long ago, I knew I could not leave him underground to rot away. He belongs with me. He needed to come home to his true love.”

“And how did you get a lifeless body to your home without anyone seeing such a sight?”

“That I cannot disclose. It would put some sympathetic acquaintances at risk. All you need to know is that he was taken from the morgue before it was his turn to be embalmed for the funeral.”

“So, Ms. Penderton. You confess to having someone steal his body on your behalf from the funeral home and cutting his heart out on your kitchen table?”

“Yes. I do.”

“And you confess to withholding the location of his heart from the police?”

“Yes. Most definitely.”

“Then you will be detained until your trial in seven days' time. You may call a lawyer to represent you or, if you so choose, we can assign one to you for the trial. And a last question. Why, Ms. Penderton? What does keeping his heart hidden away do for you? It certainly will not lighten your sentence.”

“What I just said, Sergeant. My heart has always belonged to him all these years. He is the only man I have and will ever love like this. Have you ever felt so lost and lonely inside your body that you would do anything to fill it with something that makes you happy? I do not want to live the rest of my life regretting my decision to walk away from him the first time. I have lived in a life, in a home, that was never truly mine for almost forty years. Trapped in one prison after the other. I accepted my fate for so long, it was time to change it. Now, James is my heart, and his heart is mine. We cannot be parted any longer. He and I are finally home.”