Page 83 of Making Home with You
Sometimes we’re hugging, some pictures are of us kissing, but they all contain the two of us.
The only difference being that Sarah’s face has been scratched out, while mine hasn’t.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I say, as I take in the rest of my bedroom, looking for any other signs of disturbance.
I notice my drawers have all been pulled open and my clothes rifled through and left half hanging from the open drawers.Glancing at the bag on the chair by the chest of drawers, I notice the clothes Sarah has brought over have all been pulled out and hacked at with a pair of scissors.Thankfully she’s only got a couple of days’ worth of things here, and even though I will absolutely replace them for her, I hope nothing really important has been destroyed.
When I walk through to the ensuite bathroom, I see all of Sarah’s cosmetics have been tipped into the sink, her shampoo and conditioner squeezed onto the floor of the shower stall.
All of my things remain untouched.
“Oh this is fucking bullshit,” I murmur, pulling my phone from my pocket.
Scrolling through the contacts, I find the one I’m after and hit the call button.
“Detective Greenwood,” comes the voice on the third ring.
“This is Finn O’Loughlin,” I say, not bothering with pleasantries.“I’m going to need you to come over to my house ASAP,” I continue.“She’s broken in and trashed the place.”
Detective Greenwood clears his throat and I hear him talking to someone else before he speaks.“Finn, are you suggesting Carla Robinson has broken into your house?”
“I’m not fucking suggesting it,” I shout.“I fucking know it.Get over here so you can see for yourself.I’ll text you the address,” I add before hanging up.I’ve got no interest in explaining this to him, not when it’s blatantly fucking obvious this is her.
It takes Detective Greenwood nearly forty minutes to get to my house and for the first time in forever, I’m actually glad Sarah works long days.As much as I know he needs to process this scene and gather evidence, I’d really like to get it cleaned up before Sarah gets home.
Although as it stands, I have no desire to be in my house at all anymore, not when Carla has so obviously invaded it.
He brings two guys with him, whose names I forget as soon as they’re introduced to me.Instead, I lead them down to my bedroom, show them what she’s done.
“Can you tell if anything’s missing?”Detective Greenwood asks me.
I glance around.“I’m not sure,” I say.“I haven’t touched anything yet.”
He nods as though he approves before walking into the ensuite.“And these things in here,” he adds, gesturing around the room.“All of these are…?”
“Sarah’s, yes,” I confirm.“She hasn’t touched anything of mine in here.And it’s only Sarah’s clothes that have been destroyed.”
“Hmmm,” he replies before instructing one of his guys to process this room and then walking back out into my bedroom.“And the rest of the house?”
I let out a long breath.“The other rooms seem untouched,” I tell him.“I haven’t looked at the garage yet,” I admit.
I’d deliberately left my car out because I was planning on doing some work out there while I waited for Sarah to come home.My heart sinks as I realize what’s in there, all the things I’ve spent months working on.The wedding present for Beck and Kelsey, the gift for Erin and Ryan’s baby.The thought that Carla might have destroyed all of it actually makes me feel sick.
“Alright, let’s take a look,” Detective Greenwood says, before instructing the other guy to process my bedroom.
We head out toward the kitchen, through to the laundry room and to the door that leads out to my garage.It’s still locked, but that means fuck all if Carla was inside my house.She could have unlocked it, gone in there, trashed the place and re-locked the door when she was done.
Turning the lock, I grip the door handle, my heart pounding as I twist it, push open the door and turn on the lights.
“Oh thank fuck,” I breathe out when I see all the furniture, in different stages of completion but untouched by Carla.
“Um, Finn?”Detective Greenwood says.
I turn toward him, following his hand as it points to the far wall of my garage.As soon as I see it, my stomach sinks, a heavy weight settling over me even as a rush of anger surges through me.“Fucking hell,” I say as I step closer, immediately reaching for the large photo of Sarah that’s been tacked to the wall, held in place by the screwdriver that’s jammed between her eyes.
“Don’t,” Detective Greenwood immediately says.
“She can’t see this,” I say, looking back at him.
