Invasion of Privacy
If you’re the person who murdered my wife and think you’ve gotten away with it, think
again. I’m looking for you, and I’ll eventually find you.
1. Losing Diane
“This is my last job, I’m just waiting for the computer to reboot and then I’ll run a quick
scan,” I say to my wife, Diane, while working in a client’s home. “I should be back in less than
an hour. Have you been very busy?”
“There were several customers earlier,” Diane says, “but it’s been quiet for a while now. I’m
thinking about locking up and calling it a day, but I’ll wait until you get back. What do you think
about going out to dinner tonight? I’ve been hearing about a new restaurant— I’ve got to go,
someone just came in. See you soon, love you, bye.”
Arriving at the store about an hour later, I sit in the parking lot a moment. I still get a thrill
when I look at the small business we’ve created. It might not look like much, but I remember it
without the new windows added to the front. There’s a customer walking out, carrying a laptop.
Trying to be friendly, I say, “Hi, how’s it going?” He doesn’t respond and quickly gets in his car
and leaves but not before I get a good look at him. He’s about my size, just under six feet, with
long brown hair. There’s nothing unusual about him except he has a spider tattoo on his face, just
under his right eye.
“Diane, I’m back,” I say while walking in the door. I’m surprised she isn’t at the front
counter since a customer has just left. She’s probably in the backroom. I notice the X-770 laptop
is gone. Spiderman made a good choice, I think while walking past the display of new
computers. There’s a pile of papers lying on the floor, as if they’d fallen from the counter. It isn’t
like Diane to let something like that go; I’m always teasing her about her compulsive neatness.
I’m starting to get a bad feeling; something doesn’t feel right. “Diane, where are you?” I
hear a noise coming from behind the counter and rush over to look. Diane’s lying there on the
“Diane,” I scream, “What happened?”
There’s blood everywhere … so much blood. I grab her and press my hand against the
wound on her neck to try and stop the bleeding. The warmth of the blood and the sticky wetness
of it, surprises me.
“You’re going to be fine,” I say, trying not to panic, “It’s OK, I’m here, don’t worry.”
Her eyes are closed, but they flutter open briefly, looking at me. The vacant look in her
usually bright blue eyes frightens me. She’s trying to tell me something.
“Don’t try to talk,” I say while dialing 911.
“911, what is your emergency?” the young woman calmly asks.
“My wife is bleeding, please send help.”