Clouded Rainbow by Jonathan Sturak Page B

from his memory, or at least misplaced. He glanced at the shrubbery, and then to some ornaments propped by the door. Nothing looked like a viable hiding spot, except for three stout flowerpots on the ground. Roger moved one aside, saw nothing useful, and then pushed the second. A small object appeared that resembled a key, but as soon as it began squirming, Roger knew it was a worm unhappy about the disturbance. Finally, he maneuvered the third pot, and a shiny silver key greeted him.
    “There it is,” he mumbled.
    Roger bent down, but quickly winced from a sharp pain that flowed through his back. He took a deep breath and grabbed the key. Then, he slid it into the lock, opening the door to the castle.
    A subtle smell attached to a soft breeze invigorated Roger’s senses. It was hard to describe in words, like trying to explain the taste of water, but it was the scent of something familiar, something safe. Roger stared into the dark entryway. The moonlight cast a silhouette around Roger’s aching frame. After a moment, he flipped on a light.
    “Lois?” Roger said as his voice echoed in the sizable structure. All he received, however, was the sound of silence, the last sound he wanted to hear.
    Where can she be? What happened?
    More questions filled his clouded mind, and the last thing he wanted to do was think. Roger moved toward the kitchen as he stopped at the room’s doorway. Before hitting the lights, he took in the darkness, absorbing the mystery that the absence of light had created. He could see his frame cast in front of him, outlined by the sole light shining from the bright entryway behind.
    Roger turned on the light and perused the open kitchen. The floral arrangement sat perfectly on the table, still blooming from yesterday’s picking. Clean dishes lay on a drain board near the sink and a basket on the counter still contained ripe fruit. All of these signs meant something to a skilled detective, but they only confused the exhausted Roger.
    “Everything looks normal,” he said, but the one thing missing from this perfect environment was Lois.
    Roger made the rounds in the kitchen when something caught his eye. The liquor cabinet, storing some of the family’s most precious jewels, seemed to have a radiating glow. He heeded the sign and gravitated toward it.
    Roger finally took a sigh of relief, even though it would be short lived and artificial. He slid open the cabinet and checked the bottles of liquor. He wasn’t a man who lived by the bottle, but a drink in the evening was welcomed after a rough day. Based on his calculation, he would need the whole cabinet, and then some, to compensate for his debilitating day. He pushed aside some rum, and moved a large jug of unopened Lambrusco to the top of the cabinet. Roger studied the wine for a moment, as he knew it was Lois’ favorite. Finally, he grabbed the strong stuff in the back, a bottle of “Jack Daniel’s Old Tennessee Whiskey.” He struggled with the sealed cap like an old man with arthritis. Finally, he put the opened bottle to his cracked lips, and then took a long drink, each gulp rhythmically tuned.
    “Ahhh,” he exhaled.
    He ventured upstairs, the clump of his footsteps filling the house as he floundered up each step. The hallway was dark. Roger used his damaged memory to guide him to his bedroom. He flipped the lights on as the master bedroom greeted him. The perfectly made queen-sized bed sat in the middle with his dresser and nightstand all in order. Everything was just as the couple had left it from their date just twenty-four hours ago. But all Roger could think about was finding something that solved the conundrum—a note, a message, or…Lois.
    Roger took another swig of liquor, and then placed the bottle on the dresser. He moved to the attached bathroom. He looked at a towel hanging over the shower door. Lois would usually take it down before bed and toss it into the clothesbasket, but the fact that it still hung in its place