They say shock does strange things to a person.
Most people would have called the police, or at the very least an ambulance.
He left the man’s body where it lay and returned to the one he loved. Weeping, he stood in the doorway, surveying the scene in the room that had once been theirs. Blood and other… materials… covered the bed, the floor, the walls. A smell not unlike that of barbeque filled his nostrils, and made his stomach growl most inappropriately. When he realised moments later that the smell was the cooked flesh of the fingertips of the woman he loved, he could control himself no longer, and vomited copiously, his stomach acid and half-digested tuna melt mixing with the blood on the floor, blending with the smell of the room, all of which leading him towards blackness.
The last thing he heard before he hit the floor was her voice, just one word.
He buried the man’s body in the field to the rear of 17 Park Lane, Briddleton. The land belonged to the property, so it wasn’t trespassing, and he hardly considered that anyone would report the man as missing.
After cleaning her from head to foot and dressing her in comfortable but basic attire, he’d relocated the woman he loved to the chair where she now sat in the front room. Her chair, the one she always chose – perfect angle to the TV, not too much light from the lamp, but enough to read her magazines by. She looked content, happy, peaceful. She looked like she did the day he met her, the way she did the day he married her. She looked good, now, so long after the Incident, and she didn’t cry any more. The flesh had begun to rot from her bones, the smell almost unbearable to anyone still capable of noticing it; but she didn’t cry. She was peaceful.
He’d briefly considered burying her in the garden, but couldn’t stand to think of her lying near the man who was responsible for her current state, so she could stay with him for now, because it wouldn’t be long, not so long, before he would be ready to join her.
Unscrewing the lid off of a vodka bottle, with his arm gently draped around the shoulders of the woman he loved, Pete began to drink. A little while later, the bottle drops to the floor, empty, and rolls away from his slumbering form. At first, he snores a little, but soon enough his breathing stops altogether, and the only noise in the room is that of the theme to the current flavour of the week talent show.