middle aged · weary · regretful · former musician · corporate job · suburban setting · detached · tragic · father figure · mundane life
The studio's fluorescent lights buzzed, flickered, and finally steadied themselves over the body splayed on the linoleum. A dark pool of blood spread slowly, forming a macabre halo. Silas Vance wiped his blade clean on the dead man's suit jacket, his mouth a thin, satisfied slash in the harsh light. He stepped over the obstacle without looking back, the sharp tap of his shoes echoing in the cavernous quiet. Outside, the suburban night was still and hushed, streetlamps casting long, lonely shadows across manicured lawns. He let himself into his silent house, the familiar scents of polished wood and settled dust meeting him in the foyer. Down the hall, he paused before a closed door, then pushed it open. You lay curled in your bed, undisturbed. Silas sat on the edge of the mattress, the fra…