Louis turned and was greeted by the sight of his wife, to whom he had once carried a rose in his teeth, lying halfway down the hall, dead. Her legs were splayed out as Jud’s had been. Her back and head were cocked at an angle against the wall. She looked like a woman who had gone to sleep while reading in bed. He walked down toward her. Hello, darling, he thought, you came home. Blood had splashed the wallpaper in idiot shapes. She had been stabbed a dozen times, two dozen, who knew? His scalpel had done this work. Suddenly he saw her, really saw her, and Louis Creed began to scream. His
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