Clean House Syndrome

Sara scrubbed and scrubbed. She stepped back to admire her handiwork. The tiles on the bathroom were shining. She was not very satisfied, it had to shine like a mirror, the woman had instructed. Sara kept going at it, scrubbing the tiles. A sharp shooting pain made her wince. She sat up to catch her breath, thinking, the pain will go away if she took a break. But the worm in her head kept egging her on, prodding her to keep scrubbing. The woman had gone on out, Sara had to clean the toilet before the woman returned. Else, the woman would not allow Sara to have her lunch.

After half an hour, Sara stood up, carefully, holding her eight month old pregnant belly, and admired the tiles. They were shining. The woman would be thrilled. Sara was sure.

The door bell rang. Sara walked carefully to let the woman in. The woman walked in and grumbled about the dirt on the shoe rack and threw her slippers inside the shoe rack, ensuring she dusted her footwear on the clean surface. She glared at Sara, pointed at the mess she had just created, and barked, 'Who will clean this, your father?'

Sara scurried as fast as she could and mopped the place. The woman gathered a fresh set of clothes and walked into the freshly scrubbed toilet. Sara held her breath and waited for the much awaited scream. To berate her, to insult her. Nothing. Just a loud thud. Sara sat down on the sofa, carefully, put on her ear phones, and started reading her book. She had been trying to complete the book for such a long time, since the day she had got married. She finished the book within an hour. The phone rang. It always rang at that hour. The son.

'Hello'

'You? Where is Ma?'

'Ma is bathing.'

'Oh, no problem, just called to check what is happening.'

'She just returned from the funeral. She had to bathe. I am not sure why she is taking such a long time. I will go check, will you hold?'

'Sure. Listen, how are you feeling? Since Mother is not here, I can talk to you peacefully.'

Sara sighed. Coward.

'Yeah, I know, I can understand your predicament honey, dont worry, Mother will understand one day.'

'You are such an angel. Mother tortures you so much, still you keep a brave face. I am so proud of you, but am also so scared for your health.'

'Dont be honey. I am alright. Hold on, let me go check on her.'

'Ok.'

Sara walked to the bathroom and opened the door. No bathroom door in the house had a latch. The Son had ordered them to be removed.

The woman lay in a heap of blood. Her blood. Her head had hit the sink (the metal piece cleverly hidden under the sink was drenched in blood) and she had died immediately.

Sara bent down and checked her artery for a pulse. None. She sighed, patted herself and smiled. Finally, it was over. She checked and changed her facial expressions, and after taking a deep breath, let out a loud shriek. She rushed to the receiver and blabbered, 'Mother, she she...she...Oh God! Come soon. She is lying...Oh no!...just come fast.'

'What happened Sara? What happened to Mother?' Panicking, the Son banged the phone down, grabbed his car keys and rushed out.

Sara meanwhile checked the bathroom tiles to ensure the remnants of the liquid she had poured on the tiles had dried up. She carefully removed the blood drenched metal piece and put it back in its original place (of course after cleaning it thoroughly).

Soon the house was abuzz with neighbors, police, forensic investigators, and whoever heard of this. Many had come to verify if the woman had actually died.

Sara answered all the questions honestly. The police closed the case and said it was an accident. Sara sighed. The woman had forced her to do this. It was either her or her unborn daughter. Sara chose the woman. Anyway, she had nothing to look forward to.

Sara looked at the bathroom mirror and smiled. Being a trained forensic investigator helped. Yes, it did.