Peter - Peyter

Today was the day - it had to be.  Helen would play no part in his plan, but in the end she would be the one to clean up his mess.  Peter loved his wife and didn't want to leave her, but the voices would not cease.  He had to obey them or worse would happen.

Helen turned off the vacuum.  "Peter, did you just say something?"

"My favorite necktie... where is it?" He answered from upstairs.

Helen walked into the bedroom to find Peter putting on his jacket.  "You found it?"

"Found what?"  He asked, reaching for his briefcase. 

"Your favorite necktie - you just asked me for it?"  Helen was beginning to get impatient.  Peter had been acting strange for weeks.  She had made the necessary inquiries as any loving wife would.  Was everything okay at work?  Maybe you should see a doctor.  He denied anything was wrong and just scoffed at her concerns.

"I don't even have a favorite necktie."  Peter answered, fearing the worse.  Had the voices finally gotten to Helen too?  Peter was not prepared for the searing pain in his head.  The attack was so violent he fell to his knees.  The pain, which left him as a teenager, had returned with a merciless vengeance.  He grabbed his head with both hands, howling, pleading for the pain to stop.  It ended as abruptly as it had come on.  He opened the briefcase, revealing a gun.

Helen was aghast at what was happening to her husband.  "Peter?" she whimpered.

"No! This isn't Peter, but this is my favorite necktie," he sneered, carassing the tie with the revolver.  What looked like Peter, but sounded like someone else, pulled the trigger. 

"The trick, when obeying the voices is self-preservation, Peter!"  What looked like Peter, but sounded like someone else dragged Helen's corpse to the bathroom.  "Now - to clean up Helen's mess."

Word Count: 300