I'm a retired homicide detective. I'm beginning to suspect that my wife is a serial killer.

For thirty two years I worked in the field of law enforcement, a dream of mine since I was a little boy. Of those three decades, I worked 15 as a homicide detective. I've seen things you couldn't fathom; The world is truly a ****ed up place. I have two reasons that I didn't completely lose my mind: My wife, Raven, and my son, Hunter. As of a year ago, I thought that I had escaped the darkness; but now I fear that the darkness is invading my own home.
My wife and I live in a two-story house that we had built several decades ago. We are a ways away from the bustle of our city, and our closest neighbors, who happen to be Hunter and his family, live about a mile down the road. We enjoy living in relative solitude; I take our German Shepherd, Mr. Morris, on regular walks through the woods and on fishing trips with my Raven and I. Though I will never forget the horrors of humanity, I still felt as though I would finally be at peace with myself and the world. Is that so much for an old man to ask for?
I started my day off the same as any other. I had a cup of joe, put on my worn sneakers, and took Mr. Morris on a walk at about six in the morning. My wife, a schoolteacher, had already departed for the day. The sun was peeking out over the horizon, bathing the light layer of snow in orange light. Mr. Morris ran out ahead of me, coming to a stop at the pond that we usually fished at. He promptly began barking, staring out across the water.
"Mr. Morris! Quit your bellyaching before you wake up your brother!"
I came to a stop beside him and looked across the black surface. Either my eyes were playing tricks on me, or someone was on the other side of the pond. It was still dark enough that I questioned myself, and rubbed my eyes before glancing again at the other bank. Nothing. Mr. Morris continued barking for a few more seconds, but eventually a squirrel caught his attention. I wasn't so easily distracted. I continued to scan the trees across the way, but finally dismissed the subtle movement as that of an animal of some sort. Mr. Morris and I continued our walk without incident.
I flipped on the news and sat down with a bacon, egg, and cheese croissant. Mr. Morris, likewise, lapped up the fresh food that I had placed in his bowl. I took a bite of my croissant and focused on the television set. The newscaster was discussing the disappearance of a local woman, Denise Lawson. I had seen this before; The poor girl had been missing for about two weeks now. She was young, about 23 years old, with long, red hair and green eyes. I don't know why it suddenly clicked, but I found myself remembering one of the darkest parts of my career.
The disappearances had begun about a decade ago. Six girls, aged 21-24, had mysteriously disappeared over the span of about two years. They all had two things in common: Red hair and green eyes. Only the partial remains of two of them had ever been found. There had been no forensic evidence and no groundbreaking leads; Someone claimed to have seen a man with one of the girls on the night she disappeared, but that was about as close as we got to ever identifying the sick ******* who was taking these girls. This case was more than a little personal for me; My wife's niece, Patricia, was one of the girls that had gone missing. I had known her since she was a little girl.
I stared down listlessly at my croissant; I had suddenly lost my appetite. I put the plate on the end table and got up, headed to my computer and tried to keep my mind occupied with some online solitaire. A few hours later, I got the call. It was, to my surprise, one of the officers from the station that I had known for a few years. I hadn't heard much from him since I had retired.
"Barry?"
"Hey, Detective Vincent. This is Barry."
He sounded nervous.
"I know, son. And you don't have to call me detective anymore, just Dario. How you doing, buddy?"
Barry hesitated. "I'm...I'm good, Detec- Dario. Sir, it's about your wife."
I could feel my insides twisting up, like they had when I had first heard about Patricia's disappearance. "Where's my wife, Barry?"
"Sir...we've brought her in for questioning. She's a suspect in the disappearance of Denise Lawson and Tatiana Graves."


Source.