Life Cleaner

She rings the doorbell.

She is welcomed in.

She cleans your house.

And then you’re gone.

Vanished.

No trace of you.

It’s as if you never excisted.

And the worst part about it.

No one realises it’s all connected.

Until now.

Detective Inca looks at what she’s written. It seems wrong almost, to use people’s deaths and disappearances to finish her novel. She changes the names and facts of course, and often exaggerates the truth, although most cases she has to deal with in Melbourne are surprisingly complex and intriguing already. She gets her hands above the keyboard, ready to continue, when her phone buzzes.

The screen tells her it’s work.

‘Can’t someone else take this one?’ She thinks, looking to see that it’s already 1 in the morning and she had a full day before sitting down for hours with this dumb book. But, even though she has the urge to tell them to suck it, she gets up and heads to the shower.

As the steam clears from the bathroom, Detective Inca emerges in her uniform and walks out the front door. Although the other police precincts around the world may allow their detectives to wear plain clothes in the office, the newest chief-of-police ruled that it was sloppy and unprofessional.

“Morning Detective Inca.” Her assistant detective says, as she walks out of her car towards the crime scene.

My ideas:

House

Murdering housecleaner