Broken Home (narrative)
Sigyn stood in the doorway, the handle to Tosk’s lead wrapped around her hand, the shopping bags she’d been carrying at her feet. She had known something was wrong the second she arrived home. The door was wide open. While her husband was a warm-blooded creature and didn’t mind the chilly temperatures of early spring in Alaska, he knew that Sigyn was not of the same ilk. He could be terribly inconsiderate at times, but he would never purposely make her uncomfortable, so the door hanging wide was a bad sign.
But it had only gotten worse. Once she climbed the stairs, she realized what was so unsettling about the door being open was that the house itself felt empty. Because it was. She’d called for Loki immediately and received no response. Which would have been upsetting enough if not for the mess.
Loki’s favorite chair was tipped onto it’s side, shards of glass scattered near by and a dark spot that she was sure was the source of the alcohol scent that hung in the air. The side table nearest the door had been broken, the tabletop cracked into two pieces, one on the floor and one dangling drunkenly from an equally broken leg. The little knickknacks that she’d taken the time to collect and decorate the house were smashed and tossed about. The living room had been the center of the fight, but it had spilled into the kitchen. She could see that from where she stood in the doorway.
There was a part of her that was afraid to step inside. As though somehow if she didn’t take that first step, if she didn’t actually go in, then maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe her home hadn’t been violated and damaged. Sigyn stood on the threshold, trying not to cry, frozen with shock and indecision. How long she would have stayed that way, she wasn’t certain, but Tosk took the decision from her.
A low growl came from the throat of the small canine, his nostrils flaring as he took in the scents inside the house. Then, before Sigyn could lean down to reassure him, he ran inside. Afraid that he would run across broken glass or pottery and slice the sensitive pads of his paws, Sigyn dashed after him, whispering fiercely, “Tosk, no!”
But the pug deftly evaded both the shattered dangers on the floor and her questing hands. He ran straight for the bedroom, and Sigyn followed, looking for further signs of whoever had been in her home. Was still in her home? She didn’t think so. The building had an empty, hollow sort of feeling to it. Which meant the intruder or intruders were no longer here. Nor was her husband. Where could he be? Had he fled to avoid whoever was breaking in? Why wouldn’t he warn her if that were the case?
The bedroom was undisturbed. There was a towel in the middle of the bed, something that she yelled at him for regularly. They had towel racks for a reason, she kept telling him. But nothing else was out of place in this room. Except for the lack of Loki. Where was her husband? What had happened to him?
Now that her senses were calming down, she was starting to get truly worried. With Tosk at her heels, Sigyn went through the house, then circled the outside of it, all the while calling Loki’s name. Louder and louder, with each passing minute, as he didn’t respond. Then she began calling for him with her will as well as her voice, and still there was no reply.
She ended up back where she began, standing in the doorway of the house she shared with Loki, staring inward as she struggled not to cry. Someone had broken into her home and her husband was missing. It was very difficult not to panic at the thought. Who had taken him?