Falling in Love with A Murderer

Jessica's POV

The traffic light turned green.

I gripped my bag tighter and rushed across the road, my heart pounding with excitement. Today was special; I had purchased my ticket weeks before to explore the Vincent Galleria Museum, one of the city's oldest and most renowned art museums. Art has consistently been my escape, a world where I could freely communicate my emotions. The idea of witnessing iconic masterpieces in person excited me greatly.

Upon arriving at the majestic entrance, the soaring columns and detailed designs on the building's exterior left me in awe. I entered, welcomed by the subtle aroma of worn canvas and polished wood. The gentle murmur of subdued talks resonated throughout the large corridors.

I reached the security checkpoint, presented my ticket, and received a visitor badge. My fingertips grazed the plastic, anchoring me in the present. This was it.

As soon as I entered the exhibition hall, my eyes opened wide in amazement. Wall-mounted paintings of varying sizes decorated the space, each narrating a tale that transcended language. Some were lively, overflowing with color, whereas others were shadowy and enigmatic. They communicated with me in a manner I couldn't explain.

I walked slowly, taking in every detail, stopping every few moments to capture images of the ones that intrigued me the most. I longed to paint-my fingers itched to express the feelings I felt merely by observing them.

While I examined a strikingly lovely portrait of a woman with mournful eyes, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out and smiled when I saw the caller ID. Timothy.

"Hey," I answered, my voice soft as I continued to gaze at the painting.

"Hey, babe. Just checking in. How's it going?" Timothy's warm voice came through the speaker.

I turned away from the painting and walked toward a quieter corner. "It's amazing, Tim. Honestly, the ticket was worth every penny. I've never seen anything this breathtaking before."

He chuckled. "I can hear the excitement in your voice. I'm glad you're having fun. Listen, I want you to get ready tonight-I'm taking you out on a date."

I grinned, my heart skipping a beat. "Really? Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," he teased. "But dress your best, okay?"

I let out a small squeal. "Okay, I will!"

"That's my girl. I'll pick you up at seven. Love you."

"Love you too," I said before ending the call.

I placed my phone back in my pocket, feeling more unburdened than ever. Today was looking to be ideal.

I spent an additional hour appreciating the artwork before finally choosing to go home. As I went outside, the sky had dimmed a little, an indication of evening approaching. I called a taxi and leaned against the window, fantasizing about my date with Timothy.

When I arrived home, something felt... wrong.

The usual warmth of our home was absent. The television was silent, and there was no aroma of my mom's cooking coming from the kitchen.

It was eerily silent.

I frowned, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. "Mom? Dad?" I called out. No response.

A heaviness filled my chest as I entered the living room; it was empty.

I ignored the heaviness and took my bag to my room before going to my parents' bedroom. I knocked gently before pushing the door open a little.

What I witnessed caused my stomach to churn.

My father sat on the bed, smiling as if he had won the lottery, while my mother sat next to him, her face pale and her eyes swollen.

"Dad? Mom?" I proceeded cautiously. "What's going on?"

My father's smile grew bigger. "Jessica, darling, please take a seat. We need to tell you something important."