Two years after their marriage, Meredith is found dead outside their home in Seattle. However, everyone is led to believe that Derek was the one who shot her. Desperate for clearing his name and the truth behind the shooting, Derek begins to search for answers, not knowing that what he would find would change everyone's beliefs, lives, and friends…forever.
"Which one?" Meredith asked, pointing to two very different dresses, her head cocked. "The pink or blue one?"
Derek glanced up, squinting to see the details of the dresses. "The first one," he decided, fidgeting with his watch.
"Knew it," she sighed, unbuttoning her shirt. "You always choose the first one."
"Cause I like that one best," he replied bitterly, running his fingers through his hair. "Now hurry up, we have to be there in ten minutes."
"We don't always have to show up on time," she argued, hitching the dress up her thighs. "Ever heard of fashionably late?"
"We don't have time to be late," he moaned, checking his watch for the fifth time. "Mark was expecting us a half hour ago."
"This is Mark's second engagement party," she rolled her eyes, "I'm sure he will have a third."
"This one's nice; she's good for him," he reasoned, spraying a bit of cologne, filling the room with the aroma of Calvin Klein. "He really loves her."
Meredith waved her hand, her face twisted. "Get that stuff out of here! I hate it!" she yelled, chocking on the smell.
"It's just cologne," he responded, spraying a bit more just to piss her off. "I like it."
"It make's you smell like you haven't showered in days!" she argued, her arms flying. "I'm living with a shower-less man!"
"You're such a drama queen," he groaned, rubbing his eyes as his head tilted back. "Sometimes I cannot stand it."
"Well then maybe you should leave," she hissed, her jaw clenched. "I would love it."
"We're late," he said simply, slamming the door hard as he exited the room.
They didn't talk in the car. They didn't talk at the party. The only time they talked was when they wanted to get on one another's nerves. That's the way it had always been with them. It was strange. When they were dating, they were never like this. They respected one another, loved being around one another. But after he slipped that 4 carrot ring on her long finger, they stopped. She was more irritable, he was more demanding, and yet…they were still madly in love. Most of their friends insisted that, that was the reason why they fought so much; they loved each other more than even they could comprehend. And for the most part, they were right.
"Feel free to sleep on the couch," she murmured, ripping the sheets off the bed. "I know you want to."
"You read my mind," he fought back, throwing his watch on the nightstand. "But instead of me, it was you."
She stopped tearing the sheets off, her eyes cold. "I am not sleeping on the couch!"
"Well neither am I," he snapped back, his arms crossed.
"You want to fight me for it?!" she exclaimed, her fists already propped up. "Go on, I could kick your ass any day!"
He chuckled, "Oh I'm so scared!" he screamed, his voice dripping in sarcasm.
"Wanna bet?" she challenged, rolling her neck. "In the 9th grade I took out Cindy McMellon, the biggest girl the school had ever seen."
"Oh really?" he asked, generally amused by this. "Well I doubt you could take on me."
"I'm giving you three seconds to run," she warned; her face completely serious.
"1, 2, 3…" he counted off, ducking when she lunged forward, her hands ready to strangle his neck.
She landed on the bed, quickly recovering before jumping onto him, forcing his hands behind his back before throwing him face down to the floor.
"Jesus!" he yelled, trying to unknot his hands. "What the hell was that?!"
She pushed his head deeper into the ground, laughing uncontrollably. "I don't know!" she giggled, "Something just came over me."
Soon he joined in her laughter, rolling on his back to face her. "Well you definitely kicked my ass."
She shrugged, running her fingers along his chest. "All in a day's work."
He grinned, leaning up to kiss her soft lips, his hands traveling up her back, around her neck, and into her hair.
"You can have the bed," he said after they broke apart.
"Or…" she trailed off, kissing his neck, "We could share."
He looked at her mischievously, cocking an eye brow. "I like the way you think."
He sat on the couch, dazed in his own world. He focused his eyes straight ahead, not moving his head, neck, paralyzed. He wanted to cry. He wanted to break down and let out every emotion that had been piling up inside him. But instead he just sat there, in his own world, not thinking of anything but her. He was jolted by the phone, whose endless ringing made him want to punch something- someone. He slowly picked it up, his eyes glazed over. In a sullen voice he breathed, "Hello?" His voice cracked a bit, and he had to force back the tears.
"Dr. Shepherd?" a worried voice spoke. "I'm so sorry; there was nothing we could do…"
He closed his eyes, the tears slipping down his cheeks. He couldn't hide anymore. This was it. She was gone…forever.
"Dr. Shepherd?" the woman asked when she heard no response. "Are you alright?"
He took a deep breath, hanging up the phone in one swift motion. He knew she was dead. He knew she was dead when he found her, body mangled, dripping in blood, outside their home. He felt her pulse…no response. He felt her heart…no rhythm. Nothing. He shut his eyes tighter, hoping to block the image of her face losing more and more color as time wore on. She was dead. Not yet 30 and she was dead. He clenched his fists, an overwhelming feeling of hate running through his veins. Someone killed her. Someone knew he was out for the day. Someone knew she ran in the woods every morning. Someone knew her. Someone knew him. And that someone murdered her. After he found her, he immediately called the police, looking for a glimmer of hope. The ambulance came in not even 10 minutes. He watched in horror as they hoisted her lifeless body onto the gurney, pumping in every drug they could find. But, deep down inside, even though he didn't want to admit it, he knew she was dead. He was a doctor after all; he dealt with death all the time. But there was something so different about the experience when it happened to your wife, the love of your life. He shook his head, the image still present. It never really would go away.
The phone rang a second time. He ignored it, his heart pumping away, while hers wasn't, He looked towards the kitchen, realizing how easy it would be to end the pain. All he would have to do was grab that knife…
No. Meredith wouldn't want that. He didn't want that. He wanted revenge. He wanted that son of a bitch to rot in prison, to die, to physically feel the amount of pain he was in. He was getting revenge. He was finding Meredith's murderer…that he was sure of.
"Meredith!" he screamed, pounding her chest, layers of sweat forming on his upper brow. "Come on, come on!" he screamed to the air. He tried CPR, manual respiration, everything that he could possibly think of he tried…
He began to weep, his breath heavy. He slowly brought his hands away from her, digging his nails into his palms to stop the shaking. He looked behind him, his car parked haphazardly, the groceries spilled all over the yard. The moment he saw her, lifeless and still on the ground, he dropped everything and ran. But it was too late. His weeping soon formed into sobs, then sobs into a full out break-down. He lost her. He lost her forever. He continued to cry, holding her in his arms, cradling her freezing cold body against his. No, this couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening to him. He froze when his hand hit a spot in the back of her head. He removed his hand, wiping his fingers of the blood that embodied it. It was her blood. He quickly pulled her closer, his eyes searching her head for the wound. And there he found it…a single gunshot, the size of a dime, lodged in the back of her head. Someone shot her. Almost instantaneously, as if all the pieces were coming together, he saw it. A gun. Lying right next to her.
He snatched it, pebbles and stones bouncing off of it, falling slowly onto the cold concrete. It was new, completely intact. No bullets remained. He dropped it, backing up slowly; his hands on his head.
She was shot. Someone murdered her.
A/N: Here's the deal: I got bored. I got bored with my other stories and wanted something completely fresh and new, like…A MURDER MYSTERY! So I've been reading a lot of Jodi Piccoult so my inspiration comes from her Anyways, this IS a mystery and Meredith will be in it a lot (Flashbacks…DUH!) so don't worry about that. And let's see what else? Well I think the summery gives away just the right amount so please read and, as always, review!!