I find myself staring, unable to tear my eyes away. This isn't happening. It can't be happening. Not again. But no matter how many times I try to convince myself otherwise the harsh reality is there, staring me in the face. Literally staring me glassy-eyed in the face. It wasn't the first thing I noticed. Of course it wasn't. He's a showman. The sign comes first; the rest follows in due course. I can't believe that it's true. I just can't. My brain keeps telling me it's just a nightmare. A god-damned awful nightmare that I'll wake up from. But everything around me tells a different story. I've pinched myself a thousand times in the last hour, trying in desperation to wake myself up. It's not working. Nothing I try is working. Blood. So much blood. It's everywhere; plastered on the walls, pooling on the floor, drying on the glassy-eyed, harsh reality which stares sightlessly at me. The whole place smells of blood. The air tastes of copper. All I can see is blood. Blood and her. I can feel the tears; feel the salty sting as they gather in my eyes and the cold wetness as they trickle down my face.
"Sir." The voice is distant. I don't want to hear it, but it's there plaguing my ears anyway. I know they want me to leave,
"No. I'm staying." I manage weakly as I step over to her. I have to stay. I have to apologise. It's my fault. My fault this has happened. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be lying cold and dead on the floor. If she hadn't met me she wouldn't have been here. She would never have had to worry about getting too intimate with the case. I bend down next to her. Her lips are parted as though she's sleeping, and if her eyes weren't wide and glassy, and her body weren't covered in blood, I might have let myself believe it. I close her eyes, so that she looks more at peace and plant a kiss on her forehead, "I'm sorry." I murmur, my own forehead resting against hers, "I'm so sorry..."
Behind me the activity begins to die down. The forensic teams have scraped what they can from the scene. People have photographed every angle. Then there's just me and her. Left alone. Left to wonder what could have been. To remember what has been. To curse the bastard that did this. I told her that the people close to me only get hurt. This is just proof of that. Another skeleton to add to my closet. Another loss to mourn. He knew better than I did how much she meant to me. I don't know how. When I find him I'll make him tell me. Then I'll make him pay. Her death won't be for nothing. She won't just be another fallen soldier.