I can't believe he's dead. Finn Hudson is dead.
"Hello, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid from the FBI's behavioral analysis unit. Would it be alright if I asked you a few questions?" a tall man says, sitting down at the table across from me.
"Sure," I say, stifling tears.
"How did you know Mr. Hudson?" he asks.
"I've known him since high school. We were in the glee club together. He was a good friend of mine. He was my roommate for several years. He just got married and was in the process of moving," I reply.
"So you were both at this party last night?"
"Yes."
"How did you come to find him dead?"
"His wife Quinn asked me to look for him. He'd been missing for almost an hour, so I searched for him. I found him stabbed to death in the bathroom with duct tape over his mouth."
"What was the first thing you did?"
"I screamed. Everyone came running. My friend escorted me and Quinn away while our other friend called 911. It was too late. He was dead. I was terrified."
"Reports say you also found the dead body of Matt Rutherford several weeks ago. Is that accurate?"
"Yes. He and I were supposed to see a movie with some friends. He left us at the concession counter to make a phone call. When I went to look for him, I found him dead in an alley. Stabbed to death. … Do you think it's the same guy?"
He gives me an unsure look.
The FBI looks through Finn's things while I remain in the music room.
"Last year's wishes
Are this year's apologies
Every last time I come home
I take my last chance
To burn a bridge or two
I only keep myself this sick in the head
Cause I know how the words get you off
We're the new face of failure
Prettier and younger but not any better off
Bulletproof loneliness
At best, at best."
I'm interrupted by Dr. Spencer Reid.
"Um, excuse me, but do you know where Finn kept the key to the safe in his room?"
"Quinn has it," I reply.
"That's a beautiful song," he smiles.
"Thanks." I smile back. "I actually write with Blaine Anderson."
"I really liked his last CD."
"Me too," I say.
"Well, I should probably get back to work."
"Probably."
Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN SHIT