"Hello, Jarvis residences. How may I help you?" chimes the tall man clad in apron and rolled up sleeves.
"Yes, hello. NYPD. There was a shooting incident this morning and the victim was carrying a card with this number on it. We were wondering if you could come down and possibly identify her body." asserts a voice from the telephone.
"Her?" poses the man, voice noticeably quavering as his thoughts begin to fear the worst.
"Yes. Female, brown hair and eyes, approximately age 30. "
"Dear God." he mouths as his whole body goes limp. The receiver dangles at the end of its cord.
"Sir? Sir, are you still there?" calls a faint voice from the other end.
His stomach churns and his mind launches into a daze. He gropes for the telephone. "I'll be there immediately."
He never knew how much he had meant to her – she never let it show. But his card had been tucked into her left breast pocket; a symbolic way to always keep him near. Now however, it was stained red and dried crisp from her blood; a neat little hole in his name where the bullet had punched through.
He should have been there; he should have been right by her side. Maybe an extra pair of eyes would have seen the assailant coming before the fatal blow could be delivered...
He should have been there. He should have told her long ago that he loved her too.