After tending to the Pokémon the next morning, Samuel rode over to Delia's house just as he always did; breakfast at eight A.M. was their morning ritual. Normally he would find her working happily in her garden, but today she wasn't.

"Delia?"

Perhaps she was doing some housework inside this morning. He propped up his bike against the fence and headed up the path to the front door. As he stood on the porch, he noticed something odd -- the house was quiet. Too quiet. Even if Delia were inside, he would at least hear her or Mimie bustling about doing chores.

Maybe she and Mimie went to the grocery store, he concluded as he knocked on the door. He stopped mid-knock when he looked down and noticed a dark red smudge shaped like a footprint next to the doormat. As he bent down to examine the unusual spot, his heart gave a great leap when he realized what the red spot was.

Blood.

"Delia! Delia!" he cried frantically as he pounded on the door. When there was no answer, he shoved against it as hard as he could and tumbled inside as the unlocked door easily gave way. Then he saw more red stains on the floor, each stain progressively darker as they led to Delia's bedroom. He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding with fear, as he followed the red smudges to Delia's room.

"Delia!" he shouted again. As his voice echoed throughout the silent house, he attempted to push open the door to her bedroom and discovered that something was blocking it. When the door wouldn't budge, he kicked it open with all his might. As the door finally gave way, Professor Oak saw that what had been blocking the door was…

"Mimie!"

The Pokémon, its body covered in blood, lay crumpled facedown against the door. Professor Oak knelt by the Pokémon and turned it over, but he knew it was too late. Mimie was obviously dead and had been for some time. Judging from its wounds, it had put up a mighty struggle with its attacker.

Then where was…?

Shaking, Professor Oak gently placed the Pokémon's body back down on the floor and tried to brace himself for what he knew he was going to find next. And as he lifted his head, he saw her lying a few feet away, next to the bed.

"Delia?" he choked. He crawled over to where she lay since his legs were shaking so much that he couldn't even stand. She, like Mimie, lay facedown in a pool of blood. With a trembling hand, he gently shook her shoulder, hoping against all odds that she might still be alive. "Delia?" When she didn't move, he placed his hands on her shoulders.

Oh God, she's so cold, he thought as turned her over. And then he saw that she had been shot – shot not once, but twice, in the chest. Her nightgown was completely saturated with blood.

"No…oh no, Delia," he sobbed as he lifted her head and tenderly placed it in his lap. As he gazed with disbelief at her pale, still face, he pressed his fingers against her neck, hoping that perhaps he'd miraculously find a faint pulse. But in his heart, he knew he wouldn't find one.

She's cold. She's so cold. That was the only thing that kept running through his shock-numbed brain.

As he drew her close to him, trying to warm her with his own body, he saw that the ring that had once been on her finger was gone. Whoever had taken it had done it so forcibly that he or she had dislocated Delia's finger.

I hope she was already dead when they did that to her, he wept as he pulled her to him one last time and cried uncontrollably in her hair.