Months Ago

Michael had his eyes closed, rolled over on his side. The morning light peeked through the curtains. Gently, it crept over his face. He raised his arms, rubbing his eyes before reorienting his senses. The sky was still awash with the radiant orange of the dawn swimming into the room. He rolled over, letting his hands crawl across the sheets to find her soft body curled up next to his. He opened his eyes. All that was there was the comforter, knotted up to a short, wrinkled peak. She was already gone, and without so much as a goodbye.

As the sun came up, the early risers soon discovered what had happened. Michael and his young partner Winter were actually among the first to the scene, considering it was a confirmed homicide without much a patrolman could do about it. The only thing they'd be able to do was peek in and have a look at the place before their superiors came in and demoted them back to securing the area. For the most part, it was just the two of them.

Michael excitedly popped on the latex gloves as he brushed past the gawkers and onlookers, while Winter insisted that people step aside because the official investigation was underway. "This area is off-limits, people. Can't have anyone tampering with the evidence!" she warned.

"What was her name again?"

"Jasmine."

"Oh yeah."

Soon, they were alone on the second floor foyer. A trail of blood led to a shady silhouette just beyond the double doors of the study, as it slouched uncomfortably with its butt sticking in the air and laying on the side of its face.

Winter reached out two steady fingers to check a pulse. The neck was contorted to such a degree that it appeared to have been twisted all the way around and got stuck there. There was blood spilled out in a puddle underneath him, and splattered all across the walls and floor. Despite the dismal scene, it appeared as though nothing could dampen Michael's glow. Examining a homicide with a wide toothy smirk would otherwise be a very difficult feat.

"I met her at the coffee shop where she worked, and then a couple days later we run into each other again on the beach and it was just like— like I was so nervous and then we start hanging out and building sand castles and—"

"Didn't you ask her out?"

"You know what's crazy? I don't even remember who asked who out. I just know we ended up going out together that night. Now, here I am, getting ready to ask her to move in with me. Isn't that crazy?"

"I hear the wedding bells now." Winter was probably the exact opposite of Michael. No matter how tense a situation was, her demeanor was always level; her wit was dry. Her oblong-shaped gloomy eyes were unmoving. When Michael gazed into them, it was like staring into the hollow orbitals of a grim bringer of death.

"You know, your parents picked the perfect name for you. Does anyone ever tell you that?"

"Only every time the thought arises."

"Which is—"

"Often."

"Does it bother you?"

"I thought we were talking about your problems."

"I'm telling you that I'm thinking about moving in with my girlfriend. How could that be a problem?"

"Well, for starters, we're at the scene of a gruesome homicide up to our ankles in a man's blood. Some people might think you're not taking that seriously."

"Fair point."

There hung an awkward silence between the two, as Winter went about pacing the room and scanning it for evidence.

"P.S. I'm happy for you, Uzoma," she muttered really fast. If he had been paying attention, he might've caught Winter blushing.