A/N. Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy this fic! The saying below is in Italian, not Latin because I couldn't find anyone to translate it for me. Again, I don't own the characters and no monies are being made from their use.
End Of Daylight
L'inverno ha cominciato. Per la fine, saprete di me. E temilo. E mi diletterò.
Angela crashed into the thick wooden door with enough force to make her shoulder ache for days after. Something was desperately wrong inside of the apartment- she could feel it. The door was locked and held solid even as she threw her weight into it again. Cursing, she yanked the gun out of her holster and fired at the lock. The gunshot was deafening, but when she leaned against the door it swung open. There would be hell to pay for firing her weapon like that, but she didn't care. A man could be dying.
Her partner appeared behind her, having caught up with her headlong sprint into the building. She entered the apartment first, gun up and pointing at the ceiling. It's smooth weight reassured her, even as her mind replayed his dry warning that it couldn't protect her. She navigates the kitchen with care. There is blood dried thick and black on the floor. The smell of it hangs heavily in the air. She keeps her mouth tightly closed, worried that she would taste the blood if she opened it. She tries to walk in a straight line, to preserve any evidence, but it's hard. She has to step over too many spots of blood to stick to a straight line.
The kitchen gives way to the living room. There is blood here too, splattered up the walls in crimson dots. She rounds the sofa and sees him laying on the floor. Falling to her knees next to the body, she already knows that nothing can be done for him. He has that final heaviness that only death brings, but she still forces her finger to his neck. There is no pulse, and the skin is cooling quickly. His eyes are open, staring forever in horror at what ever had attacked him. She brushes a hand over them, trying to close them, but they stay fixed open.
The savageness of the attack took her breath away. He has been brutalised in ways she could never have imagined in her worst nightmares. Torn open in places, the blood has been used to write messages on the walls. She shivers as she sees them. She has seen some things in her time on the force, but nothing like the body laid out in front of her. Silently, she blessed him, wondering if it would do any good. Would he go to heaven or hell, she wonders.
She stood, not noticing that her hands and knees were covered in blood and leaves the apartment in a daze. This is the worst one yet. Her partner lays a hand on her shoulder but doesn't say a word. He understands that she needs time to process what she has seen. Later, he'll find her and offer comfort, but not yet. It wouldn't do any good.