I don’t hesitate.
I walk straight through the trail of discarded clothes. Jacket. Vest. Dress shirt, cufflinks tossed to the side. Dress pants, suspenders still attached.
All drenched in a deep shade of crimson.
A part of me wants to pick them up. A bigger part of me isn’t ready to see exactly how much blood has been spilled.
My only source of calm, the only reason I don’t panic is this odd sense of comfort beneath my bare feet. No matter how heavy I make my strides, no matter how hard I dig into the carpet, blood isn’t oozing between my toes with every step. So, I’m either too late and he’s already dead…