I've always been a little bit afraid of you. You knew that, you enjoyed my fear, enjoyed the power it gave you over me. So I think, despite the circumstances, you would have enjoyed this afternoon.
They asked me to do the identification -- Lena volunteered, but they told her no, so I had to say yes. There was no one else. And although I didn't want to see you, I knew that I had to, because seeing you would be better than imagining you; the horrors conjured up by the mind are always so much worse than what is. And I needed to see you, because we both know that I wouldn't believe it, wouldn't be able to believe that you were gone, until I did.
You lay on a gurney in the middle of a cold room, a pale green sheet covering your body. There was a young man there, dressed in scrubs, who nodded at me and at the detective, and she nodded back. As he reached out his hand to pull back the sheet I held my breath. I can't remeber feeling that afraid since I was a child.
I was waiting for you to jump out at me.
You didn't. You were still and beautiful. There was always so much in your face -- so much expression, joy or venom -- and it was all still there, the traces of it; you were still you, still perfect, and then it struck me: you jumped. 引自 Jules
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