As the blue lights flash against the large brick house his old, muddy shoes hit the hard pavement from the warm and safe security of the police car. His unkempt head low and his heavy lidded eyes looking at the ground, he gently touches and pushes open the gate to the heavily policed house. The head of the investigation greets him and starts too casually to him; he doesn't take any of the meaningless words in and instead stares, transfixed at the once happy house. At the end of the policeman's awkward speech he was told that he could enter the house once more.

Automatically he proceeds to the back door, his wife, Samantha, had always been very house proud and had insisted that he use the back door if she thought his shoes would make a mess on her beloved thick, beige carpets in her entrance hall, and as he had been walking all night in the fields his shoes were very muddy. As he entered the door, which went straight into the kitchen, he was flooded with memories, and felt the sting of tears in his eyes, but took a deep breath and swept them away. He had promised himself not to show emotion, she would not want me to cry, he thought. Just then the shrill ring of the phone went through the cold house; as if he had not even heard it and he just sat down in one of the dining chairs in the large kitchen.

Then he hears her voice. The sweet sound of her, the way she could always make you feel welcome and loved with just a couple of her glorious words. Her voice could make his stomach do a dozen back flips with just one word. The words that came from her sweet, pure lips were precious, but he had not realised it till now. Till she was gone. The way her eyes would suddenly come alive when she started to talk, the way she always made him laugh with her comical words and how she could make him feel despairing with her words of hatred. She had a way with words, but the last thing she ever said to him was the most tear jerking of all of her speeches.

But then he realises as he listens to the words coming from the next room that it cannot be her and that it is just her voice left behind by the voice machine and then another voice cuts in as a long tone is heard, and he then knows his mother has phoned him. 'Hello dear, how are you? Well that seems like a very stupid thing to say of coarse you are not alright. I was just phoning to see if you were back yet, the police man told us you were at your neighbours, but we did not want to intrude'�'� the rest of his mothers words are lost in his thoughts of his beloved wife, and then as if he is ordered to, he gets up and starts to walk towards the hall way door. As his dirty, dead like hand touched the cold door he closes his eyes and as he does he immediately sees Samantha's face contorted with pain and her hands covered with blood as he held them in his, the red of the blood, her face slowly looking more and more dead, and the horrible ,horrible smell. His own hands beginning to be smothered in the blood of his beloveds. The images are terrifying and he wants so much to open his eyes and cry out loud and scream, but he does not, seeing these images are better than seeing the horrific hallway. He feels his familiar way to the bottom step and finally frees himself from the terrifying images. He does not dare look back towards the door, and instead proceeds to their bedroom. Were he is again knocked back by memories.

'And even though it feels like it will never get any better, I know it will. Don't let you're dreams be broken by this, your bond cannot be broken by death, love is forever'�'� and again the words turn into nothing, he can still hear the message from upstairs and he opens the door and smells the sweet smell of her perfume still left behind. He sits on the bed and gently feels the covers, and then he grips them tighter, as he is pleading with anyone to make her come back. As his eye lids open revealing tear filled eyes, he looks at the glass on the bedside table and he gently picks it up and looks at it, when he lifts it up the light coming from the window he can see the mark of her finger prints and lipstick. He looks at it for a couple of minutes, remembering how the lips that met that cold wine glass had once touched his, and how it had made him feel, he suddenly drops the glass on the floor and walks over to the wardrobe and opens it. He saw the many colours of her clothes and remembers what a colourful person she was. And as he smiles he picks up her favourite sweater and smells its wonderful aroma. He feels like he is with her once more, the luscious perfumed smell of her was the scent he would smell when he was close to her, when he embraced her, when he kissed her, that smell made him feel like he was home.

Again the voice continued: 'And because of her you learned to love, trust someone and not to be afraid if things are sometimes difficult. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be'�'�

And he walks to her side of the bed and picks up one single long hair from the pillow, her hair. It is so thin and fragile, and it moves in the air, so sensitive that it looks like there is a breeze in the room even though the air is still. The hair is moving gracefully, dancing. She always loved to dance, she always looked so graceful and she would always smile her pretty smile. When she was dancing the sound of the melody would just absorb her and she would be lost in the music. His gaze changes to a picture of their wedding night and he drops the hair and it glides to the floor. He walks to the picture, his bare feet digging into the long soft carpet, and picks up the frame. He thinks of their wedding day and suddenly he drops it leaving it on the floor and a small crack in the glass.

'And if I could bring her back and make you happy again I would, just to see a smile on your face again. It must have been so terrible for you to find her lying in the hallway, but the sick person who stabbed her will pay'�'�



And he is running. Running towards the stairs, towards the place that he found her. Found her dieing, where she said her last words to him, those precious words. He had found her on the floor, screaming his name. She was praying to any god, wishing that her love would be alright without her and that he would find someone else to love as the blood flowed from her wound. The carpet was sodden with the red liquid and as he saw her he smelt her blood, the horrible, horrible smell, suffocating him.

"I know you will recover, you are strong, well I have got to go now love, goodbye.'�

As he gets to the middle of the stairs he stops and looks at the carpet near the door, there is a huge stain and he trembles as the tears come running down his face and the sound of his heart becomes louder. He walks down the stairs, bends down and touches the carpet that was once soaked in Samantha's blood. And as he lies down on the carpet, where she was, he whispers her last words that she said to him

'Enjoy your life even though I am gone. Even though I am above I will be with you wherever you go. You will feel me in the morning, when you first awake and last thing at night when you go to sleep. I will be in your hopes and dreams, looking after you in times in trouble, wrapping my love around you. I will call your name when you need to hear me call it, and one day there will be no more tears too cry.'�

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