I had stood in the doorway, my hand to my mouth, struck dumb by the sight before me.
“Who killed…?” I managed to utter, but the rest of the words were, lost, as my thoughts trailed off.
That had been nearly five years ago and my boss still tells the story of how he remembers someone standing in the doorway as if they they were framed, the light behind them illuminating their silhouette but obscuring their identity.
He had thought it was the killer coming back to pick up the handkerchief he or she had dropped.
I told him no one would be that stupid.
He had disagreed but humoured me for my rookie effort in thinking like a killer.
I had so much learn back then and even though I’d made headway in my professional life, my personal life left much to be desired.
Maybe I’d put too much effort into my job and neglected the rest. Or maybe I just didn’t care for all the troubles that went with relationships.
That’s why it had come as a major shock to me when my boss asked me out.