Desolate Read Free Page B

me the truth. That they had the wrong house, but I knew the instant that I saw them on my porch that it was real.
    “Mrs. DeLuca, are you alright?” one of the detectives asked, momentarily bringing me back from the state I was in. The detective that caught me from hitting the floor was still holding me upright. If he had let me go, there was no doubt in my mind that I would be laying on the floor curled up in a ball, praying that this was all some crazy dream.
    “No, I’m never going to be okay again,” I whispered as I brought my hands up to my face and let the tears fall. Mourning. An emotion I knew all too well, only this time I had no idea how I’d get myself out of permanently remaining in a constant state of mourning. Andrew was the one that pulled me back from the brink when my parents’ died. He’s the one that got me to realize that life was worth living. Now my very reason for breathing had been taken from me by an evil person.
    “We’re doing everything we can to apprehend the suspect,” Kendrick reassured.
    Wait. What?
    “Excuse me. What do you mean you’re doing everything you can to apprehend him? You haven’t caught him yet?” This couldn’t be happening. Not only had my husband and son been murdered, but the man or woman that committed the crime still roamed free.
    “He had fled the scene by the time the officers arrived. We have officers out searching as we speak. Roadblocks are set up. We’re going to catch him, Mrs. DeLuca. I can assure you that much,” he promised. A promise he better keep.
    “When can I see my husband and my son?” I asked. I needed to see them. To make sure that it was actually them.
    “We can take you down to the coroner’s office to identify the bodies. We actually need your confirmation on identification,” he stated.
    Numbly, I walked over to the closet in the foyer and retrieved a light coat, a sudden chill passed through me and I needed something to wrap around me in an attempt to warm me.
    Walking to the car was a blur. One of the detectives opened the door, motioning for me to get in the back seat. I ducked my head and got inside, leaning my head against the glass and shutting my eyes. This couldn’t be happening to me again. I couldn’t lose them, too. I wouldn’t survive it if I had.
    As we arrived at the medical examiner’s office, I let out a deep breath and silently prayed for the strength that I knew I’d need to get through this.
    “Is there anyone that we can call so you don’t have to do this on your own? I know this must be difficult for you, and no one should have to do it by themselves,” Tisdale asked. He was probably right about me needing the support, but I wanted to get this over with. I needed to make sure it was Andrew and Liam.
    We walked down the cold hallway, our feet echoing off of the walls as we approached the morgue. The white walls coupled with the sounds of our footprints made my heartbeat quicken at the reality of what I was about to endure.
    We walked up to a window and stopped, both detectives tapping on the glass. Suddenly a light flickered on and a curtain was being moved. A stocky, middle-aged man stood behind the glass with a white lab coat on overtop of a pair of faded blue scrubs. How my brain had even begun to notice those minute details I couldn’t explain, but for some reason they had become significant.
    Both Tisdale and Kendrick stood on either side of me which had me feeling like a caged animal waiting to be released. I wanted to run and hide, never face the situation head on, but I couldn’t. I had to see for myself what I had lost.
    With a nod of my head, the coroner walked across the room and wheeled over a metal table, a white cloth covering the body that lay on the top. Swallowing hard, I nodded again to confirm that I was ready to see what was beneath the sheet. He slightly pulled back the sheet and I knew the instant his forehead came into view that it was my Andrew. The scar that was at his