My Life with Death

2507 Massachusetts Avenue, Anacostia, Washington, D.C., November 29, 2018

The key clicked in the frozen lock. I pressed the handle and opened the door. I walked in and immediately removed the loud heels from my aching feet. I walked through the glass corridor to the kitchen.

Our house still looked like we had just moved in, but we had lived here for eight years. But with our work and responsibilities, we still needed more time for many things, especially for me. For example, we still didn't have a dining table, so we ate at the bar. It didn't matter. We were often happy when we at least ate together as a family.

I couldn't keep things under control. I had work piling up everywhere. Files from investigations, photographs from crime scenes, specialist literature, my lecture notes, materials for sessions with a psychologist, decorations, and fossils were lying around the furniture. We never finished the garden, which never bothered me because I was never in it. I looked at the blossoming trees and green grass only through the windows. I put my coat and everything else—like my keys, voice recorder, purse, and phone—on the dining table of the white island in the middle of the monochromatic kitchen. I saw off the security lady and paid her at the door.

I pulled out a piece of tape from one of the many kitchen drawers, which I then used to stick a photo of the third victim on the kitchen cabinet door. And so that it was right at the level of the bar stool I sat on when I ate. I did it like that. In the same way, I stuck photos of the cases on the wall above the desk, on the lamp on the bedside table, and the mirror in the bathroom.

I went to see Chrisy, whose room was at the back of our house. It was a one-story house with a bedroom, a children's room, and a guest room. In the middle was the kitchen, and a small study was between Christine's room and our bedroom.

I looked out the windows at the small garden, where giant Japanese cherry trees were growing, which were now like from the ice kingdom and only emphasized the coziness of this place.

Her room was cozy and cute. Pictures of animated characters from fairy tales hung on bright blue walls, and on the floor - around the bed - sat at least twenty giant stuffed animals depicting various wild animals. But she held the most popular one in her arms. He was a little penguin, and Chrisy named him Mr. Carrot. She was lying in that big bed, wrapped up to her ears in a duvet, like an angel. I loved her. I loved her more than anything.

I wanted to quit my job because of her. But I just looked at her and knew that my job was significant, that I was doing the right thing by staying in it, even though I was missing out on the most beautiful moments of her life. I protect her and the world for her future. I took a few steps into the bedroom, where Sue was sprawled out on my half of the bed. The four-legged guardian of our home. A British snow-white cat who was with me in the most challenging moments when I was otherwise alone. My protector.

I sat on the edge of the bed. I took off my jacket and pants, which I placed next to me on the bed. I moved to the bathroom in just my underwear and blouse. I closed the door—leaving it a crack to hear Christine if she woke up. I removed the rest of my clothes and threw them on the floor. A stream of ice water came down on me when I pushed the frosted glass door open.

Sue was already scratching hungrily at the door. A cat naturally afraid of water could take quite a few risks for food. She licked herself greedily and meowed to make herself known. I went outside and wrapped myself in a white cotton towel.

"Come on, you brat," I told her and smiled.

We went straight to the kitchen. I pulled one of the many meat pouches out of the cupboard – this time, it was salmon – and poured Sue's into the red bowl on the right side of the kitchen island.

I returned to the bedroom and pulled out new clothes from the closet. I wore clean but practically the same clothes as before and tied my long blonde hair into a ponytail.

I was also hungry, but I didn't have much time. Any minute now, Christine would wake up, and I had to take her to daycare and then drive back to work for the scheduled autopsy. I still had to fit in a session with Dr. Stevenson. For this time, only a dry slice of toasted bread and an apple for the journey had to be enough for me.

Time flew by like water. And I spent the time I could have breakfast in peace staring at the dead body without a head and thinking about a person who could do such a thing.

Christine woke up for exactly one minute. I quickly dressed and fed her.

Christina's car seat was also in the trunk next to the first aid kit, fire extinguisher, bulletproof vest, and many other things that belong to my work. I put her in the car's back seat and sat her in it.

When leaving the kindergarten, I looked at my watch—6:50 a.m. I had to show up for the session within ten minutes. Which already meant I was going to be late for him. Also, yes. And I drove through town with the siren on. The timeline failed, as always. I only had twenty-three minutes for the session. Because at 8 o'clock, the medical examiner was supposed to start the autopsy. And at least I wanted to get there on time.