You Can't Hide.

Henry-

The pungent smell of iron radiated through the air before the door was unlocked, it hung low, like thick smog, corrupting the building with its intensity. There was a jangle of keys and Henry knew that he was about to walk in to something more horrific than he'd ever imagined. He'd seen his fair share of horrors; being a detective for the special victims unit had hardened him, made him cold and indifferent to scenes such as the one that lay beyond this door. This time would be different, this door wasn't the opening to a crime scene he'd prepared for, and this flat wasn't somewhere taped off in blue and white. This, was his home, and when he walked down that hall he was expecting to smell the dinner that Nicole would be cooking, or maybe her perfume lingering from her rushing home just minutes before him as she so often did. He did not expect this metallic taste to hang in the air, as if he'd been punched in the face and split his inner lip.

The key turned and in walked Henry, the door hitting the wall and slowly creaking in his wake, he moved forward with determination. Purposefully stepping over a dropped handbag, he made his way mechanically down the hall towards the kitchen. Blood splattered the walls already, a drop here, a thin line there but nothing that indicated what had happened here this evening. A burning sensation ran through Henry as the distinct lurch of his stomach trying to escape through his mouth hit him. A body was lying across the kitchen island, a mangled mess of white blonde hair matted with deep red blood, she was naked and a blue tinge graced her lips, while her limbs stuck up at odd angles. There were gashes all over her neck and abdomen, both breasts were sliced towards her sternum and room temperature blood pooled against the cold granite, overflowing to the floor; so much blood, so much destruction and death.

Storming in to the bathroom he emptied his stomach in to the toilet, looking in the mirror at his disheveled appearance, that had until recently, been so put together. His dirty blonde hair was out of place and falling down his forehead, his stormy grey eyes were now devoid of life; all excitement had gone from him. All hope had left him. He couldn't stand to look at himself, what was so important that he wasn't here when his love had suffered in such a way. His fists clenched at the thought of someone entering their home, destroying the sanctity of what they shared. Burning, that was all he felt as his fist smashed continually into his own reflection. Over and over he hit his own image while the shattered mirror grew redder and redder and his hand became more and more swollen, instantly showing dark purple bruising whilst his knuckles looked oddly out of place.

Something was amiss, this house, his former home looked nothing like he had remembered it. The distant thought of the breakfast he'd eaten that morning whilst Nicole drank her coffee and pecked him goodbye stirred something within him. He ran from the bathroom back to that dreaded room, back to the image that would forever be burned in to the back of his eyelids. His head whipped around to the knife block, not a thing out of place in a usually unkempt home. He tried to see beyond his familial eyes, tried to use those detective lenses to examine the scene, tried to heighten his other senses while his heart pounded through his chest.

Underneath the smell of blood, there was a hint of bleach. Someone had cleaned up after themselves, whoever had done this to his sweet Nicole was calculated, ruling out a robbery gone wrong, her purse was still in the hallway. The blood on the walls on his way in meant that there was a struggle, she wasn't caught by surprise, he knew Nicole, she was a hellcat and she would fight tooth and nail for her life. The way her body was laid out, like a Christmas turkey on show, she had not been killed on the island. The smell of bleach, the blood; her body had been moved; the scene of murder had been cleaned. She was placed here as a message. Someone wanted him to figure this out. Someone knew his position, knew he would put this together. This was the killer he'd been tracking for months. Nicole didn't fit his physical victim profile, but he knew what no one else did, he knew that these women were connected by something far bigger than their appearance, by their similarities to a certain dark haired woman from his past. Though Nicole did not look anything like Lena Brady, she was more like her than anyone Henry had ever met. Their personalities were intertwined, rooted so deeply together that if you knew one, you would know the other. It was hard to believe that two people who had never met each other could compliment one another so perfectly, could remind you of the other through the sheer joy in their laugh, the snarky comment under their breath at the end of an argument, the way they wrinkle their nose when they find something distasteful.

He turned, grabbing whatever he could reach to throw it across the room, to clutter up the vast expanse of this place. The microwave became his first victim, the knife block came second and he noticed the left side was stained with her blood, it seeped into the wood the way that the grief seeped in to his soul and he couldn't stand it. He moved swiftly to their living room, upending the entertainment stand, the TV smashed around his feet as he stared on with dead eyes. He didn't stop the destruction of his former sanctuary until he looked up and saw the image of his partner, someone he never thought he'd be leaning on but whom he couldn't hide from. He ran to Jake and crumpled in his arms while sobbing about kitchens, and cleanings and so much blood.