So when he found her lying dead upon the floor, he uttered a cry of sorrow. His precious. His beloved. His accomplice and faithful lover. He could not bring himself to look at those startingly blue eyes, wide open and unseing.
He got away from the spread-eagled corpse, unable to stand the view. Yet the horrid image would not clear off. In his mind's eye, he relieved over and over again the painful moment when he first set eyes upon his most sacred possession.
And then...
It suddenly dawned upon him. He'd lost her. She was gone forever, gone to a place where he could not get to her and from where she could not come back. This was it: He could not follow her. This time, there would be no comming back.
He got his phone out and dialed a number. Il Risstorante. There would be no dinner tonight; not at table 15, the good table. A tear ran the lenght of his face...
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