We had already been informed over the phone, that there had been a ghastly murder. That, however, did not lessen the shock we felt when we arrived at the scene.

Blood was everywhere.

Blood was on the walls, on the floor, on the table, on the carpet… If it wasn't for the pungent, rusty-iron smell that constantly reminded us it was real blood on display, it could easily be overlooked as paint. The amount of blood could never have possibly come from just one body.

I considered myself a veteran in the department, but all of this was still too much to stomach. I instinctively turned my attention to the victim on the floor – at least it was complete with a head and four limbs, despite its general lack of colour. My partner turned around abruptly and leaned at the door frame for support. The ambulance guy simply ran away. I held myself together – the tough part of being a senior, was that you were not allowed to show your weakness in public, and definitely not in front of your subordinates.

Stubbornly, I inched towards the body. It was a young female with long straight blond hair. She had lots of freckles, wore bright red lipstick, with nails painted in the same kind of red that matched the colour of the blood – oh stop thinking about the blood already, I thought to myself. I tried to avert my attention, but my eyes kept going back to the red lips, the red nails and the crimson red blood. Suddenly everything in the crime scene was too bright and too red; it was overwhelming.

I stood up, and made up my mind. I pulled out my phone from my jacket, and scrolled through my contacts. I found the number I was looking for, hovered for a fraction of a second over the 'call' icon, but decided to press the 'text' icon instead. I typed in the address, added the phrase 'need your help' as an afterthought. I skipped the niceties; they weren't needed and would not be appreciated.

The message was sent with a 'beep'. My job here was done. I turned around, slightly surprised to see no one there; my partner had already gone outside for some fresh air. As I was leaving, I noticed a rectangular mirror hanging on the wall next to the door. It was, as was everything else in the room, half smeared in blood. The bright red contrasted greatly with the pale face it was reflecting. Unconsciously, I tried to rub my cheeks. But the reflection in the mirror remained pale, like the corpse on the floor. I frowned; the pale face in the mirror frowned back. With a shudder, I escaped the room. Ten minutes later, a self-proclaimed consulting detective would arrive, probably with his faithful side-kick, and sort everything out eventually anyway.