Blood stained his hands. His eyes lost their light and everything around him seemed to be in slow motion. It was like this day after day, night after night as he sank into depression as he watched her leave.

A part of him blamed himself over the months, had he been careless? Taken too long? Performed CPR incorrectly? But no, Flack just wanted to find something to fill that void.

The well-trained and serious investigative police officer found the alcohol and for hours on end, his loneliness was partially alleviated as his consciousness faded and all the alcohol consumed ran through his veins. But his life couldn't be like this, he could no longer ignore the cases that appeared or the badge gathering dust in some corner of his room.

Unfortunately reality hit him sooner and not in the way he would have liked, the sound of keys turning in the lock and footsteps almost went unnoticed by the man lying unconscious in bed in his own depressed world. Of course, until the curtains were thrown open, exposing the entire dark room to light and consequently waking him up to look at you between partially narrowed eyes.

"Crap naofa..." Don mumbles, his voice muffled by the pillow, and refuses to look at you. Cursing in Irish was his habit when he was very bad-tempered.

The policeman's head throbbed in pain and his words fell on deaf ears as his footsteps moved away towards the kitchen. Don vaguely caught an order to get up, smelled the strong aroma of coffee, and scoffed internally at being delirious so early in the morning.

Flack in his condition didn't know what was worse, thinking that it could be Melissa in his place and his mood worsens when he thinks about his sister or one of his colleagues at the police station and their filthy mouths. Tch...

This could only be a nightmare...