The lights seemed too bright, glaring on the highly polished surface of the wooden staircase. The sound of the paramedics' footsteps on the stairs no longer brought relief as they'd done earlier, the sound of the door clicking shut downstairs seemed to echo forever through the utter silence that filled the house. The finality of the moment seemed to linger, stretching and drawing out in a way that shouldn't have been possible.

Emily: "Do you want to... see him again?"

Emily's voice startled James. It seemed louder than any sound he'd heard before, yet she was hardly speaking above a whisper. He couldn't bring himself to talk, as if the silence was something sacred and fragile that needed to be protected. He nodded instead, feeling a tightening deep in his gut as he began to follow Emily into the room he'd grown to fear.

Mary stood silent at the foot of Tristan's bed, unsure of what to do with herself now that she and Markus had finished trying to give Tristan a small piece of dignity back, a final gift to someone she never even really knew. His body was now an unmoving, unfeeling form beneath blankets that covered the shock of bare flesh. Markus had gone to take Tristan's shirt, which the paramedics had had to cut off in order to attempt resuscitation, from the room- it's crumpled form on the floor somehow almost offensive. She desperately wanted to escape from this nightmare, to be anywhere but here.

When James and Emily finally came into the room, Mary's relief was almost tangible. She'd been growing increasingly uneasy being alone with the body. Her mind latched on to a single thought- at exactly what point did you stop thinking of someone as a person and they just become a 'body'? Emily stood by her side, the two of them quietly drawing strength from the mere presence of the other.

James only glanced briefly in the direction of Tristan's bed, the pain of reality keeping him from looking for too long. Before that point, it hadn't been real- Tristan was still alive and well somewhere else- pretty soon he'd be back and everything would be normal again. James turned his attention away from the room, looking out the window at the open expanse of night beyond the panes of glass.

Markus returned seconds later, hands empty, eyes distant. He began keeping himself busy by finding things to clean, as if keeping still for any length of time would bring forth the pain he knew was lurking just beyond this moment.

Mary: "Should someone contact his family?"

Mary's voice shattered the silence, sounding strange in her ears.

James: "He's been estranged from them for years."

The depth of anger in James' voice caught them all off guard, bringing them out of their private trances. Suddenly, he drew back his arm and punched a hole in the wall next to the window.

Mary stared straight ahead, not saying a word. Part of her felt oddly compelled to help James in any way she could while another part of her wanted to fade away into the wall. Before she could make up her mind, Emily had left her side and gone to James.

Emily: "James..."
James: "I can't. I can't do this. I can't be here anymore."
Emily: "It's ok. I'm sure he'd have understood."

The use of past tense was deafening. How could something so seemingly superficial hurt so badly? James' eyes met Emily's, the pain overwhelming.

James: "I have to get out of here."
Emily: "It's ok, you should go if you feel you have to. Markus and I can take care of things here for you."

James turned and left the room without saying a word.

Emily found herself staring at the trails of blood on Tristan's face, now turning a deep rust color as they dried. She felt suddenly very strongly compelled to clean it, as if wiping the blood off would also wipe away the pain she felt so deep within her heart.

As she returned from the bathroom with a cloth dampened with warm water, she felt the ache of loss swelling inside her like the cresting of a wave. It was strange - here was this person, this man, whom she didn't really know, and who had so suddenly become someone she would never know. As she leaned over and began to carefully wipe his face, she felt the stinging disappointment of lost opportunities, a future of possibilities so abruptly and arbitrarily erased. She would never know Tristan. She would never run into him in the studio again, would never hear him play music again. He would never smile at her again, never laugh again. She fought back the tears that threatened to break- she had to keep it together -not for herself, but for Mary and Markus. She could fall apart after things were finished here, but not before.