The rain still clung to the window. The inexplicable feeling that there had once been many happy people here clung to the air. In the empty, but discussing kitchen (mold clinging to several blue and white dishes) were several “family” pictures. Clearly drawn by a small child, Sandy wondered where that child was now. As she walked toward the back bedroom a feeling of unease kept in to her skin. Resisting the urge to vomit, she griped the cold handle of the doorknob, and shoved the door open. Sandy knew the body was here, and her job as a crime scene photographer meant she would have to get close to the now rotting corpse. When she finally stepped in to the room she felt eyes watching her every move. As she survived the mostly empty small room, her eyes watered with the smell of blood. On the center of the small bed, a woman laid, in what once had been a nightgown, her skin now ripped to shreds, the blood still pooling on the silk sheets. Once again, Sandy felt as though she was not alone.