2:16 a.m.

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When he opened his eyes, the first things Williamson saw, were the dead body and the bloody knife on the floor.  He approached the window in the darkened room, seeing the blazing lights strobe the walls.

An ambulance, followed by two patrol cars neared the house. He ran down the stairs and reached for the front door. The paramedics charged in.

“Hurry, please do something,” he yelled, as the men grazed past him and onto the second floor.

They checked the body for signs of life, holding the wrist, looking for a beat.  “Time of death, 2:16 a.m.”

“No, please!” he cried.

They lifted the body into the dark plastic bag and zipped it up.

“Please! It’s not too late.”  They didn’t hear him.

He observed as his body was taken out of the room. He sat on the bed, and gazed at the flashing lights that brightened the walls, seeing them fade away, leaving him in the silence of the empty house.