I scanned over the remaining photos. Three of them were of massive gore stains along the grungy walls and the other three were of the shattered girl. And those were the ones that got me. She was laid out like a puzzle before me, and each photo represented a different piece. The first was of her head and face and part of what I can only assume was a gunshot wound, and the other two were just as grotesque. I could imagine the shooter was not her biggest fan.
“Oh my God.” I muttered out loud, not even realizing. I didn’t know people even contained that much blood.
“Yeah.” Taz replied. “It’s pretty brutal.” He looked me up and down, and I could tell that his demeanor had changed. He wasn’t in attack-mode any more. “We know that the assailant shot her from behind.” He paused. “I have a sinking suspicion that your boyfriend did that.” I could hear a faint sting in his words. He was actually hurt. But even more gut-wrenching than that was the pity in his voice. The pity is what hurt most, and even that was a ruse. Taz may have felt something for me, but it most definitely wasn’t empathy.
And that’s when I saw it.
“Is that…? Oh my God...” It was.
The carpet looked familiar because it was mine.