[ WP ] As a private detective , your newest murder to solve has you feeling skeptical and wary , as the victim 's case increasingly begins to remind you of yourself .

I could n't help but think that the crime scene was eerily familiar. In my 25 years on the force, I have never seen anything like this. I have seen things that would break a normal man, but I keep showing up the next morning. I guess I am a glutton for mental anguish. The headaches and the horrible, vivid dreams are starting to be too much to handle. 
 
 The flash from the cameras is making it difficult to focus, and the lack of sleep is making everything appear to be in slow motion. You know in the movies, when you see a prisoner on his way to the chamber in handcuffs surrounded by cops and press? That is me right now, or at least what my brain is twisting it into. A dead man walking. I could n't focus anymore and I walked into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. I rolled my sleeves up and noticed a spot of blood on my new shirt. 
 
 I only wore it once before, and I do n't remember getting anything on it. The cold water on my face immediately makes me feel better. Looking down at my sleeve, the blood was gone. I really need to get some sleep. 
 
 I walked back over to the body to take the scene in again. Face down on the floor with a bloody candle holder next to it. I stand up and look around the office. The entire room is lined with books, and everything has it's place. I laugh to myself and think `` Colonel Mustard in the Study with the Candlestick.'' I needed something to laugh about. Every book was leatherbound and painstakingly organized. Pacing around the room, I realized one book was missing. Trying to decipher the organization scheme, I realized it was the Divine Comedy. Strangely enough, I just bought a used paperback copy of it on eBay. It seemed like a good way to compare my dreams to the circles of hell and see where I fit in. 
 
 I checked the tracking, and the book had been delivered today. I rushed home on my lunch break to see if it would offer any clues. Once I entered my street, I had a strange feeling like something was n't right. Pulling into my driveway, I noticed my front door was slightly ajar. I unholstered my 9mm Beretta and approached my house with caution. I opened the door and slipped in quietly. I could hear my heart beating, along with that all-too-familiar slow motion effect. 
 
 In my living room ahead of me was the same gruesome scene that I had left moments ago. The body was face down, only this time there was a baseball bat next to it. I closed my eyes and shook my head, to bring myself back to reality. When I opened my eyes, it was still there. I called 911, and then asked for backup over the radio. Walking outside for fresh air, I remembered the book. I ran inside to see if it was there. 
 
 Laying in the middle of the kitchen was a pristine leather-bound copy of the Divine Comedy with Help Me sloppily written in blood on the cover and a thank you note from the seller. What if the person in my living room was looking for this book? Who killed him? As I turned to enter the house, the ambulance pulled up and rushed in. Preliminary examination found cause of death to be blunt force trauma. I guess the bloody baseball bat did n't tip them off at first. 
 
 The victim was the same height and weight as me, adding to the ever growing list of odd coincidences. Samples were going to the lab to identify him. Before I could be questioned, I slipped out the front door and back to the other crime scene. 
 
 I was taken aback by how precisely everything was recreated, the posture, the blood, the weapon all were exactly positioned. I looked around for more clues, but I was unable to find anything. Feeling that it was a dead end, I went to the coroner's office. The door was wide open and the paper I was looking for was right on top. The name of the victim was... It was me, and that was my blood on the book.
