[ WP ] Write the third episode of non-existant series . Make us curious about what happened before episode 3 , and what happens after .

** [ This is my first writing here, and I am not a Native English speaker. So, if any of you would be so kind to criticize this piece, I'd be really glad. ] ** 
 
 -- -- -- -- - 
 
 I stared at the screen in disbelief. 
 
 The sun was shining through the small windows above my head and tinted the room in the orange morning light. I could hear the birds chirping right outside of it. It was a peaceful Wednesday morning, but I could n't fell any of this peace. Right now, I was horrified. 
 
 My legs still shaking, I stood up from my computer and searched my way into the kitchen. My vision was blurry and I could n't tell walls from the floor any longer, when I suddenly collapsed, like the rug was pulled from underneath my feet. 
 
 There I was, lying on the floor, still in shock because of what I saw, the vision of this horrible video playing again and again in my head, in full detail every time. His screams, his guts, his torn-off limbs... And amidst that massacre, an innocent stuffed animal, smiling like all the horror does n't happen around it, while its name-tag gets coated in blood. *Charlie*, the name I gave the little bunny that was John's present for our 1-year anniversary. It had gone missing the day the letter arrived, and now I knew why. 
 
 The realization hit me out of nowhere. I just became a witness to the murder of the man I shared my life with for 3 years. He was... gone. Forever. 
 
 Tears rolled down my numb cheeks like a small stream of water, and then the stream became a river and then the river became a waterfall. I could n't control myself, I was just there, on the ground, uncomfortable slumped over my knees, sobbing. I did n't want to do anything. In that moment, I only wanted to cry. 
 
 In that moment, I only wanted to die. 
 
 And so, I cried, alone, one the cold floor. 
 
 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- 
 
 I lost track of time, but when I managed to rise to my feet again, my tears had long dried out, and the light of sun had disappeared. Even the cars on the road outside were silent, almost as if the whole world decided to grieve with me. 
 
 Once again, I tried to walk towards the kitchen door, this time with more success. As I opened the door, I expected the familiar smell of his favorite pancakes to fill my nose, I expected all my worries to be shaken off in an instant. 
 
 The kitchen was empty. 
 
 My eyes fell on the black letter on the kitchen counter. The letter I received three days ago. The letter that started this. The letter that took the love of my life away from me. 
 
 I grabbed the letter in a hectic motion and stuffed it into the next-best pot I could find. After that, I took the pot, put it in the sink, and filled it with water until it was filled completely. Then, I violently put the water-filled pot on the stove, water splashing across the entire counter. I turned the stove on and set it on the highest setting. The next minutes, I spent looking at the letter inside the pot, as the water slowly began boiling just like I was. The letter dissolved more and more, until it was only a small, dirty lump. 
 
 Without turning the stove off, I slammed the handle of the pot and sent it flying through the air. The water hit my left hand, but it did n't matter to me anymore. The tiny, black lump landed on the counter, right next to the sharpest knife in the whole kitchen. I took it into my hand, and rammed it into the former letter. Then I did it again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And... And again. And... again. 
 
 I was panting heavily. The whole ordeal left me exhausted. I covered my face with my hands and leaned against the counter. The taste of blood in my mouth was an alien feeling to me that I barely noticed. I must have slipped with the knife a few times without noticing. 
 
 After standing like this for a while, I decided to wash the blood off my face, so I entered the bathroom. It was small and white, quite perfect in a way. The two toothbrushes were standing at the sink, not knowing that one of them will never be used again. I took the pink one, threw it into the toilet and flushed it down. No one needed it anymore, anyway. 
 
 My eyes fell on the mirror above the sink, and a stranger looked back at me. My hair was still black, my eyes still brown and my face still unshaven, but the me in the mirror was n't me. My hair lost it's shine, my eyes were tired and red from me crying, and my whole face was covered in blood. I turned the water on and began washing my face. I only then noticed the cuts and burns on my left hand, but I put it under the water anyway. 
 
 The pain felt refreshing, in a way. I finally felt something again, after being numb for almost half a day. 
 
 -- -- -- -- -- - 
 
 I was still dripping with water when I left the bathroom. There was no time to use a towel now. I had to do something. 
 
 After making a coffee, I was sitting at my computer again. The video was still open, fixated on the smile of *Charlie*. I pressed Play again and began watching the video for the second time, this time, however, looking for clues. I examined every frame of torture, every shot of John's wounded body, but could barely find anything, until I noticed a peculiar moment. Whoever made this video, appeared to have known about John's ring and our engagement. It was displayed on a small pedestal in the background with a large white sheet setting it apart from the warehouse setting of the rest of the video. 
 
 Whoever killed John, knew about him and me, and that were not a lot of people. I remember him saying that he told his sister and his brother, but would any of those two kill him? Gary was in another country right now, and Sarah is busy with the daycare. Neither would've had the time to do this. 
 
 I pulled out my phone to see if his messages from yesterday had any clues in them. 
 
 **sent Monday, 19:36** 
 
 *sorry i culdnt mk it babe* 
 
 *had 2 run erands for my boss* 
 
 **sent Monday, 20:21** 
 
 *btw i wont mk it 2 te aprtmnt 2night* 
 
 *go 2 bed w/o me k? * 
 
 *i love u* 
 
 *c ya* 
 
 Yes, he disappeared during Monday night. And he appeared to had something to do that night, too. Did he meet up with a friend, a co-worker, or some gangsters? What did he do on Monday? Either way, I need to know who else he told about us. Or I'll never know who is responsible for this. 
 
 Knowing that I would n't get any answers from staring at my phone like an idiot, I rose and walked towards the door. As I reached for the handle, my eyes fell on the picture on the table. It was the picture I took with John when we were skiing in the mountains. 
 
 The picture stand was quickly opened, and I put the picture into my chest pocket. I wanted the good memories of John to be close to me, now that he was gone. 
 
 I packed the handle of the door, opened it, and with a few swift steps, I left the apartment.
