No Fun Alert: triggers and whatnot ahead.

In the bedroom closet, with a shotgun (you have to use your toe to pull the trigger, unless you’re really tall; Chris was only 5’7”), after moving all the clothes and shoes out onto the bed and laying down plastic sheeting made from cut open trash bags to protect the carpet in their rented 1 BR. That was his answer. He left his glasses on the nightstand, but he didn't leave a note.

Later, after Sarah called Dave and he called the local cops and they came with the ME assistants to retrieve what was left, a neighbor from across the hall said he’d heard something around ten that morning but that he didn't think anything of it. He said it could have been an old car or it could have been a shot. Sarah found him.

Dave took the next day off work to clean things up. Simple Green took care of the smell of blood on the walls, but the stains needed paint and primer. The carpet had to go. It was beyond saving even after the cautious application of trash bag sheeting. Dave got a utility knife from the junk drawer in the kitchen, cut out a rectangle slightly larger than the affected portion, and left it rolled up next to the dumpster behind the car park.

I wanted to ask him about it when he got back, but I didn't. He was a cop and had seen his fair share of bodies by the time this all went down; mostly from traffic collisions, but a few shootings as well, and sometimes bodies just happen in LA. He said once that traffic accidents were usually worse than shootings.

Sarah lived there for another few months. She couldn't afford to break the lease, which was just as well because I don’t think she was ready to move out. She slept on the couch though, couldn't bring herself to use the bedroom. The clothes and shoes stayed on the bed. His glasses stayed on the nightstand. She never found a note.