I sat there watching him. Detective Eugene Stevenson sat in front of me reading the paper - a massive, thick thing that he could barley handle – falling apart as it was - yet was still completely and utterly engrossed in it. Paper, folders, letters and stationary covered his desk to the point where I could hardly even see the scuffed mahogany underneath. The man sighed and pushed his unruly black hair out of his piercing grey eyes before huffing and tying it up. He scratched at his permanent six-o'clock shadow as he considered the news reports in comparison with his multiple notes - random pieces of paper and post-it-notes that had lost their stickiness.

He leaned back in his old leather chair then scrambled to catch himself as the back gave out. Huffing and sighing he threw down the paper, grumbling "piece of crap" before standing at his full height - 6'1 - and walking toward the small window and opening it. From there he re-lit his used cigarette that he had previously abandoned in favor of the paper.

His office was a madhouse - his long legs could only take around five steps wall-to-wall. That on its own would be an achievement - the floor was covered in papers, newspaper clippings and books. No way could Stevenson have read all of these books - the ones that lined all of the book shelves and the floor - in his 28 years.

His current obsession was missing person/murder victim - Courtney Rudnick, a fair blonde woman who was 5'6, creamy complexion, a small freckle just above the right corner of her lips and bright green eyes. She was only about 18 years old and was pretty enough. It was no secret that the girl was trying to track down a murderer.

She was the girl he was reading about in the paper. The girl who had, in his words, had become "my newest reason to carry on with life and not drink it away" as he had said to a man that had brought him the paper.

A psychopath was making their way around the city, all victims were male, middle aged and associated with hookers.

Courtney did not fit this description. Stevenson was the detective who would find Courtney and whatever she had found that had led to her death. Whatever he would find would probably catch the murderer...

Who am I you ask? I am Courtney Rudnick and I am dead. I do not remember how I was murdered or what I found.

But I intend to find out. And it will be the last thing I ever do.