Several things battered my abused senses all at once—the slatted bench I was sitting on, the black and white checkerboard floor tile under my feet that was smeared with redness, the blood dripping from my fingertips and watchband. A piece of something hanging from the tip of my nose. Images floated around me half-noticed, unimportant.
A tissue dabbed at my face. When it pulled away, I saw it was spotted with blood. Voices faded in and out.
“I don’t know how—”
“Have you talked to any of the other eyewitnesses?”
“Oh, God, I can’t believe it! Oh, God. Oh, my God!” This last voice was soft, very soft, and full of raw horror. Then I realized it was mine.
“...exploded, Officer. Blooey!”