Cold
The call unanswered, not unusual. The call not returned, unusual. Cold.
The house looming at the end of the road, dark, curtains drawn back. Cold. The key not going in the lock because there’s a key on the inside. Cold. The bell rung, unanswered. Cold.
Peering though the windows. Cold. Unable to check round the back, due to the paranoid security spikes on the gate. Cold. The call to 999. Cold.
Standing while the policeman batters the door down. Cold. Waiting while the police and paramedics search. Cold. Making the identification. Cold. Going through the paperwork. Cold. Waiting for the undertaker. Cold.
Finally alone. Cold.
Ever will be the house looming at the end of the road, dark. Cold.
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Sadness and loss. Very familiar to me right now as well.