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Story Notes:
Disclaimer: I do not own Psych, nor do I own any of its characters, settings, trademarks, or related material. Psych and all related materials are the property of their respective owners. The plot and original characters of this story are my intellectual property. I am not associated with Psych, its creators, or any involved parties. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Chapter Notes:
This story is different from everything else I've ever posted. Written in response to the Dark Psych challenge by Spookysister7.

Rated T for slight violence. The title was inspired by the song Teardrops by the Proclaimers.

When he tore open my chest, I cried. I cried so hard for so long, wondering how he could do this to me. We were together for so long. How could he dump my body in the water?

He loved me, I was sure of it. As much as I loved him. Maybe that's why he had to kill me.

I wasn't afraid when he came to my house. I had invited him there, after all. I wasn't afraid when he brought the gun. He carried it all the time. He called it his baby.
I wasn't afraid when he stroked my hair, and I wasn't afraid when I told him I was no longer uncomfortable with intra-office romance. He smiled at me, and then I was afraid.

"We're co-workers," he said.
"I know," I replied.
"It would never work," he said. "They would find us out. They would make you leave."
"No, they wouldn't."
"Spencer would."
"No. Shawn wouldn't do that."
"He would. He wants to hurt me."
"He doesn't."
"He does."
"No."
"I won't let him hurt us."
"He won't."
"You don't get it, O'Hara. He'll take you away from me. He took everything away from me."
"Is this about his promotion? He's not going after your job. He just wants more cases to---"
"No. It's about you."
"Me?"
"Yes." He paused, and his eyes froze me. "If I asked you to go somewhere with me, would you go?"
"Yes."
"Come with me. Right now."

I walked out of the house and forgot my jacket, but it was too late to go back and get it because he was already getting into his car, the Crown Victoria that was as blue as the ocean. I got into the passenger side and asked, "Carlton? Where are you taking me?"
"Home," he said, and it was then that I really started to think that something wasn't right.
"I don't understand," I said.
"You will," he replied.

He kept the air conditioner on during the entire hour-long trip to wherever it was we were going, even though it was only thirty-three degrees outside. I could have sworn I saw frost on the windowpanes as my breath fogged up the glass.
"Do you trust me, O'Hara?" he asked.
"Of course I trust you. You're my partner."
He smiled again, a grim smile, and tears filled his eyes. "I love you."
"I love you, too."

He drove us to a little lake, more of a pond, really, where kids used to learn to ice-skate in the winter. The lake wasn't quite frozen now, but it was slushy and unappealing. A ramshackle cabin rested in a hollow on the far side, just barely in view from the stretch of gravel road he was parking on.
"Why are we here?" I asked. "Will we be staying here tonight?"
"Yes," he said, and that was when he tore my chest apart.

I didn't even see the knife until he plunged it through my heart. It was long, a Bowie knife, and the steel was warm from being carried in his suit pocket, next to the blood and heat of his body. If he'd stopped then, I could have forgiven him, but he kept going, as if his mind had been possessed by an icy fog. He tore my flesh and twisted the knife, left right up down, making sure I was dead.

I was still breathing when he carried me to the lake, but only just. His body was warm and my arms were cold and I knew that if I'd had the strength to open my eyes, I would have seen my blood staining his white shirt. I fell into the water with a gurgling sound, dropped with ceremony, as if I were a sacrifice to the Earth, to the dark cold slushy waves.

Just before I died, there was something beside me.

Beside me, I heard a splash.


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