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“I found a body, a woman around twenty years old. She has chain marks around her neck, Kyle.”

I hear him sit up before he answers, “Wait, do you think it's him?”

“I don't think so. I'd like you to tell the team to cooperate with the Seraphin Bay police on this case. Every piece of information they have, I want it: identity, age, background. And as soon as they do the autopsy, I want you to compare the marks to those of the other victims.”

“Okay, okay, we'll do that. How do you feel about this?”

“It's either an imitator taking up the mantle, or he's actually back, and I don't like that at all.”

“Focus on that, I can hear the sirens behind you, they’ll be here soon.”

“Go on, I’m leaving now, let me know if anything happens.”

“Be careful,” Kyle finally says before I hang up.

Time to wait.

37

Mireya

Play - 500 miles by Peter, Paul and Mary

Footprints in the sand

A body. Here, on this island. She… she looked, she didn’t look okay. Gosh this is… so fucked. I arrived quickly at the campus, I didn’t even see that tears had fallen down on my cheeks while I was driving.

I can’t breathe, I–I can’t breathe.

13 9 18 5 25 1, 13 9 18 5 25 1, 13 9 18 5 25 1.

My hands shake as I try to swipe any tears from my face, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

I get out of the car and walk to the building. Students are already getting ready for the morning training,

“Reya?”

I turn around, and meet Ethan who seems out of breath like he has been running for hours. “Ethan, I need… I need to get some sleep.”

He laughs, but sees that I’m not reciprocating at all and so his voice changes, “Hey, why are your eyes red, did you cry?” He gets closer but I automatically take a step back.

“Please, not now, forget that you saw me here.”

I left before he could say anything else and practically ran through the stairs to my room.

Blue is excited to see me, and I pick him up before lying on the floor with him.

And I cry. I cry and I feel bad for crying. She was a person, with dreams, hopes, with a life.

She was… she isn’t my mom.

So why am I crying?

Blue seems to understand and leaves me to give me some space and I run to the bathroom. I wash my hands, again, then again, even if there’s nothing there. I know that the water is clear, I can see it. But my fingers shake more and my feet move to the drawer as I open it. The flask is there, and soon enough the warm liquid is flowing down my throat.

I thought I had forgotten what death looked like and I was wrong. The worst part about memories is that they don’t always come back as pictures, sometimes they return as a feeling.

I keep drinking, drowning myself in the warmth of the vodka and lay down as I finish it.