My head was a pain. Hurting, aching, throbbing. It screamed like I'd truly just been struck on the head, rather than witnessed it in a memory.

Adrian was crouched beside me, one hand on my shoulder as he helped me sit up, "Neith, what just happened?"

The words came out quick and strange, spilling out my mouth like poison. It needed to get it out, out, out, before it killed me. "He killed me."

"I don't understand. You said if he did it, there wouldn't be carpet, and there's carpet in here."

"I saw! I remembered! He could have had the carpet replaced!"

"Okay, just take a breath, disco ball."

I couldn't, I wouldn't, lungs be damned. I needed the words out. I needed the poison gone. "In here! He killed me in here! He pushed me into the wall and the shelf tilted and the trophies-"

"Neith, breathe."

My head was spinning. "-the goddamned trophies fell and hit me on the head! That's where the blood on the carpet came from, oh my God. Oh, God, I'm so stupid! He was so surprised when he saw me, I should've known! And he lied about when he saw me last! I'm a goddamned-"

"Breathe."

I finally did - I sucked in a sharp, unsteady breath made it feel like there were a thousand icy pins in my throat.

"We need to get out of here. If he killed you and someone finds us in here, that won't be good for us. Come on."

I got to my feet and he pulled me along, out the room, down the stairs, and out the front door. Nothing was said in that time. The numbness had taken, crawled over my flesh and taken me by the throat.

Considering the circumstances, Jake had been so awfully composed when he saw me again. Aside from that one moment of utter shock, he seemed happy. And like a stupid, lovesick little girl, I'd fallen for his act. What was he thinking? That I crawled out my grave and repressed it all? That my return was some sort of freak accident? The control it took to maintain any sort of composure in a situation so insane was absurd.

"I think he's a sociopath," I said blandly.

"I'll help you kill him if it comes to it."

"I don't know if I want to kill him at all."

"You will when the shock's worn off. You're going to be pissed."

I couldn't remember why I was there that night. I couldn't remember why he was so angry. I wanted to remember. I needed to. It wouldn't change what he'd done, but I had to know.

Pressing my freezing palms together, I raised my gaze, studying the houses the lined the street as we walked out the neighborhood. How many of them were home to a killer? How many violent men and women lived in places like this, places that were supposed to be safe? How many of those people masqueraded as kind do-gooders?

My newfound cynicism left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Adrian's voice jolted me. "Any good coffee shops around here?"

"Um, yeah, Opalescent."

"Weird name."

"Hipster. But good coffee. Better hot cocoa."

He was trying to keep me distracted, and I appreciated it. But it made me wonder what it would've been like to come back and remember everything. Dying, who killed you, why they killed you. What was it like for him?

"Can I ask you a question.?"

"No, I will not go out with you."

"Funny."

"What did you want to know?"

"Why'd your father kill you?"

"Step-father, and because he's a raging homophobe." Adrian's jaw clenched for a moment before he pried it apart to bark out a laugh. "Asshole thought I'd go to hell for liking girls and boys, but thought it would be fine to kill me."

"No wonder you're fine with killing him."

"That's not why. It's part of it, but that's not why. And I'll consider telling you why once I've had something warm to drink."

I didn't press the matter. He'd tell me more if he wanted to. Intruding on something like this wouldn't be right. So with me leading the way, we walked to Opalescent in silence.

Not that it was really cold out to begin with, but when I stepped through the cafe's doorway, the warmth was a welcome change. The place was made to look rustic - light bulbs with copper wires dripped down from the ceiling, round wooden tables, a counter made of bricks. Chalkboards with the menu scrawled over them hung behind the counters, and a couple baristas were hard at work crafting drinks, aprons tied tight, baseball caps covering their heads.

A pair of girls from my Econ class were looking through the countless records that lined the shelves by the window, debating over what to toss into the vinyl player.

"I'll pay," I said as we moved toward the cashier.

"If you're waiting for me to protest, that's not going to happen."

I actually grinned for a second - and then I remembered everything that was happening, my mouth settled back down into a tight line.

"Welcome to Opalescent. What can I get you?"

"Two hot chocolates."

"I don't want-"

"You're getting a hot chocolate." I gave the cashier a ten. "Keep the change."

The worker rang it up. "Your drinks will be right out."

Once we grabbed our drinks, we sat at one of the many empty tables.

"You know, counting today, we have six days left," I told him. "What should we do? Just in case?"

He sipped his drink, mulling it over. "Get laid, probably."

"Jesus Christ."

"He's so got nothing to do with this."

I shook my head and raised my mug to my lips to receive a mouthful of hot chocolate and whipped cream. "We should be doing something. Anything. We're just sitting here doing absolut-"

"We found out who killed you. If it comes to it, you can off him to save yourself. At least now you know that. But now, I would like to enjoy my drink."

"But -"

"We can panic later. We can be productive later. All I ask for is ten minutes of normalcy."

I didn't bring up our situation again. Instead, I followed his example. Completely ignoring that fact that I would either be dead or a killer in a few days time.

At least the hot chocolate's good.

The door opened and in came Jake, backpack slung over one shoulder, an easygoing smile on his face as he waved to one of the baristas. I sank a little in my seat, staring down into my mug as hard as I could, trying to focus on anything but him.

Sensing my discomfort, Adrian glanced back to take a look. His lips dipped in a momentary frown, but it was gone quick, an unbothered look washing over his features.

Do not look. Do not look. Do not look.

I broke in a matter of seconds, sneaking a peek at the register with Jake stood.

He caught my eye and beamed.

My stomach twisted. I folded my arms on the table and laid my head down upon them, pulling in a deep breath. Something about that grin had nauseated me. How it looked the same as it always had.

Adrian leaned closer. "Are you going to throw up?"

"I don't know."

"We can leave."

"If I move, I'll throw up for sure."

Footsteps approached. "Hey, I'm Jake."

"Adrian."

A hand touched my shoulder as he knelt down next to my seat. "You okay?"

The air left my lungs and bile burned my throat.

I straightened up and pushed him off, squeaking out something about peeing before I fled to the restroom. The nausea subsided once I was safely inside one of the two stalls, the acrid taste in my mouth all that was left of my little episode. As soon as I was sure that I wasn't going to be sick, I stepped out and turned on the sink, pushing up my sleeves. It wasn't until I was washing my hands that I saw it - unmistakable along the inside of my arm.

Rotting flesh.