31st of March

I remember Phil calling. I remember listening. I remember not being able to get a word over my lips. I remember him telling me who it was. Who died.

I remember cracking open a bottle of wine. I know I poured myself a generous glass. It's still there, untouched. I sat with it in my hands all night.

I get up. I don't know why. I put on a coat and shoes. I don't know why. I walk out the door in pajamas and coat, and I simply walk. What else should I do? Elle is dead. Mark is dead. Two of my students gone, and I have no idea what to do. They will never again sit in my class. Never again see the sun. Never again see their friends. Their parents. They'll never get to pay taxes. Never again smile. Never again cry. Never again hate the world, never again love someone.

The sun is shining down on me like it's smiling. Why do people always say that clouds are bad? I would welcome clouds. Shield me from the sun. Shield me from its light. Get it to leave me alone. Give me darkness. Give me anything but this burning light shining down on me, revealing me. Give me peace. Give me peace, or just leave me alone.

As a wish coming true, a terrible, selfish wish, the sun slowly settles on the horizon. I keep walking. The light fades, the world grows darker. I keep walking. What else can I do? The sun sets. I start to run.

The night sky is light. The moon is bright. The stars are having a party. Such an insufferable sky. Such a heartless nature. Such a heartless world. Such a heartless me. Cruelty. Novelty. Hardship. Joy. Pain. Love. Suffering. Defeat and victory. It's all heartless. All heartless.

My feet echo on the ground. I keep running. I have to. I have to get away from the street. I have to get out of his territory. I don't notice anything around me. I just run. Run. It's important. Run. Run. Run. Stop. I'm back home.

I lean against the doorframe and breathe heavily. I fumble for the keys, but of course, I don't have them, I didn't lock the door in my hurry to get out. Now I'm in a hurry to get in. Get to safety. I open the door - and stop dead in my tracks. I scream. I just scream. A really productive scream with the powers to turn back time and bring back the dead. Mrs. Jones comes out with a worried look on her face. She looks at me and worry turns into horror.

"Who is it?"

I can't get a word out. She goes back in and comes out with a phone.

The police come to confirm the authenticity of the scene.

Then the FBI comes.

I am still standing in the hallway, unable to move, unable to look, and unable to look away. Mrs. Jones puts a blanket around my shoulders but otherwise leaves me alone. One of the Special Agents come over.

"You discovered the body?"

I look at her. "It's not real. Tell me it's not real," I plead with the heavens behind her face.

"I'm afraid it is." I turn back. She's lying. It's not real. Zoe is going to get up any second now. She will. A tear runs down my cheek. It cuts through my skin, it weighs me down. How can a single tear weigh so much? More tears join. I'm in the middle of a flood, all alone.

"One of her students died recently, she hasn't been herself. This morning she left in her pajamas, she only just got home - drenched in sweat," I hear Mrs. Jones tell the Agent.

I close my eyes. It's all red. Red everywhere. Celling, floor, her body. Her small body lying there drenched in her own blood.  Blood dripping from the ceiling. Drip. Drip. Drip. Stop it. Shut it out. Shut yourself in. I open my eyes, I can't take it anymore.

2nd of April

They questioned me. Like defeated soldiers, they keep going, even if they are tired. They keep fighting. What else should they do? With almost 40 bodies, what else is there to do? From their looks, I could see that my answers gave them nothing new.

Zoe lived alone, her family lives in Georgia, she moved here for school. No, she didn't go out much, yes, you could say she had a schedule of sorts - she went to school and usually came straight home. She didn't really like being alone in the evening, she would often have a friend over or eat at one of the neighbors (usually me, we got along well). She didn't even do her shopping alone. We check on each other regularly, we keep an eye out for strangers. Mrs. Jones has made it her business to know everything about everyone - and yes, it can be a little bit annoying sometimes, but we all know her heart is in the right place. She'll invite you over for a cup of coffee or something if you look tired and worn out, she can always make you smile, even when you're hitting bottom. Zoe was her little favorite. Everyone took extra care of Zoe, she was new here, and we all did what we could - apparently for nothing.

"No, not for nothing," the Agent corrected me. "She was in a strange and dangerous place, and you all made her feel loved."

Strangely that actually made me feel a little better. I know that the Agent had no idea how Zoe felt, she didn't know Zoe, but it was still accurate in some way. But still, killing Zoe was killing us all. She had been a friend to everyone, to Mrs. Jones she had been like a granddaughter. But she had still lived alone, and that had made her 'an easy target' - at least easier than everyone else who had both friends watching out and a roommate of some kind.

Her father had begged her to come back home. She had argued that the killer would be caught soon, and if she came home now she couldn't come back here, they wouldn't hold her spot. A good education would last her longer than the fear would. She wasn't going to be bullied out of a good future. I never told her, but I admired her for that. She was afraid, yes, we all are, but she wasn't going to give in and give him what he wants. She was strong. Her father also admired her decision, but he still felt uneasy. He came here last month to check up on her, see that she was doing okay. He was pleased to see that we all took care of each other, and he seemed to feel better about letting her stay. None of us think that our loved ones could be next, this sort of thing always happens to someone else, and if we are just careful we can avoid it. If we just take precautions we can survive. That's what he thought. That's what we all thought.

The only thing out of the ordinary was the fact that she was found in my apartment. Did he mess up? Couldn't he get into her apartment? Did he intend to put her there? Why would he do that? Yes, she spent a lot of time in my apartment, but never alone. She once said that the minute I left the room, the lights started looking somber and the walls were closing in. And that's how she died. Alone in my apartment. Except she wasn't alone. The Monster was with her. The Monster. The Killer. The Murderer. 1,8,11.

In the end, the Agents left and the forensic team stayed behind, still going over my home with a fine-toothed comb. They asked if anything was out of place, if anything looked different. All I could see was Zoe.

Special Agent Park left me a card and told me to call if anything came to mind. I went over to Mrs. Jones. A lot of the neighbors came there that night, like an unofficial meeting place that just came naturally to everyone. We all sat with each our cup of coffee, some talked amongst themselves in small groups, but I just sat there. I spend the night on the Jones' couch, clutching a blanket.

Phil called me the next day and informed me that I was not to show up at campus for at least a month.

"Take some time, let me know if there's anything I can do," he said.

I objected. I have an obligation, the students have just lost two of their own, I should be there for them.

"You lost two students and a friend, you are going to stay away - the students have each other and their parents to support them, they will get through this. Just make sure you do too."

He wouldn't listen to anything I said, and as the principal, he had the final say. He must have known how much it scared me to be left home alone. I can't close my eyes without seeing her empty eyes staring up at me, the blood mixing in with her already red hair, or the spot on her pale forehead where the drops had landed. I see the tube running from her wrist to the bag over her head, draining her body of blood and sending it dripping down on her. I can hear it dripping, hear her life crashing down.

I try to shake the image out of my mind. The call was on April the first, so I'm going to reserve my right to assume it's a joke if I decide to go back. The engines roar. I look out the window. We're almost there now.

Mrs. Jones came with me this morning. An Agent had promised to follow me around as I collected a few things. I walked to the door with Mrs. Jones and hesitated. I didn't really want to go in. She put a hand on my shoulder. I gave the door a push. Her body was gone, but the blood was still there. Mrs. Jones took a bag out of my closet and started filling clothes in it. I found my wallet and passport. It didn't take us long, we both wanted to get out. I looked out the window one last time before walking out. Someone had written ZUGZWANG in graffiti on a wall across from my apartment. Zugzwang alright. Mr. Jones drove me to the airport. He dropped me off and ordered me to call if I needed anything. I made sure once again that they had the spare key, in case the FBI came around again, and then I left him. I took the first plane I could, I just needed to get away. I know running is never the solution, not really. But if there's an undefeatable monster and you stand helpless, unable to do anything, running seems like a good idea.

I buckle my seatbelt. London. No monster here, no murders, no fear. We touch down. The plane slowly empties. I see my students slowly leaving the classroom. A baby wakes up and cries. I see little Lucie. I claim my bags and remember that Zoe's life is now reduced to a few bags and boxes of memories. I get a cab and ask to be driven to a hotel that was likely to have a room.

"America?" the driver asks. I confirm it. "Wanted to get away from the monster for a while?" I look out the window.

"Did you have a specific hotel in mind, ma'am?"

"Anything." I just want a bed to crawl into. A bed without bloody pictures painted on the ceiling, burning through my eyelids. He drops me off at a cheap hotel and helps me in with my bags. He even waits to make sure I get a room. I don't have the strength to play civil and smile and thank him, I just pay him and tell him to keep the change. I creep into bed and stare at the ceiling. It's blank. Somehow that doesn't comfort me. I close my eyes, and the pictures return. Blood on the floor. Blood between her eyes. Blood in her hair. And worst of all the smell. The awful smell of burning meat. The sight of her ribcage opened up. Her chest all bloody. Her shirt torn. And the smell. I can only assume it was her heart burning in the bowl next to her. Her heart in a bowl, her life on the floor, and her body marked 1,8,11. Like all the others.

I stay in the room for days, not bothering to even get out of bed. When I finally manage to get out of the room I go out into the streets and let the noise of life wash over me. I just stand here, hoping beyond hope that the noises of the world can drown out the sound of dripping blood. I walk down the street, focusing on the things around me rather than the sounds inside me. I actually laugh when I see the words 'Bad Wolf' on a wall. If only things were that simple. If only everything could be fixed by opening up a living machine and looking into its heart, flying through time and space, dissolve the threat, and be saved by a mad man kissing you. If only the monster was a Dalek. If only.

I stay out till dark. It becomes my routine. Get out, stay out, go home. Move, listen, return. Experience, see, go back. Days go by. I almost feel like I have escaped, like it is possible to be free. The sound of dripping blood has faded. A little bit. A tiny bit. But still, I can almost manage life again. Of course, that's not meant to happen. The Monster craves complete control over his victims - and we are all his victims, even if we're still alive.

13th April

10 days after I arrive in London I come back to the hotel in the evening and am told that a packaged was dropped off for me. I suppose it's a cheer-up-it's-your-birthday-and-everything-is-going-to-be-alright gift from the Joneses. It very well could have been, if not for the note. I open the envelope that came with it and out falls Zoe's bracelet. I'm wearing the matching one now. She had worn it basically every day. I pull out the card and turn it over. One word is written on it. Zugzwang. It's written in what looks like blood. I watch gravity relieve my hands of it. I stare at the package. If he will write in blood, what will he send me? I dig up my wallet from my purse and find Special Agent Park's card.

"He's coming for me."