Zach hadn't felt how Ryan felt until that night. The feeling was rough, enough, knowing that Peter had been a close friend of Ryan's, and he had already been through so much. Now Zach was just as much a mess as Ryan had been. Ryan was cradling Zach in his lanky arms while Zach sobbed into his chest. The pain of the situation was evident. It was measured in tears. Tears of fear, tears of sadness, and tears of pain. Peter had been a great friend of the boys. He never wanted anything more than a good time. Ryan respected him immensely. And now, for him to have the same fate as Sean, it was stomach-churning situation to be caught in. It was a knot. What a terrible knot to be caught in.

Ryan hated it.

He hated how just six days before, their lives were fine. They were normal college students, doing normal college things. He hated how some sick person would have the guts to murder two of their closest friends. He hated how he wasn't there to stop it. But mostly, Ryan just hated the mystery that was stuck with the deaths of his friends. He was stuck asking, why?

Why on earth would push someone to kill some nerdy kids in their 20s? It was the main question. Is there a pattern? If there is, the cops would surely find it before Ryan or Zach does, right?

Not at all.

---

It was the next day, I'm Zach and Ryan were on the couch, pondering while sharing a family sized bag of Cheetos. None of the flamin' hot or any of that crap. Neither of them had enjoyed them as much as the classic cheddar. They sat there, eyes still bloodshot. The lack of sleep and dryness of their eyes explained that much. They could have just quit, then and there, but they just sat, the cheese piling on their fingers. Zach had been questioned by the police just hours before, and he had felt as if he were in the heat of an interrogation, and he was the prime suspect. Ryan could sense it, so he tried not to bring it up. At least, until Zach decided to.

But Zach didn't, for a while.

"Hey, Ryan?"

"Yes, Zach?" Ryan went into high alert as soon as Zach summoned his attention. He was a worried friend. After Sean died, Ryan had been in a horrible place. Mentally, Ryan had shut down. He didn't want to leave his dorm. He hadn't wanted to do anything, besides the occasional shower, but he didn't want Zach to do what he had done.

"What are we going to do now?"

It's amazing how a couple hours could change a person's outer image so drastically. Ryan had barely noticed it, until Zach was looking up at him with the most horrified look in his big eyes. Zach LeMense, Ryan's rock, was crumbling down. Ryan could feel it. He could see it. He could sense it.

"I really don't know, Zach." Ryan let out a soft sigh. " I don't think there's anything we can do." Ryan stays there for a moment. He looked at Zach.

"I feel like this won't stop, Gerst." Zach stuck his hand in the bag, pulling out a few of the orange puffs and popping them into his mouth. He leaned back, suppressing a sob.

But Ryan didn't notice.

Ryan was too busy staring at his shoes, replying the events of the past week in his brain. Nothing came to mind besides the fact that both of them had had slit throats, and blood all over the carpet, and they were dead and they were murdered and they were their friends and they were both really nice and... and... and...

Of course!

--

Ryan woke up in his dorm, a cold, wet towel pressed against his forehead. He glanced at the clock next to him, his vision fuzzy. He stared at it with squinted eyes for a moment. 11:34 PM, it read. Well, that's odd, he thought. It was just 7:25, and I was talking to Zach, and I was thinking, and—

Oh.

Ryan sat up, quickly, his head spinning. He covered his eyes, falling back, and hitting his head on the headboard. "Holy crap!" He hissed.

And in a flash, Zachary LeMense was next to him with a bag of ice. "Dude, you passed out." He said, shoving the ice against his friend's head. "I asked a question and you were just staring at the floor and then you just kind of fell over, and I didn't know what to do, so I took you back up here, because I kinda' pinned it as exhaustion, because, you know, it's been a rough week, and I know you were concerned, and you're my friend, and my roommate was killed and yours was, too, and I just thought you're too busy being mister stoic, and I just—"

"Shut up, Zach." Ryan shoved the towel over his eyes. "You're rambling, again."

"Oh, I'm sorry for getting a little anxious when my best friend passes out right in front of me." Zach grumbled, rolling his eyes. He didn't know whether to be infuriated or relieved that Ryan was okay.

"You're right. Sorry, Zach." Ryan purses his lips, peeling the rag off his face. He sat up, more slowly this time. Ryan turned into his side, yawning.

"Hey, Gerst. What happened back there?" Zach tilted his head a little, like a puppy.

Realization shot through Ryan like a freaking bullet. He sat up, quickly, again, regretting it. He cradle his head in his hands. He let out a whimper, trying to stop the throbbing pain in his brain.

"You don't have to tell me!" Zach quickly tried to stop his friend from having a medical emergency. "Are you okay, Man?"

Ryan bit his lip, letting out a tiny whimper. You could see his chest heave and his eyes shut tightly when he said the next thing. "They're initials, Zach!"

An aggressive knock on the door was heard.

And when Zach opens it, a blue-eyed blonde girl by the name of Claire Greene, another of Ryan's friends, bursts in, followed by Margaret and Christina, along with another girl, that Ryan didn't know as well. Her name was Alexa, and she was a good person. She had nice black hair, and tan skin. She was in tears with her friends.

"Guys, what's wrong?" Zach and Ryan did at the same time.

And then Claire spoke. "My roommate, Noelle Moore. She's dead."

Ryan and Zach exchanged a glance.

Ryan stood up, quickly, darting past the girls, not caring about his previous injury, or his headache. He sprinted down the stairs to Claire's room. There, luckily, the police weren't there, yet. He looked in, assessing Noelle. And sure enough, two letters were on her left arm: PC.

Initials.

But who's?