My privileged rest was not eternal. I had always been a heavy sleeper. I lost multiple jobs and missed many classes because of it. I felt the strong impact in my stomach and immediately tried to shoot upwards and defend myself from the sudden pain. I was greeted with the metallic rattle and an uncomfortably sharp edge on my ankles and wrists hindering my movement. I tried to adjust to my surroundings but the dark room provided little clues. The only thing I could perceive was the figure standing above me and the acidic smell of cigarettes.
“You sleep like a fucking corpse. I didn’t even think that would wake you.”
The voice was deep and scratchy but notably feminine. I tried to get up once again only to realize what was happening. My arms and legs were spread like a starfish and were locked with handcuffs attached to each end of my bedframe. The figure moved from the side of my bed to my desk chair. She pulled it over and set it next to my bed before sitting down herself and placing her feet up on my own legs with her heavy boots.
My eyes slowly adjusted and began to pick up details of this home intruder. Her outfit was all in shades of black and moved like it was thick and heavy. She wore leather pants and a heavy jacket that resembled a biker’s when unzipped. Her hands were exposed and her left held a lit cigarette between her index and middle finger. She had been smoking it for quite a bit as the room was filled with the smoke and smell. She took a drag of the hand-rolled plant and the spark partially illuminated her. Her pale caucasian face was fully pierced with steel in her nose, lip, eyebrow, tongue, and more. Her black hair was cut short and messy. Her face had this angry look that was in paradox with the twist at the corner of her lips. I caught my breath after the blow and managed to speak out.
“Who are you? Why are you here?”
She took a moment to fully exhale the smoke in her lungs before responding.
“Not now, I’m asking the questions first.”
She changed positions as she pulled her feet off of the bed and me and leaned forward in the chair. She was leaning near my face so I could smell the smoky stench mixed with an odor of the outdoors. I coughed from it.
“Tell me Alan, how did you track me?”
She was close enough that I could make out an expression of anger in the dark. Her teeth were clenched tight enough to fear for their condition. I wasn’t able to process her statement immediately. All I could make out of my fear was a short response.
“What?”
She clicked her tongue in disapproval to my exclamation.
“Don’t play dumb. I saw the video. How did you track me? Not a single person has even figured out I was still alive.”
Her tone rose as she spoke. She practically yelled at me by the end of it. Realization settled in my mind and I felt my eyes go wide and my throat run dry. This was the same woman I had spent weeks making a video about. This was the same woman who killed sixteen people before disappearing into the Mississippi river. This was the same woman who people were calling me crazy for believing her to be alive. I tried to speak but it only came out as a shocked whimper. She wasn’t happy with that.
“Tell me god damn it!”
She stood up and grabbed the night shirt I wore to bed. She lifted me and held me helplessly as my limbs pulled against their chains. I could feel her hands from the other side of the fabric. They were strong and warm, clearly still alive. I finally managed to say something.
“I just followed the pattern!”
She dropped me back down on the bed. She remained standing and looked down at me. Her anger remained but seemed mellowed compared to before. Rather than running hot it seemed to go cold and was now trying to calculate me or my response. She kept staring at me with a gaze that felt heavy to be under. I continued explaining myself, anything to save me from her.
“A Mississippi house just south of your accident was burglarized and had their car stolen hours after you… fell from the bridge. It matched with other houses that you did the same to. I don’t know how but you survived and switched your body with another girl’s. I just kept finding cases that matched your work.
My voice was scared and panicked. My breath was shallow and no matter how much I breathed I was unable to fill my lungs. She looked away from me and inhaled her cigarette. She was quiet as she turned around from me. She kicked the chair and sent it flying into the wall in a loud crash. I closed my eyes in panic. I knew what she was capable of and I would never be able to stop her if she decided I should be next. Did I know too much? Was she going to hide all the evidence I collected in a shallow grave with me in it? It was not the smartest thing to do but I closed my eyes and hoped it was a dream. I heard her sigh loudly.
“Do you think you can do it again?”
I opened my eyes and saw she was looking down at me again. Her eyes were lit up from the light of the cigarette. I could see the shine of her many piercings reflected off of it. There was no longer the same anger. I couldn’t decipher the neutral expression she held as she waited for me.
“Again? What do you mean?”
She pointed over towards my desk where my laptop lay.
“You said you could find Roxane Elliot if there was evidence.”
The Super Thanks? I responded to it before I went to bed. Did she see the comment? Was she the one who left it?
“Yes! If she’s alive I can track her!”
She took the cigarette and inhaled the last of its usable tip. She grabbed the sleeve of her left arm and rolled it up. It was covered in scarring, burns, and bruises. It was like seeing the result of a house fire on a living person. She took the end of the cigarette and extinguished it on her own skin. It made a sizzling noise that made my skin curl. Her body didn’t move but I saw her react in the darkness. She was biting her lip and it was almost a curled smile. When she was done with it, she threw it on the ground. She returned her attention to me after the display.
“My boss wants to use you. If you’re as useful as you say at least.”
More questions began to rise. She had a boss? Who was this person employing a psychotic killer like Sofia Bercowicz? She didn’t give me the opportunity to answer. She walked towards me and raised her right fist. She sent it down on my head and struck my temple. That was the last I remembered before my life changed.