A bright flash of white. A crack of thunder. It's almost loud enough to drown out the voice in my head. The little voice that pries its way in every once in a while, even though it knows it's not welcome.

"Eat," the voice says.

So I do.

A few minutes later my fingers are sticky with cheese by-products, so I lick them clean, crumbling up the now empty Cheetos bag.

Some people cut themselves, some people starve themselves, some repetitively date horrible human beings because they think that's all they deserve. One way or another, they figure out how to deal with the pain in their own screwed up way.

I eat.

When I eat I always feel better afterwards. Calmer. It is comforting to be in control of my discomfort. I like the motions of eating. I like the feeling of food grinding up between my teeth. I like the feeling of it sliding down my esophagus. I like the pain of my belly about to burst after eating past the point of fullness.

I look over at the little fish bowl Nemo lives in. I bought him at the pet store when I first started high school, since my father won't let me have a dog or a cat or a bird or a hamster. I watch him swim circles around his little fish bowl while I continue to suck the cheese off my fingers.

My door flies open so hard the doorknob cracks against the wall and leaves a fissure in the stucco.

"Where is she?" my father demands, striding towards my seat at the edge of my bed.

I instinctively flinch away from him. "Who?" I ask softly. I hate how he has such power over me. I wish I could scream at him. Better yet, I wish I could beat his face bloody with the corner of my textbook, but even the mere sight of him consumes me with terror.

"Where is your mother?" he yells, shaking a piece of paper in his hand.

"I don't know."

He picks up the first thing he sees, which just so happens to be my Algebra textbook, and throws it across the room. It hits Nemo's bowl, and the glass shatters all over the floor. Nemo flops around, gasping.

We both hear the front door open at the same time. My father makes a break for it. I hurry behind him, abandoning Nemo.

My mother has just returned from grocery shopping. She has a brown paper bag in each hand. "Can you take one of these bags, please? I'm losing my grip."

"You think we're made of goddamn money?" I watch, stunned into silence, as my father roughly knocks the bags out of her hands and shakes her violently by the shoulders. She falls backwards and immediately covers her head with her arms. Her response is so quick and instinctive that I can't help but worry that this has happened before when I'm not here.

Before I realize what's happening, I'm standing protectively between my father and mother, shielding her with my body, staring him down. There is so much I want to say, so much cursing I want to do, but all I can manage to squeak out is, "Stop."

My mother would never call the police on him, but he knows that I would. That's why he hesitates.

Hit me. Hit me you son of a bitch, so I can call the police and have your sorry ass hauled off to jail.

My eyes widen when he actually does pull back his arm to ready himself for a swing. I clamp my eyes closed and listen to the sound of impact. My eyes flutter open. He didn't punch me. He punched a hole in the wall close to my face. He didn't punch me, but he wanted to.

Without another word, he turns to grab the car keys, pushes past us, and slams the front door behind him.

My mother, who usually plasters a smile on her face to placate us all, is in tears. She apologizes, but I don't want to hear it. I want to pity her, but for some reason I don't. I don't feel anything, really.

I walk back to my room and shut the door behind me.

I put Nemo in a cup of water, but he never swims again.

I flush him down the toilet.

I have no idea how long it takes to arrive back at the Barracks, but I vaguely remember Erik carrying me on his back.

Erik and Liv have left to stay in a separate guest house. Liv was insistent they escort me to the Temple tonight, and I'm pretty sure I made some kind of screech in response. She also insisted we three stay together, and I honestly don't remember what I said to convince her otherwise. I just want to be completely alone for a while. No conversations, no questions, no noise. Just me and dead silence.

I thankfully have enough strength to stand slumped under running water like a zombie, sloppily rubbing soap across my skin every once in a while. I only think to turn off the shower when the water starts to run cold. I wrap a towel around myself and step out into the bedroom. Cool air prickles my skin as the moisture on my exposed shoulders begins to dry. I don't bother exploring the room in the guesthouse I was given. I advance towards the neatly made bed and collapse onto the comforter.

Just think of this as a fancy hotel.

I try to conjure good thoughts to fall asleep to, but it turns out there's no need. I'm asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

I'm aware something is wrong, but I also can't move.

"Sincerest apologies for the intrusion," Ben says from my doorway as I stir awake. "But I have an urgent request that could not wait until morning."

"Huh-wha?" As I slowly come-to, I realize I'm still wrapped in a towel and frantically check to make sure it hasn't come loose. "What the hell are you—" I stop short when I see he's not alone.

Alex stands close to my bed and awkwardly bows when I look at her. "I'm so sorry we didn't knock, but this is an emergency and we didn't want to get caught banging on your front door."

I grope the comforter and pull the edge closer to me so I can fully cover my entire body. Now that adrenaline is pumping through my veins, I'm awake enough to be angry. "Why are you in my house?"

"We brought you clean clothes," Alex offers, looking embarrassed. She pats a neatly folded stack of clothing she's placed beside me on the mattress.

You couldn't have called to tell me that? You couldn't have left them at my door? Even in my fury, I still find myself trying not to offend. "Please get out of my house."

"We will let you dress," says Ben, who at least has the decency not to look me in the eye. "But then I will need you to come with us."

My head is heavy with the need for sleep, and I can feel an exhausted rage forming deep inside. "Whatever you want can wait till morning. I'm going to sleep."

"I'm afraid this can't wait till morning," he answers sharply. "And you're the only one who can help."

"Oh God," I exhale in a defeated sigh. "What do you want?"

"We need to burn her," says Alex.

"Burn who?"

"We need to burn Margo before your people find her," answers Ben.

At the mention of her name, I look at him. "Why?"

Ben's wandering eyes finally land on mine. "It's customary that they. . . repurpose the remains of dead animals. They cannot kill, but they always find uses once an animal dies of other means. Erik knows where Margo's body is."

I nod, but I don't see the issue. She's already dead.

Ben stares silently at me, as if any of this is supposed to make sense enough for me to leap out of bed and enthusiastically follow them into the night. If this is some kind of weird mind-game, I'm way too tired to figure out what his motive is.

"I don't. . . " Ben looks away and blinks rapidly a few times. "I don't want them to skin her." When he looks back at me, his words are softer. "Please. We just want to give Margo—all of her—a proper funeral, but I don't know where her body is. Richard is the only other person who knows where she died, but he's gone."

I groan and flop back against my pillow. "Where'd he go?"

"Who's to say? He comes and goes often."

I am so tired it feels as if my body has been buried under several layers of sand. In my stupor, I close my itching eyes to think. Is this worth it? Will this get me back on Ben's good side? Or if not "good" side at least knock me down a few slots on the list of people he'd like to kill? Are my numb legs even capable of standing?

When I open my eyes, I see them both differently. I spot the jitteriness behind Ben's calm facade. I note Alex's red puffy eyes, which probably means she's been crying. I may be sad Margo is dead, but I hardly knew her. Ben and Alex are mourning an old friend. I want to help if it will bring them closure.

It's what my grandma would have told me to do.

Taking a deep breath, I say a silent prayer for strength. "Ok. But I'm not walking."

"Of course not." It surprises me how Ben cannot hide the intense relief in his voice. "I will ride Coco and you and Alex will take Brego. I'll go on ahead and bring the horses to the valley. Meet Alex outside once you're dressed. And please," he adds, "be quiet."

I stare up at Alex and instantly regret all of this. "I don't know how to ride a horse."

"That's totally fine," she assures me. "Just sit behind me and I'll do the hard part."

Brego hasn't said anything, but I still feel weird not asking his permission before hopping on his spine. "Hi," I say to the motionless brown horse. "Excuse me, Brego?"

"Yeah?" He sounds agitated. I wonder if he was asleep when Ben retrieved him.

"I'm so sorry, but I need to ask a favor. May I ride on your back?"

"Sure," he says in a whinny-sigh. "Everyone else does."

I feel terrible asking a creature as tired as I am to carry me deep into the jungle. I know there's no other choice, but it still doesn't feel good. "But…do you mind?"

"No."

"Ok," I tell him in my most cheerful tone. "Thank you so much."

I reach for Alex's hand so she can help pull me up onto the saddle just as I feel Ben's hands from behind grab me under the arms and hoist. It's over the second I notice it, and I have no energy to voice my discomfort with the contact anyway. I'm just happy to be sitting and not walking.

My relief at not having to walk doesn't last long. There is absolutely nothing comfortable about riding a horse. With every clop of Brego's hooves, the hard saddle digs into my aching glutes. It is no time at all before I lose all feeling in my butt.

I worry we will never find Margo. I try my best to retrace the path Richard took me to Jacob's foot, but what would have been a difficult task in the light is near impossible in the dark. Everything looks the same.

It's all made even worse by the incessant yelling of birds overhead. What would sound like nothing more than beautiful chirping to a regular person sounds like a combination of catcalls, complaints, and just a general TMI to me. It's like being in a club full of loud people with no music playing.

"There is it," I choke out and point at the foot in the distance. "We came back in that direction. She's over there."

At long last, we come to a halt. I yawn and try to process this whole situation by its positives. The only positive I can think of is how we're halfway to being done with this mission and back home to my nice soft pillow.

"You can just stay on the saddle if you want," says Alex. She's smiling, but in the moonlight I can see her watering eyes. "Dad and I will start digging."

"I thought you were burning her?"

"We have to dig around her first," she explains, "like a campfire, so we don't light the whole jungle ablaze." Alex hops off Brego, hands me the reigns, and pulls a shovel from the saddle.

Ben and Alex approach Margo's body with their shovels and what looks to be a canister of gasoline. I watch and wait for them to start digging, but they don't. They just stand perfectly still, side-by-side, not touching, not physically consoling each other, just staring.

I wonder if I'm being disrespectful by just sitting here. I'm doing them a favor. They asked me to bring them to the body, and I did. My job is done. I don't have to do anything but sit here and wait for them to conduct whatever ceremony it is they came here to do.

I can barely hear Ben talking, and it sounds like he said my name, so I ask Brego to take me closer. As I approach, Ben turns and glares at me—but not just any ordinary glare. No, this is one of those special calm glares that sends chills up your spine and brings to your attention that somebody is about to be murdered.

What is your problem? It isn't until Alex turns around, startled, that I realize I've spoken aloud.

"This didn't have to happen," Ben seethes under his breath. "You could have told her to stay home. She would have listened to you."

I look at Margo and see the blood streaks in her white fur. Flies buzz around her wounds, of which I count four. I could have sworn there were five shots fired. Then I notice what must have been the final blow right between her bloodied eyes.

My throat tears. Ben's insinuation hits my chest like a physical punch because he's right. I probably could have persuaded Margo to stay home if I'd tried. If she had just stayed home, she'd still be alive. I feel so sick I barely get out, "I didn't kill Margo."

"No, of course not," he retorts dismissively. "You just watched."

I can't think of a response, so I frown, but only so I can cover my watering eyes with a squint. Only, no tears come. I'm literally too tired to cry.

What am I supposed to say? Erik told me she was dead, and he was right. There's a bullet hole in her skull to prove that. But. . . I didn't check for myself. What if Erik had been wrong? What if I could have saved her?

Ben exhales quietly through his nose, steadying himself. He sounds less angry when he says, "Please take Brego back to the Barracks. He knows the way."

I look at Alex because I can no longer look at him. "What about you?"

"Alex and I want to stay here a while longer after we've lit the pyre," Ben answers for her.

Alex looks seconds away from wailing, and now I cannot look at her either. I glance towards the jungle and my delirious brain invents all sorts of terrifying reasons why trusting a horse I don't know to take me back to a compound I'm not familiar with is one of the dumbest ideas of the night. "I don't mind waiting."

I watch as Ben's expression hardens again. "Intrude on our funeral if you must," he snaps. "It's not as if you haven't ruined enough already."

"Dad," Alex whispers. Even though I can barely hear her, I still notice the crack in her voice.

Ben turns and begins shoveling without another word. I've been dismissed.

"Alex, are you sure you don't mind if I take Brego back?" I close my itchy eyes in the hopes of re-moisturizing them, but it just feels like sand is chafing my inner eyelids. "I desperately need to sleep."

She tries to smile but ends up swiping away at her now wet face. She waves me away with a hand before turning and digging into the ground with her shovel.

"Brego." I grip the reigns and pray there isn't anything complicated about this. "Take me home, please." I almost fall off his back as he darts forward into a gallop.

To keep from falling asleep, I think of my grandma. Everything was good before she died. Our house had never been perfect, but it was at least less depressing with her in it. She was the most fearless woman I know. Not only did she move across the world to live with us in when my grandfather died, but she learned English all on her own and worked as a maid on the weekends to help with household bills. Grandma was an old-school, no-nonsense Sicilian who took absolutely no shit from anyone, including my dad. When she passed, it was as if my dad had been given permission to evolve into his final abusive form. Being subjected to his constant threats of violence made the pain of her absence unbearable.

If Grandma could see me now—half-awake, riding aimlessly atop a horse who I can talk to—she would absolutely laugh her ass off. Then she'd make me something to eat.

I focus back on the road just in time to see the tree branch that smashes into my face and throws me off Brego.

I'm surprised I don't slip into unconsciousness as I hit the ground hard. A tight swelling has already started in my right eyelid, and it hurts to open. My forehead throbs from the impact and an annoying ringing echoes through both ears. I reach up to stop the pain in my eye.

No, don't heal. You'll pass out again and get eaten alive by wild animals in your sleep.

"You're not very coordinated," Brego laughs, doubling back and trotting circles around me.

I moan and roll onto my side. Everything hurts. Muscles in my arm shoot pain up into my neck. I think I landed on my wrist. It better not be broken.

"Brego," I beg. "Please, I will literally get you anything you ask for. Just please get me back home in one piece."

How many ibuprofen can you take before it becomes lethal? Three is apparently not enough to help with my aching. . . everything.

"We cannot leave you alone for one night without you being assaulted." Liv paces the length of the kitchen as I attempt to cook myself pancakes. "Who was it, my lady? Point them out."

"It wasn't anybody," I grumble. "I already told Ethan about it. He helped me find my guesthouse last night." As I crack an egg to add to the mix, I wonder if this still means I'm vegetarian. I think so? As long as the egg wasn't fertilized, I'm not actually eating a chicken.

"You expect me to believe that?" Liv asks.

"You don't have to protect these stuffy assholes," Erik cuts in. "We should have burned this place to the ground years ago. Please, give us a reason."

Calm down, Erik. Is he being serious? I turn to give him a disapproving look. "You want the truth?" I need more sleep. I will never have enough sleep. "I went for a late-night ride on a horse named Brego. Wanted to clear my head. Wasn't paying enough attention and ran into a low-hanging branch. Taa-daa. Lamest black eye in history. Here, eat your pancakes."

I serve them both first, then I practically burn all my tastebuds shoveling the hotcakes into my mouth as fast as I can spear them on a fork. I scarf down three and return to the stove to make more.

"If we leave after breakfast, we should arrive at the Temple just before sundown—"

"No," I cut Erik off in a panic, and I can feel my face instantly redden at my rudeness. "Please, no more travel. I barely got any sleep last night. I want one full day of rest."

Erik opens his mouth to argue, but nods instead. "As you wish, Lady Cora. We will reconvene in the morning."

I barely had time to sleep in this morning before Erik and Liv were pounding at my door to check on me. "Please, let me come to you tomorrow. I want to wake up naturally."

"I tried to tell him that this morning," Liv says, shooting Erik a playful smirk. "We will let you sleep as long as you need. Come find us when you wish to leave."

With a deep bow, they turn and walk out the front door, and my guesthouse is blissfully silent again.

After I've eaten my fill, I wander around the house in search of answers. There's nothing of real note in the living room or kitchen, so I check the hall closet. I end up in the bathroom, looking into a mirror. Of all things, I'm shocked. My skin looks amazing. Flawless. Freakishly flawless, except for the purple-black bruising around my right eye. Otherwise, it's perfectly toned. I can't see a single pore. Even my blonde hair looks healthier than it's ever been before. It almost looks like I'm actually glowing.

I snort a laugh. Do I look this way because I have powers, or because this is what characters on this show are supposed to look like?

After checking the bedroom and finding nothing but an empty closet, I sit on the ugly couch in the living room and listen to the steady ticking of a clock on the wall. I take the clock off its hook and stick it in the hall closet, but even the silence isn't enough anymore.

This is insane. If I was going to wake up, surely I would have by now.

Now what?

Do I try to leave the island? Does my family even exist off-island? Somewhere in California, is there an alternate universe 10-year-old Cora?

I grip my ribs as my chest tightens, my breath creaking like a rusty hinge. It feels like the walls are closing in on me, and I need fresh air.

I'm surprised to find Liv sitting on my porch stairs, surrounded by a completely new batch of flower and food offerings. Liv has a bowl of something in her lap, and she's in the middle of licking her fingers when she looks up at me. "Lady Cora," she says, already standing. "Sorry, I hope you don't mind. Whatever that was is delicious."

I blink at the sheer amount of bowls and bouquets and wonder if I'm going to have to deal with this everyday. "Have you been sitting out here the whole time?"

"Yes, my lady. Where can I escort you?"

I glance across the lot, but I don't see him. "Where's Erik?"

"Back at the guesthouse. Do you need anything?"

I don't want to tell her about my desire to wander aimlessly because I don't want a chaperone, but I also don't want to hurt her feelings. "No," I lie. "Just checking on you." I look around at the nearest offerings of food and contemplate bringing them inside. "Do you want to come in?"

"Oh, no," she says. "It's nice out. I'm fine here."

I force a smile. "Ok, cool. I'm. . . ok, bye. Thank you." I close the door to stop my awkward rambling and think up a Plan B.

There has to be a back window I can climb out without being seen.

Sure enough, at the back of the house, the bedroom has a large enough window for me to fit through. I get one foot over the ledge, but I misjudged the height and quickly lose my balance. With a painful thud, I slide out the window and crash to the ground.

I hear snickering and look up. Across the lot from my window, Jane and four other women all sit on the front porch of a house, watching me with amusement.

"That is tragic," I hear one of the girls snicker, and the rest of them burst into stifled laughter.

My face burns as I push myself to my feet and brush the dirt off my hands.

Jane smiles at me. She's slender, all muscle, with long back hair tied back in a loose ponytail. The most striking feature on her face are her dark eyebrows set in two bold straight lines that make her look like she's stuck in a perpetual frown. At her feet is a family of wolves, the largest of which sits close enough for her to pet him.

"I heard you lost a fight with a tree," Jane taunts.

Ha, ha, ha. Hilarious. I keep my eyes locked on a house in the distance and walk past them, trying my best to ignore whatever it is they're whispering now. If there's one thing I've learned from public school, it's that you cannot win in these situations. All you can do is leave with as much dignity as possible.

"Hello," a voice calls from below. I look down to find a small red fox trotting along beside me. "Headed anywhere in particular?"

"Just out for a walk," I answer. "Actually, you wouldn't happen to know of a good shaded spot to sit, would you?"

"You should try the gazebo. It's not far. Mind if I tag along?"

"Sure. What's your name?" I ask.

"Todd," he answers with a flick of his bushy tail. "And you are the illustrious Cora, are you not?"

"I suppose I am."

"You suppose? Dear me, how dreadful it must be not to know who you are."

"Or where I am," I mumble. "My list of problems is rather long."

The fox barks a laugh. "I like you. To be fair, I hear you go by quite a long list of names, so I wouldn't feel too bad for not being entirely in the know. It's just nice to meet someone who understands me," Todd continues. "The humans here are nice. Bereft of intelligence, but nice all the same."

I laugh, finally releasing the tension from last night. "Why do you say that?"

"I can understand what they are saying, but they cannot understand what I am saying. You call this intelligence?"

"You can understand English?" I ask in amazement.

"When you've lived with humans your entire life, you learn their language one way or another. It shouldn't be that surprising. Oh, joy," he mumbles sarcastically. "Child at 3 o'clock."

I turn and watch a little girl, maybe five or six, hurry towards me. Both her hands are cupped. "Hi!" she exclaims, revealing a lizard delicately lounging against her palms. "Hi, Lady Cora. Are you in a good mood even though you got a black eye? My mom says I can't talk to you until we know you're in a good mood."

"Hello." I can't help but laugh at her bluntness. "You must be Indiana." My smile widens when she excitedly shakes her head. "I read your letter. And this must be Scales."

The tiny green lizard lifts his head to look at me. "You got bug?"

"Please tell me if I'm a good lizard mom," Indiana begs. "He sleeps a lot. Is he sick?" Without warning, she holds up the lizard and it climbs onto my shirt.

Scales clings to my stomach with his tiny talons and repeats, "You got bug?"

"Are you hungry?" I ask.

"Yes, she does not feed me enough bug."

"Ah, I see." Indiana looks at me expectantly, so I give her a reassuring smile. "He says you take good care of him."

"No," Scales cuts in. "I said I want more bug. You deaf?"

"I take really good care of him," Indiana assures me. "Scales is my best friend."

"Tell you what," I say. "How about you give him a few extra bugs everyday? It will make him less sleepy."

"Yes, thank you," says Scales.

Indiana reaches forward and gently plucks Scales off my shirt. "Feeding him more will make him happy?"

"He's already happy, but feed him more and he'll be the happiest lizard in the world."

"Ok! I just didn't want him to get fat."

The statement pinches at the nerves in my face, like I've bitten into a lemon. I take a steadying breath and try to keep things in perspective. She's a child. She didn't mean anything by it. She was talking about Scales. She wasn't even talking about you.

"INDIANA?" A panicked woman scrambles across the grass towards us, pulling Indiana to her side and then stepping forward to shield her. "I am so sorry, Lady Cora." The woman presses her hands together and falls to her knees in the grass in front of me. "Please forgive me. I turned around for one second and my daughter's out the door. I hope she has not disturbed your peace."

I don't know what I find more horrifying about all this: the intense wobble in her voice that trembles like she's about to burst into tears, the way she's shielding her child from me, or the fact that her face is already starting to sweat.

I can feel color flood my cheeks. It's only when I look around to make sure nobody is gawking that I realize there's nobody around to gawk. "That's really not necessary . . ."

She looks up, eyes wide and worried. "Our family prays to your altar every Tuesday without fail. And we're very strict vegetarians."

"Mommy and Daddy eat fish," says Indiana.

I watch all the color drain from the woman's face. "No we don't," she refutes quickly, sounding even more panicked.

"Indiana was just asking about her lizard," I say, but it comes out more like a question. "He needs a little more food at feeding time." I say this in the hopes of putting this woman at ease, but she only ends up even more upset.

"An honest mistake," she begs, curling inward like a shrimp. "We will ensure he's properly fed from now on, I swear."

"It's not a problem," I say, appalled and embarrassed. "Really, don't worry about it."

"Yes, we will fix this. I swear we will." The woman uncurls, kisses her hands, and places them over my feet. "Thank you. We'll. . . we'll do that right now! Come, Indiana." Before I can think of anything else to say, the woman has hoisted the girl into her arms and hurried back into her house.

"Close your mouth, dear," Todd chuckles. "You'll catch flies."

"What . . . what was that all about?"

Todd tilts his head, studying me. "I do find it rather dull how they've kept you in the dark for so long. Would you like to hear what I know? As long as you keep it between us, of course. I'd rather not be skinned alive and worn as a cape for divulging secrets."

"I won't say anything."

"There was an incident here with the original owners of these houses—a purge, if you will—many years ago. If my sources are to be believed, you incited it. After most were killed, the island natives split in two. One group believed you should rule the island, the other believed you had been corrupted and could no longer be trusted. Those who still worshiped you stayed at the Temple a few miles inland. Those who chose to follow Jacob remained here."

I'm hearing what he's saying, it just doesn't process. That's not what happens. Ben purges Dharma as his initiation into the Others. I blink, thinking about the bizarre conversation I just had with a woman who acted like I was about to behead her. "I have an altar?"

"Your brain sure is bouncy, isn't it?" Todd tilts his head. "It's not far from here. Would you like to see it?"

I follow Todd around a bend into an entirely new set of houses. No one is walking around. No one is sitting on their porches. It is eerily abandoned. "Does anyone live here?"

"Oh yes," Todd answers. "All of these houses are occupied."

"Where is everyone?" I answer my own question when I catch someone peeking through their blinds. The slats quickly close when I stare too long.

"You cannot exactly blame them," Todd says, sounding amused. "The last time you were here, a lot of people were killed."

I'm not sure whether to believe him or not. It sounds so outside the realm of possibility, I wonder if this is some kind of trick. "How do you know all of this?"

"I make it my business to know," says Todd. "Ah, here we are."

Across a grassy plain, at the edge of the treeline, I see a tall wooden carving of a bear, a boar, a wolf, and a large bird perched on the bear's back. A flat platform lies at the base of the statue, covered in orchid bouquets and folded pieces of paper.

As we get closer, I notice the grass in this area is brown and crunchy beneath my shoes. In fact, the nearest trees are nothing more than dead husks with skeletal branches blowing in the wind. Compared to the lush vibrancy of the rest of the grassy plain and surrounding jungle, this little plant graveyard gives me the creeps.

I stand in front of the altar and pick up one of the slips of paper. It reads: Please help my mom get better soon. Another says: Please keep Eugene safe during the negotiations. Another reads: Please bless me with a successful pregnancy.

"What is all this?"

"Prayers," says Todd.

"This is so incredibly blasphemous," I huff under my breath. "What is that?" I point at the wooden statue, but what I mean is why is everything in this vicinity dead?

"A simple question, at last. This, my dear," Todd trots over to the shrine and turns towards me, curling his tail around himself, "is where you were murdered."