READER

I try to move, lash out or generally just struggle; but I feel my body get sluggish.

It was almost a minute ago that I had felt a prick in my neck from that strange man, now he's just standing there, watching me. He slides his mask down to cover his face properly and I get a better look at it. It's unsettling, completely featureless bar the two black abysses where his eyes should be, slowly streaming a thick black tar down its cheeks.

I don't know what he's injected me with, but clearly he's waiting for something to happen.

I feel a great fatigue come over me and while my vision hasn't gone, it starts to blur. Is this man one of Lottie's accomplices? I remember when she spoke to me, she said "we" a lot. Then there was the matter of who she was on the phone to. I try to say something, to question him, but my mouth only lets me say a slurred

"Who..."

The word, or rather the way I say the word, seems to please the stranger. He moves around my body and starts to unbuckle my restraints. As he releases me he bows his head close to my skin; I can hear him inhale, smelling me.

I can't move.

I can see but my vision blurs. I see the man walk over to the shelves and to take something white, it looks like some kind of gauze. He returns to me and starts to gently press against my wounded shoulder. I may be immobilised but I still feel pain and it stings from the surface of my skin to deep within my flesh. I can't make a sound and my mouth is slack and open slightly, I think I'm drooling. How disgusting.

The man tapes down bandages, and after he's finished I can't stop him from reaching down to pick me up. He positions me over his shoulder, my back exposed, and carries me out of the room. As he walks I see something glint on the floor and notice a gun, cast aside. As I drift down the corridor, legs held tight be the man, I begin to feel nauseous.

I can smell something. It smells vile, like blood and death. And suddenly I remember...

...where's Lottie?

The man turns slightly as we walk down the hall. At one point the smell becomes so overpowering I feel like I could gag, but all I can see is the shiny wooden floor. Are those dots of red, scattered like rose petals? My vision is cloudy again and now speckled with red. Or is that the floor? Does it really matter?

I have no idea where I am, who any of these people are, or what they want. But worse than not knowing their motivations, I don't know what I want. I'm guessing I have a family but since I don't know them, I have no feelings towards them. How did I lose them anyway - what if they're part of the reason why I'm here? Was my old life good, bad? Do I try to return to it or do I start a new one?

I feel bad about the way I'm thinking. I want to want to go home. But the word is meaningless to me. I want to want to miss my family. But I don't know if they exist - and if they do I can't miss what I have forgotten.

I feel numb. Does this make me a bad person?

I barely even notice that the man has sat me down on a chair in the kitchen, my upper body slumped down on the cold marble table. This is where Lottie talked to me before and showed me that note. Was I forced to write it? Before my memories were taken.

My right cheek is pressed into the cold stone and my upper body is still covered in goosebumps. I haven't felt warmth in so long.

EJ

Jack backed away from his victim. Her body was slouching over the table and she stared vacantly forwards. As he lowered her down he realised how cool she was to his touch. This angered him. He wanted to feel her blood race under her skin, full of life and vitality. He wanted her healthy and strong - this weakness would mar her taste.

It was obvious something was very wrong with this particular family dynamic, Jack thought to himself. The girl was the captive of the woman, but why? Who were they both and why were they here? In this strange house with the cold white room at the back.

Unfortunately for these mysteries Jack was both very curious and enjoyed taking trophies from hunts. He enjoyed finding things out about his victims and grew very good at what he would refer to as "investigating" but was in fact closer to "spying" in the homes of his prey.

He'd unearthed all sorts of secrets - from family disputes to affairs to crimes. Once after he murdered a woman he discovered a diary leading him to think she would kill her boyfriend. In Jack's view said boyfriend should be very grateful to him, except for the fact he was staying over that night.

Unlucky.

Jack stepped back to the office where the Blonde's corpse was resting. She was a mess - throat torn apart and blood dripping down her face; her abdomen peeled back and hollowed out. Useless now.

He stepped over the body and surveyed the room, the piles of paper would take hours to sort so they could wait, her phone and laptop however looked just as useful. Both were locked of course but Jack trusted his chances.

Jack pocketed the phone and began to sift though the papers. The drug would wear off the girl in about 10 minutes. He doubted she'd struggle much after that but he wanted to be moving at least. He could return for the rest later.

As he left to the room, Jack was sure to grab one final trophy.

READER

I'm still resting on this cold marble when he comes back. This time he seems more... energetic? Before he was observing, almost evaluating me. Now I can't read him. He has a rucksack slung over his shoulder and when he approaches me I can hear something ratting around inside. He detours to my right and sets something yellow and red on the counter. As he comes near I urge my body to retreat but still I'm motionless. He brushes some stray (H/C) hairs behind my ear and I notice his skin, an ashen grey, and his nails, wickedly sharp.

"Hello (Y/N)" he murmurs to my ear. I feel his mask, cool and smooth, brush my face.

My heart rate quickens and I can hear the blood pounding by my ears. Somehow I've pleased him as I hear him chuckle under the mask; I'm sure he's smirking.

"I wonder what's happened to you"

Gently he picks me up again, this time with one arm under my knees and one supporting my body. I'm cradled against his chest and he's being strangely careful.

Every part of my brain was screaming at me. This man is dangerous, get away; but he didn't appear to be connected to Lottie. That was something? I didn't know Lottie's plans for me but at least I knew she brought me here and was responsible for my memories. I have no idea what this man wants.

As he turns to carry me towards the door I see the yellow and red object he set aside.

Lottie.

Well her head at least. Blonde hair sticks to her face by rich red blood. Blood soaks through her cheeks and drips from her lips. It hides in burst veins in her brown eyes and even clings to her mascara. One of her fake eyelashes peels away, like an ugly black spider with a hundred legs all sprawled out.

He did this, set her out to show me his handiwork.

What is he?