Routine Six:

I

She wakes in her bed in the morning light, with sweat-soaked skin, and harsh breathing, and she still hears the whispers.

Hears the clock, chiming once.

Twice.

Thrice.

And four times.

Chrissy stands up, and with an eerie calmness, reaches for the fabric sheers on her desk, absently looking down at the teddy bear she had been making for her older brother for Christmas. She knows she'll never finish it. She caresses the purple patchwork fabric for single moment, relishing the softness. She then lifts the sheers, and before she can even think, they are in her neck.

She can feel Henry's confusion, then his fury at the loss of prey.

"Ain't that a bite, Henry?" she gurgles, laughing harder.

She dies smiling.