(Thanks to Zro-Kemuri 9t6 and Lance-Dusk for your reviews! All right, there is FOUR clues to the first death. Let's see who can spot 'em, shall we? Read on!)

I faced the ceiling in my cheap hotel room, my thoughts swirling around my head. Was it just coincidence? Or was it something much more sinister? I just managed to save seven people from being killed in one of the worst train incidents in England, killing over 100 people. Hell, the story of the 'person who saw it' was already plastered over the news, and I even had reporters gathering around the hotel to try and get an interview.

I realised I ruined almost everyone's plans, but I had to, right? Anyway, as I lay on my not-so comfortable bed, I finally managed to drift of the sleep.

LINE BREAK

When I woke up, drowsy and still half asleep, I saw that the digital clock on the bedside table showed Eleven Forty-Five in the morning, fifteen minutes until the police were meant to come. I sighed to myself, thinking back to the accident.

The roar of flames, the explosions, the screams. A knock on the door brought me out of my reverie, and I sat up, stifling a yawn. "Hello?" I called out.

The door opened, and Tom walked in, dabbing his head with a handkerchief. He seemed to be wearing exactly the same suit as yesterday. "H-Hi."

"What's wrong?" I asked, noticing he seemed more nervous than usual.

"Well... I-I'll let you see..."

It was then noticed what looked like a black satchel on his back, and he pulled it in front of him, and pulled out a laptop, placing it on the bedside table. He switched the power on, and while it loaded I got changed in the bathroom. I looked into the mirror, narrowing my eyes at my dishevelled appearance. Quickly taking a brush through the knots of my hair, I double-tasked by also brushing my teeth.

It was then I heard the wave, and I jumped, the sound loud to my ears. I dropped the hairbrush, rinsed the toothpaste off my teeth, and walked into the room. I faced Tom. "What was that?"

"W-What?" Tom asked, pressing a button on his laptop.

"That sound, kind of like a wave of something."

"I-I didn't hear anything..."

I shook my head, and sat down on my bed, when Tom turned the laptop my way. The title of the webpage he had up said : Death? Real or Fake? I raised my eyebrows, but then read the rest of the article.

Death? Real or Fake?

This is the question which many have asked, but few have answered. Many people don't seem to be bothered by the possibility of an entity called Death, however, some people believe that Death hunts people down and kills them. In our time, we have reported on four supposedly unrelated incidents, but due to the help of a man who didn't want to be mentioned, we found something that linked all these incidents together.

The incidents in question are the Flight 180 crash, the Route 23 pileup, the Devil's Flight rollercoaster derailment, and finally the McKinley Speedway crash. All of these, on first sight, seem to be unlucky accidents, killing many.

But let's look at it closely.

On each accident, there has been a certain person who managed to 'predict' what had happened before it happened, and manages to save certain survivors, often around eight people.

But then, it gets weird. These survivors are apparently on a 'list' created by Death, and they die by the order they would have died in the premonition. A no-one has survived yet.

So, did Death actually decide to hunt down these people, or was it just plain coincidence? I'll let you think about it.

I looked at the screen, lost in my own world in my mind. Lists? Death? What was it talking about? But, I felt like it wasn't entirely lying.

"Wh-what do you think?" Tom asked, his eyes darting to the screen to my face and back again.

"I'm not sure." I replied, noticing a bird spiralling round and round in never ending circles. "I really don't know what to think."

At that moment, three hard raps on the door sounded through the room. I smiled briefly at Tom before opening the door, being greeted by two stern faced policeman. One was tall and grim-faced, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at me. The other was in contrast small, looking up at me through glasses with his short bristled hair.

"Hello Miss Everdeen. I'm Officer Jermaine, and this is Office Lewis. Would you please come with us."

"Also, do you know where Tom White is? He isn't in his room." Officer Lewis asked.

At the mention of his name, Tom nervously appeared.

Officer Lewis raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

"Please come with us." Officer Jermaine repeated, and they left the room, followed closely by me and Tom.

LINE BREAK

"No, no and no. I didn't know who Rose Everdeen was before the crash; I am merely an innocent, lucky bystander." James said, leaning on his elbows, irritated. "Is that all?"

Officer Lewis pushed his glasses up his face. "No it is not, Mr. King. Why were you in Poole?"

"Well, because I live here! Did it ever occur to you that I would be going somewhere, rather than coming back?"

"In which case, where were you going?"

"Is that really necessary?"

"We want to get as much information as we can."

"Well, you don't need to know where I was going." James crossed his arms stubbornly, leaning back in his chair.

LINE BREAK

The interviews went on and on with varying results, until finally it was my turn. Ironic that the person that saw it was last to be interviewed. I calmed myself slightly, and walked into the plain room. It consisted of a table and chairs, with a jug of water, a fan, and a recorder. A mirror was on the right wall, and I knew people were looking through it as we spoke.

"Miss Everdeen, would you please sit down."

I immediately recognised this. Officer Lewis sitting down calmly, and Officer Jermaine standing with his arms crossed. Good cop, bad cop. I pulled the seat back and sat down, staring into the fan as it turned around and around.

"For the record, this is Elliot Jermaine, interviewing suspect number eight, Rose Everdeen."

I continued to stare at the fan as it turned, the blades rotating through the air. It was mesmerizing, just turning round and round, no care in the world...

"Miss Everdeen?"

I jerked from my daydream, and coughed, slightly embarrassed. "S-Sorry."

"I'll ask again. Why were you in Poole?"

"I-I was visiting my ill grandma." I decided to try to make the officers sympathize. "She's been diagnosed with terminal cancer. S-she will... pass away in a few weeks..."

Officer Lewis leaned forward, pushing his glasses up. "So, did you feel unstable?"

This caught me off guard. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"Did the news of your grandmother cause you to be depressed and miserable? Possibly to make others feel as bad as you, so you set up the bomb to destroy the train. But you felt remorse, didn't you, and tried to save everyone. But it failed, and you only managed to save seven people."

I couldn't believe this officer had the nerve to accuse me of doing something as horrendous as that. "A bomb? What are you talking about?" I decided to ask.

Officer Jermaine suddenly slammed his large hands against the table, making me jump, and causing the fan to fall off the table, the mesh covering splitting, and the fan blades spinning like a coin, before falling to the floor. "Don't you lie to us. You are only making it worse for yourself! It will go much better for you now if you admit you caused the explosion!"

"I did no such thing!" I cried out, pushing from my seat. "Why would I do that! Why the hell would I do that!"

"Did you get angry just like now? Did you just think, 'Let's go kill hundreds of hundreds of people, because I felt miserable'. Is that what you thought?"

"No! I did not destroy the train! Why would I destroy something I was going to go on? Tell me that?"

"Maybe you are a terrorist with no regard for life. Or maybe you felt so bad you wanted to kill yourself along with the others in the spiral of misery!"

I bolted upright. "That's not fair! You can't just accuse me or something, and have NOTHING to back it up, officer." I took a deep breath and turned to the door. "I want to leave. Now."

LINE BREAK

Away from the police station, Harry Goldwater had decided to take up on some odd jobs, and soon enough from looking at a mouldy plea for a mechanic on a lamp post, Harry had phoned up the man, and had got a job to fix a small motor boat. Apparently, the engine wasn't working properly.

Harry was staring at what could loosely be called a boat with raised eyebrows. The paint was all but gone, and it was rusted, with a number of rusted holes through the top of the boat. A large circular crack was on the windshield.

"No wonder this ain't working." Harry said to the man, who shrugged half-heartedly and sat on a bench, eating his sandwich. "But let's see if we can patch her up." He adjusted his belt, and started to go to work.