193: Who is . . . -Sara-

"Police investigate the mass murder at New York's Museum of Natural history, where seventeen people were killed at the hands of a mentally unstable young man. The suspect, a 12 year old male, was apprehended by a small group of civilians. After which, he suffered a complete mental break and is now being admitted to a nearby institution."

Pain in my head accompanied with the noise of the television pulled me from my sleep. Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the bright television; the only light in the room besides the digital clock which read 1:27am.

"The civilians had recently been awarded because of their help stopping an aerial terrorist attack just yesterday. Ben, the apparent leader, has stated that they were just doing what they felt was right."

I rubbed my head as I tried to recall where I was and how I'd gotten here. The pain made the room sway and tilt as I stood to walk toward the light switch.

"The Museum incident was not the only murders this week as police and private investigators try to solve a string of what are now being called the "Identity Murders", because of the unusual messages at the crime scenes."

The last thing I remembered was dropping off my dog to the vet. He had broken his leg and they wanted to keep him overnight. I shook my head to rid myself of the fog that seemed to settle in just after I left the building. I couldn't remember and trying to just made my head hurt so much more. What was going on?

"The Police claim to have many leads, but don't have enough for an arrest. That concludes the news for tonight. Have a nice evening."

I leaned against the wall. Had I been drinking? Was this a hotel room or something? Was I with someone?

"Hello?", my voice felt lonely in the dark, but I didn't want to turn on the light and wake someone, "Is anyone there? I think maybe I drank too much last night."

I laughed lightly, "Which is weird, because I usually don't drink. Hello?"

I stood there in the dark silence waiting for an answer and that's when I smelled it. It smelled like rotting meat, and bad eggs. It was so strong, coming from all over the place. I felt myself gag.

My finger flicked the switch and whatever I'd eaten last night ended up on the floor.

What was left of a young male was spread across the floor. His head had been beaten until it resembled a deflated balloon, and his body had been peeled open and laid out like one of those bear carpets. Blood was everywhere, including on me. Panic set in as I tried to wipe my hands off on my clothes.

I looked for the bathroom and that's when I saw the words written in blood on the wall.

"Who is Sara Coons?"

Seeing those words made my head hurt even worse. I stumbled into the bathroom and splashed water on my face before the memory of what laid in the other room made me retch again. When that calmed down I sat on the edge of the tub and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Slowly I felt the panic build as my mind wandered to all the possibilities. Where was the killer? Would they be back? How did they know my name? Why didn't they kill me?

What was going on?