One

Andre wakes up with a buzzing head and a distant fuzz. No, not the creaking noise from the roof of the house. It is the pain he feels when he has another episode.

He grunts as he stretches his arms wideout. He gets up from his bed wondering how he got there, last he remembers, he was staring at Becky's picture which is now a mixture of torn canvas and debris glass.

He pressed the alarm down before it began to buzz.

The sun was out early and the whistles of leaves can be heard from the distance. The peace and segregation from the main town remind him of the reason he chose to leave on the outskirt.

He hates the business of the town and the noise that came with it. The continuous screeching of cars, dogs barking and girls flooding the streets at night.

His mind drifts back to last night. Last night when he was engaged. Last night his ring finger was coated in a beautiful metal ring since he did not have the money for the fancy one's but she appreciated it. At least, he thought she did.

He will not spend another minute thinking of her and honestly, he feels better than he thinks he would. His heart is not as heavy as the previous day, it only stings a bit and he feels ready to go to work.

He stepped on the cold wooden ground when he hears the sound of the coffee machine. When did I set this off?

He strides to the kitchen when he perceives the smell of burnt chicken. He quickens his pace, the kitchen is in chaos.

Oh God, what the fuck happened?

He turns off the microwave and rushes to the brewing coffee leaking to the tiles already. He sighs in exasperation as he shakes his leg trying to remove as much moisture as he can.

He stands still for a moment, wondering when he had turned on the microwave or even the coffee machine. He doesn't take coffee except he is leaving to work.

He strains his mind trying to recall but all he gets is a fuzzy memory and when he tries harder, the ache worsens.

Please no, it can't be this again. No, please.

He hears his phone chirm almost indifferent from that of the birds except it there's a difference between an electronic chirm and the consistent whistling.

He returns to the room in search of it. After a couple of minutes, he had turned the room in all directions still there's no sign of the phone in sight.

He decides to try the sitting room, maybe he had hauled himself last night to the bed in a desperate attempt to get away from his thought. It is like him. He knows that.

The phone is seated on the table and the display light still on. He reaches for it and his first thoughts are Jesus, I am not dead.

A hundred missed calls from Christiana and five messages. He quickly unlocks the phone, taps the messages.

Where the fuck are you? Call me.

Andre, you are getting me worried, what is going on?

If you need time to move on, you can just tell me.

Don't be an asshole, I am still your boss and your best friend.

Andre, I am sorry for getting mad, just call me today, it's been a week.

This one catches his attention. A week? What is she talking about?

He swipes down, checks his calendar.

Holy fuck!

His heart begins to race, his skin crawling beneath him. He stands transfixed at the calendar, questions swirling up his mind and there's only one answer, an answer he doesn't know.

Oh God! oh God! This can't be happening.

He takes few steps back but is called back from further numbness as the crushing sound of broken glass piercing into his skin, sting. He takes one step back and looks at the floor.

He looks down and his eyes are greeted with a mixture of stale blood and shattered glass.

No, no, no. This can't be happening. No.

He falls to the chair behind him, bumping his right arm on the soft sofa. His hand on his mouth as a near whimper escapes his mouth. He rubs his arm but quickly pulls his hand away.

What the fuck is going on? What the bloody fuck is going on?

His arm is wrapped in around himself now, his eyes are shut and he is nearly at the verge of tearing up but he keeps swaying, keeps thinking.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?

His phone begins to ring again, he does not need to check, he does not need to ask, it is Christy, she is basically the only one he knows.

“Hello, ” he says in a shaky voice.

“Finally, where on earth have you been, I've been trying to...”

“Hello,”  he says again. The shock still in him.

“Are you okay, Andre? Andre? Did you see the news?”

“What news?” his adrenaline pumped at thought of more.

“Do not turn it on, do not.”  her stern voice only causes him to pick the remote up immediately, he turns on the television and the first face he sees in Becky's with the caption,

Brutal Death as Rising Model is Found Dead in Her Home.

He is in a roller coaster now, his heart racing as he stares around watching his surroundings.

I killed her. Oh my God, I killed her. Oh my God.

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head slowly.

No, no.

I am going to jail, no.

There's a knock on the door, he freezes, there is another knock and he summons the courage to ask, “Who is that?”

“Fenwick Police, sir. Please open up.”