"Katherine, you're bleeding."

She looks down at her hands, her sweatshirt, her shorts. It's a smear high up on her thigh.

"I should...probably go to the hospital."

Katherine's eyes fly open. She's standing in the bathroom doorway of some motel she checked into in Mississippi. 

Grace called. Mom. "You know we aren't angry or upset with you, right?" She asked. 

It was hard to feel that way. They didn't know the truth. Charlie's murder was her fault. 

"No, Mom, I know. I'm just going to be with Sam. I think we need each other right now."

She was quiet for a long time. "You're going to find whatever did this, aren't you?"

Whatever. Not whoever.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am."

Mom's a smart woman. She probably forced Charlie to tell her the real reason Katherine was gone for so long at a time, what was so damn important that she couldn't be home with her husband. Or, Charlie just didn't keep any secrets from his mom and he told her. That's probably how it happened.

Katherine turns on the bathroom light and squints as her eyes adjust. Bloodshot, glassy. She falls over the counter, elbows taking the brunt of the force, and starts rifling through her toiletries bag. Liiiittle orange bottle... She twists the top off, pops a pill, and hangs her head. 

You could just get sleeping pills like a normal person.

Katherine turns off the light and stumbles back to her bed. On her flop down, she sees the opened bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. Oh, man...what if I die? No, no...won't die...no grapefruit...

✕

Katherine slowly blinks, assessing her bumps and bruises to see which is the worst. Wash first, maybe...

Her drive home was a little sullen. It's like an oh shit moment you keep replaying in your head and it just gets you down. Her oh shit moment was a big one. 

She should be dead.

Katherine falls asleep in the burning shower. When she wakes up, her nose is squashed in a small pool of water, barricaded by the web of her thumb, and she snorted up all that ice cold water. She started coughing hard enough to vomit.

Pull your shit together, KD.

She's at least a little sober when she goes to stitch her leg up. She can see better with her glasses on, so it's a little straighter than the last time.

Can't die before you find the motherfuckers.

Katherine tucks the bottle of pills to the bottom of her duffle, anxiety twisting in her stomach. What if I wake up on the highway again?

The past two nights of sleep were good, even if she felt like a zombie when she woke up. But she woke up in her bed, still handcuffed to the rail. So she didn't wake up. She didn't dream, either. 

Katherine calls Sam again. He doesn't answer...again. So she courtesy calls Bobby, mostly to see if she needs to start looking for Sam's body. Bobby says he pings Sam's phone on occasion and he's moving around cities. He spoke to him over the phone last week. Hey, maybe you should go join up with him.

Yeah Bobby, that's the fucking idea.

Katherine locks the handcuff to her right wrist, puts the key on the nightstand, and closes her eyes.

The left side of her face is numb. Just give them what they want.

Katherine's eyes are stuck. Her arm hurts, sandwiched underneath...underneath. 

Oh, I wanna dance with somebody!

Little sharp pains are felt around her eyes as she forces her lids open. It's sticky, crusted...it smells horrible.

Katherine wrinkles her nose—ow—and tries to lift her head.

Blood is everywhere. She's been around a lot of blood, but...it's never smelled like this.

Just give them what they want.

Her eyes well with tears as they fall on Charlie's body just seven feet away from her. His arm outstretched towards her...he's broken and swollen and shiny.

"Charlie," she weeps. "I'm so-rry!" Her wrists are so raw...still trying to break free. "I'm sorry!"

The doorbell rings. 

"Help me!" Her eyes shoot for the door, somewhat hidden by the top of the sofa. "Help!"

Who the fuck is at the door?

She feels too vulnerable. Tied up, on the floor, halfway blind, crying.

The door starts to open, and she sees a head move over the sofa. "Charlie?" Tyler March. The neighbor.

Katherine gasps. "Tyler!" She sobs. "Tyler, help me!"

Tyler March rounds the sofa and slips. He exhales a wordless cry, eyes blowing wide as he scoots back against the wall. "Oh my god!"

"Help me!" Katherine pleads. Tyler scrambles to his feet and runs, but not before slipping in Charlie's blood again. "No, Tyler! Tyler!" Katherine cries out in frustration and pain as she twists her wrists again. It's like being shocked over and over again, little fibers of rope poking into raw skin.

"No, no, no, no—"

"No!" Katherine falls onto the floor, wrist snapped up to the bed. "No!"

Her motel room door flies open, and a flashlight is shined right into her eyes. "Miss?" 

"No, no, no!"

The poor property manager.

Katherine runs a finger over her mottled right wrist. Opening and closing her fist hurts. She shouldn't have hunted for a few days while her latest night terror injury healed up, but she did.

And somehow, she made it through. 

She can't even see straight. She's covered in blood, whiskey drunk, and somehow...she's okay with it. Okay with the perpetuating nightmare, of throwing herself back into the environment that scarred her the most.

This blood doesn't smell like Charlie's blood. Maybe that's the difference.