You stand in the middle of the bedroom realizing you have nothing to fill your bag with. The night stand’s drawers are empty; the shelves barren. You even open the closet, finding a blood stained shirt balled up on the floor.
You pick it up, pinching it between your forefinger and thumb. It isn’t your size. The blood glistens slightly, still somewhat fresh. You think back to the breakfast fiasco, not able to remember either of the girls looking injured enough to let this much blood. Was there another person in the house?
You hear the bedroom door creak open behind you. “I’m almost done,” you call, throwing the shirt back in the closet. You can hear footsteps making their ways towards you, light and soft, probably Soi. You turn, shutting the closet door, only to see that there is no one in the room with you and the door is firmly shut.
You stand perfectly still.
You now hear footsteps outside your door, pacing. You slowly walk towards them. You place your ear on the door. You can hear the person on the other side, sighing and pacing.