neurotoxicity | Memory 3: Ivy-Girl

[ Ivy parks her motorcycle at in front of a three story house that's been taped off with yellow police tape. She takes her helmet off, letting her long black hair flow free as she walks past the tape without the slightest pause. She walks through the house, following a trail of blood to a metal door. The closer she gets to that door the slower she goes, hesitation of what she may find on the other side building up in her. Carefully she pushes the door open only to put her hands over her mouth in horror at what she saw.

A chair had been placed in front of a window that had previously been boarded over. The boards were gone, the glass was shattered, and there was blood everywhere. On the walls, the chair, the floor, everywhere. Ivy crashes down, keeping both hands to her mouth as tears come down her face. She pulls her legs up for a moment as she pulls out her cell phone and punches in a number. A man answers: ]

Ivy?

[ Ivy's voice is small, trembling, tears are still coming down her face: ] Kisten? Give the phone to Piscary.

[ There's silent and then a man with a strange accent that almost sounds Egyptian answers. ] Ivy girl?

[ Ivy's eyes are fully black, tears still streaking down them. ] I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.

[ The man makes a shush sound. ] Come home, Ivy girl. I miss you.

[ Ivy sounds like a child, lost afraid: ] I-I miss you, too.

[ He speaks again, gentle and reassuring but there's something off about his tone, something that's just a little too forced, a little too empty. ] I just want you to come home.

[ Ivy speaks again as she gets up and starts out of the house. ] I'm coming.