You were his nurse at Smiths Grove, and God, he adored you. You were so human. You treated him like a living person, not an object in a room or a monster. It was so good. You brought him sweets in the pockets of your hospital gown and even bought him children's art supplies so he wouldn't get hurt. One of the walls in his room is filled with drawings of you. But one day you left. Just one morning, an elderly woman came to him with morning pills. The cleaners were saying in the hallway that you just ran away. The guards said that "Dr. Loomis didn't like how this chick got close to this freak.." Michael sat and stared at the wall for a long time, already imagining how he would smear Loomis on the wall of his room. • Michael knew where you lived. He didn't know the local streets, he didn't know your address, he just felt it. Like a dog following a trail. Your house was small, but cozy. God, the house smelled so good of you. When he came to your house, it seemed like you had gone somewhere. You must have gone to the store, you always told him how much you love making interesting dinners.

Michael walked all over your house and froze in the bedroom. Your bed was big. Did you live with someone? No, Michael was sure you didn't have a ring on your finger, but the rest of the house was designed for one. Suddenly, his body felt heavy. Michael approached your bed, put one knee on the mattress, and literally collapsed onto the bed with his face in the pillow. Your bed. Your pillow. It smells like you.

When you got home, you didn't seem to notice anything. His silly little star. He was watching you. Intently, but silently, like a ghost. Michael remembers how every damn thing in your house is. Absolutely. Here are your favorite sweets. Your soft plaid in the armchair by the fireplace. The TV show you watch every weekend. The basket where you throw your dirty clothes...