A four-year-old Zara stood in the middle of her living room, her short, chubby arms wrapped tightly around her favourite teddy bear. A fire danced around the little girl, its orange and red flames tauntingly licking the walls and the furniture, leaving behind ugly black stains of destruction. Thick, black-grey flumes rose from the inferno, forming a layer of smoke which hung just below the ceiling."Mommy! Daddy!" Zara wailed, her eyes burning from the noxious gases. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stumbled around the room, the fire slowly closing in on her like a famished wildebeest devouring everything in its path.

The temperature was becoming unbearable and she didn't know what to do.

Zara continued to wallow around disoriented until she caught her little foot on one of the jutting wooden boards. After a shriek of surprise, she tumbled across the floor, her teddy bear flying away from her grasp. She feebly called out for help again, but her cries remained unanswered when part of the ceiling collapsed, burying her stuffed toy under a pile of debris.

Her vision began to blur around the edges as the ash began to deposit itself in her lungs, her breathing strained and forced as her body attempted to expel the toxic air. The intense heat was roasting her skin, and she tried to sit up, but her weakened state slammed her back down against the floor. "Mommy," she mumbled weakly, her voice trailing off as she began to see white spots.

A woman called out her name, just as consciousness began to slip away, "Zara....Zara..." She slowly turned her head towards the sound, but she couldn't see from who it came from. Her eyes fluttered shut as one last, trembling breath escaped her lips.
Then, everything went black.

Zara awoke with a start, her eyes flying open as she sat up on her bed.

She had been too young when she had lost her parents. When Zara was younger, she was able to picture them clearly, like a family picture, crisp in her mind. Sometimes, when she was feeling lonely or sad, she would hide in a closet and talk to them, their presence in her heart giving Zara the strength to get by, soldiering on through a world that wanted nothing for her but suffering.

As the years wore on, however, the beauty of the memory became increasingly suffocated by the hardships of life, eventually fading away into the void of her mind. Without a picture or memento by which to remember them and the days becoming more and more hectic, it became increasingly harder for her to give them life.

Every day became harder to endure.

Calm down, it was just a nightmare.

Her eyes welled up with tears and she sniffled, covering her face with both hands.

No, it wasn't just a damn nightmare.

A headache suddenly kicked in, and Zara groaned. She brought both her hands to the sides of her head to rub her temples with her knuckles. A wave of nausea swept over her, but with the sheer force of her willpower, she managed to force it down, just as she fell back against her pillow. She looked up at the ceiling, the edges of her sun-shaped lamp blurry and undefined.

Where was this headache coming from? She forced herself to push away the horrific nightmare in order to remember what had happened the night before, but nothing came. It was as if her memory had been wiped clean. She squeezed her eyes shut and took deep controlled breaths, the pain still pounding against her head, trying once again to recollect the past events.

Nothing.

She sighed in frustration and rolled onto one side, reaching over to her bedside table to put on her glasses. After putting them on, she passed a hand through her hair, turning her head to look at the scene around her. Clothes were strewn all over the floor and bed, and her backpack was flung in a corner of the room, their contents regurgitated all over the area.

A black hoodie lay crumpled beside her foot, and, curious as to who it belonged to, she brought it up to her face. Her nose immediately scrunched up and she recoiled, throwing it onto a chair. The potent musk was a mixture of sweat, cigarette smoke, and axe deodorant; definitely a masculine smell. After straining to remember who it belonged to, because she knew for a fact that it wasn't hers, she gave up and instead decided to undress, as her clothing had become scratchy and uncomfortable.

When she looked back at the condition of her room, she groaned but stood up to scavenge for her phone, the urge to check the time overpowering the one to clean up the pig's sty. When it didn't respond to her commands, she connected it to the charger, then padded towards the kitchen in her undergarments, knowing very well that around this time her grandfather was long gone for work. Besides, her main priority was to get something cold to drink: her throat was so dry, it was if a frog had jumped inside her mouth overnight.

After rummaging through the fridge and pulling out a milk jug, she turned to grab a mug from one of the cupboards, something on the table caught her attention.

A note from Simon.

At work, will be gone for a few days. -S.

Zara stared at the message for a couple of seconds, her brows furrowing together. It was the second time he had to leave. He was a janitor, what could possibly be so important as to require his services for more than a day? Once again, several questions bombarded her but she shrugged them away, delicately folding the note in halves and placing it on the kitchen counter. There was probably a legitimate explanation for his absence, there was no need for her to be preoccupied over nothing.

She looked up at the clock on the wall and paled when she saw the time.

11:45.

If I leave in ten minutes, then I might arrive in time for English.

Zara quickly sculled the milk before throwing the jug back into the fridge and running to the bathroom. She was about to finish undressing and step into the shower, but then she remembered that she had forgotten her towel, so she jumped back out and flew into her room. The moment she stepped into her domain, however, a migraine came upon her, knocking Zara off her feet and throwing her onto the bed.

She groaned in frustration again.

Maybe I should just stay at home.

After standing up and finding a towel in the mountain of clothing on the floor, she slowly trudged back to the bathroom, a sense of calmness washing over her. She flung her underwear into the clothing bin, removed her glasses, and stepped into the shower, sliding the glass door shut.

A strange pulsating sensation began to manifest itself on the back of Zara's head.

She reached out and tentatively began to turn the cold water faucet, then she looked up, noticing that the shower-head was trembling abnormally above her.

Suddenly, a jet of cold water hit Zara like a slap in the face, and her vision blacked out, her legs crumpling underneath her as she fell like a sack of potatoes against the wall.

The seconds ticked by, and Zara remained curled up in a corner of the shower, the cold water pelting her motionless body like rain in a storm.

What's happening?

Darkness. There was only darkness.

You shouldn't have come out. It is not your time yet. A voice, eerily similar to her own, resonated in the void of her mind.

What do you mean? Who are you?

I'm taking over again.

Zara's blue eyes snapped open, and she inhaled sharply through her gaping mouth. Her body convulsed as it struggled to adapt to the renewed flow of oxygen through her lungs. She scrambled to her feet, angry and disoriented, the freezing jet of water pouring out of the shower head, numbing the strange dull pain that seemed to have taken over her entire body.

How the hell did I end up here?

She immediately closed the tap, slipping the glass door to one side as she stepped out of the shower, shivering and in a very bad mood. She grabbed a towel from a rack in the corner of the bathroom, and wrapped it around herself, using a smaller one to encase her damp hair.

Just as she began to slip on her flip-flops, last night's events rammed into her, making her trip over her own feet and stumble into a wall.

Move in with me.

What do you know about "The Butterfly?"

I'm very disappointed in you, Zara.

Her head spun as snippets of conversation flashed through her memory.

She began to hear voices, which sprouted one after the other, like weeds.

Pull yourself together Zara, this isn't the time for you to let your feelings get involved into this, one ordered.

Someone is a traitor, and you're going to have to dispose yourself of them, another snarled.

No, don't say that. They are your friends, they would never do such a thing, another pleaded.

Zara shuddered violently in response, a scream escaping her lips.

"Stop it! Stop it! Leave me alone!"

They ignored her, instead growing impossibly louder. The voices drowned out her surroundings, playing a dangerous game of Mercy.

You have suppressed us for far too long...

Then just as quickly as they started, the voices stopped.

She waited, unblinkingly, but nothing else happened. The only sound she could hear was the drip-dripping of the water from the shower-head.

Slowly, and very carefully, Zara began making her way back to her bedroom. She kept one hand on the wall, for support.

They can't be back, Zara thought fearfully. They just can't.

The voices, her only companions those many years ago. They were demons that did nothing but manipulate her into doing horrible, terrible things, which made her the criminal she was today. Once she had made real, tangible friends, they had receded into the back of her mind, no longer needed. Now they were back, but why?

Maximilian. What he did to her brought them back, the cold shower must've just triggered them. Would they go away if she solved this case?

"I need to fix this," Zara said, curling her fingers into fists. "I have to go to the lair if I want to find anything, and get rid of you."

She threw both towels onto the bed and went to her wardrobe to wrench the door open. After pulling on some mismatched underwear, she found a black long-sleeved shirt and a pair of dark-blue skinny jeans, slipping them both on without a second thought.

Zara trudged up to her backpack and shook out the remaining items onto the floor, shoving in only the necessities for her short trip. After swinging it over one shoulder, Zara went to her desk to retrieve her laptop, her breath faltering when she noticed it was missing. Simon had taken it.

Convincing herself that it was unneeded, Zara went to her bedside table and unplugged her phone, noticing how the screen was crammed with unread messages. She didn't have the heart to open them right at that moment because she knew that they belonged to only three people. She shoved it into her back pocket: she'd worry about it later.

Anger coursing through her veins once again, she went back to her backpack and zipped it closed, swinging it over her shoulders as she went to step into her fake Doc Martins. Finally, she grabbed a woollen sweater and beanie from a forgotten spot on the floor, tying her wet hair into a low ponytail as she made her way to the front entrance. She took the spare set of keys from a hook on the door and unlocked it, stepping out of the apartment to close it behind her.

As she slipped the key into the lock, two thoughts settled into her mind, one of which was homicidal. 

-:-