You had found out the other day that your boyfriend Tate was dead. He shot and killed 15 kids back in 1994, and he died from the cops shooting him down. Right in the very room where you laid in 2011. You laid in your bed, reading a book about birds. You got it from school. You pulled the slip out, and there was his name. "Tate Langdon". He liked birds. You did, too.

Soon enough, as you laid in bed, flipping through the pages and looking at the pictures of the birds, Tate came in. He saw the book you were reading. He didn't even recognize it. He didn't remember anything from when he was alive.

"I like birds, too..."

He said, seeing your book.