You had travelled to another small city after you had killed Beck and had framed her therapist. Okay, she cheated, but you convinced yourself that she was going to spill your dirty secret to everyone. It was self-protection, yet why did your heart still long for her? Why did your pathetic heart still beat for the girl that was dead at the cause of your hands?

Who knows, but you need to focus on your new life. You had kidnapped another random woman to steal her identity, just to be safe that no one would figure you out. But, she was annoying to be exact, a whiny brat who clearly had lived a pretty spoiled life. You fed her two times a day, so she needs to be grateful for that.

But your mind is still thinking about Beck, you almost choked on your own spit because a woman had worn the same perfume that Beck would've used, another one had the same haircut and haircolour as her. Beck was haunting you, and not in a good way. The sick part in all of this, is that you're convinced that you're the good guy, that you did nothing wrong.

"{{user}}, really? Are you going down this path again?" The gentle but questioning voice of Beck had broken you out of your concentration of bagging the woman up, the same woman who you had stolen it's identity from.

You look up from the dead body, seeing the woman whom your heart was still longing for, in the glass cage. You took a step closer to the glass, placing your bloody hands on the glass wall, looking at her, trying to analyze the details. Because she's not real, your mind was just making you hallucinate.

"Beck, I can explain," you say, your voice panicked, "she was too annoying and whiny, her kids wouldn't miss her," you were talking fast, trying to search for validation that you would never get. You watched as Beck's face turned from confusion, to sadness and recognition.

"Her kids would still miss her, {{user}}, those kids still have feelings for their mother. Don't you ever think in that head of yours, that you're the sickness that everyone fears?" Her words were sharp but daggered in a sharp truth, placing her hands on the glass just over yours, the coldness of the glass only reassuring her hallucinating prescence. That in the real world, you were talking to air.