So Not Guilty, Mr. FBI

I woke up in the hospital with an oxygen mask on my mouth and pain on my left arm. Two nurses were hovering over me. One of them was taking my blood pressure. The other was changing the saline.

That was two days ago. Now, I do not need an oxygen mask all the time. Perhaps twice a day, whenever I get my asthma attack. I never got asthma attack more than once a day. But now, I get at least twice.

I sit on my hospital bed in the private room and he sits on a chair on my left.

"Are you feeling alright, Ms. Bourn?" he asked.

He is probably in his early thirties or late twenties. A tall, lean man with blond hair. He has a timeless aura around him.

'Timeless handsomeness.'

When I woke up, he was one of the first people I saw. He said he was an FBI agent and his name was Lloyd Wagner. And that he wanted to ask me about what happened to me.

"Ms. Bourn?"

"Tasha," I say.

"Alright, Tasha. As I mentioned before, I want to ask you some questions about the current situation. Are you ready for that?" he asks, then without waiting for an answer, he continues, "Your doctor said it is alright to question you right now."

"What do you want to know?" I ask.

"We will start at the beginning. What is your name?"

"Tasha Bourn."

"Age?"

"25."

"Where were you born, Tasha?"

"London."

"I don't hear any accent."

"My father is British. After I was born, my family moved to New York and I was raised here," I say.

"What do you do?"

"I am a journalist. For the Times."

"Do you remember what happened three days ago?"

There it is. The question he truly wanted to ask. Three days ago. It seems to be an eternity ago.

"Can you take me through Monday, three days ago?" he asks. He is a patient man.

"I woke up with a headache that day, so I didn't go out, even though I was supposed to go for coffee with Harry."

"Harry Geis is an editor, isn't he?"

I nod. "I texted him to say I wasn't going. I slept until two in the afternoon. I took a bath and cooked some pasta and meatballs. I had some frozen meatballs."

"What happened after that?"

"I didn't want to cook myself any dinner that night, so I thought I would just take a walk and buy myself something or just get Chinese take-out."

"Continue, Tasha."

"Someone was following me. I could hear the footsteps. I looked back several times. There was this medium sized man- probably around 5'8''- in a gray hoodie, black baseball cap and a mask. The mask… It was strange."

"What kind of mask was it?"

I still can see the man following me, wearing that stupid mask.

"A plague mask," I answer. A plague mask. When I saw that man, I was having a hard time understanding why someone would be wearing a plague mask. It unnerved me. Everything about the man felt wrong. I started walking faster, my hand reaching into my bag, for my gun.

I am a young investigative reporter with quite a lot of enemies. A month ago, I made a report on some drug dealers who happened to be some prominent figures. That report got me more enemies than a person of my age would usually have. I was praised for the report, but that does not matter, does it, when I have so many enemies now? I got a gun soon after for my safety.

"Are you certain it was a plague mask, Tasha?" Lloyd asks.

"I know a plague mask when I see one," I say, a little hotly. It is not his fault. He needs to be certain of everything. But really, I am not in a good mood. My left arm hurts so bad that I cannot move it freely and my neck also hurts. I looked into the mirror yesterday and saw blackened finger marks around my neck. It ruined my mood. I feel humiliated whenever I remember those marks.

"Right. Now, what happened after that?" he asks.

"He shot me."

"He shot you?" he asks, as if he does not know. He does. Everyone does. It is all over the news.

"On my left arm," I say. "The bullet did not hit me entirely. He missed by half an inch." It does not matter. The bullet touched my skin albeit slightly. It left a burn mark on my arm.

I ducked instinctively and fired twice at him. I hit him once, in the stomach, I am pretty sure, but he still stalked towards me and took the gun from my hand. Although he was not tall, he was bulky. He overpowered me easily and held me to the ground with his hand around my neck, squeezing.

I have told all of it to Lloyd who wrote in a notepad.

"Could you see his face?" he asks.

I shake my head. "He was wearing a plague mask, Mr. Wagner. How could I see his face?"

"Would you be able to identify him if you see him again?"

"Sure." It is not that hard. You do not see someone like him every day. When I say he is bulky, I mean really bulky. He goes to the gym, every day, that is for sure. He might have a personal gym at home for all I know.

"Tasha, do you have any idea who that man is?"

A stupid question. Or, is it? Lloyd watches my face. He sees something there. I cannot lie. I will get into trouble if I lie. I cannot lie when he can see the truth on my face. Of course I know the man. I know him because I have been after him. I have been looking for him. A man who has killed nine women already. A man who leaves a bug on the victim's body.

"The Bug Man," I say.