(Making a post yesterday completely slipped my mind, so in a way I’ve already lost the writing challenge! We’re still going to try to keep the posting schedule up though, so after this I will try to do a second post for tonight or tomorrow and have two in one day to make up for the miss)

          Agatha wasn’t initially inclined to go to the police. If she was having her Calling, could she be implicated somehow in what she saw? For not reporting it sooner? What was the societal impact of being linked to someone who could do such awful things? She realized she had never heard of anyone being linked to a serial killer. And even as she thought the words “serial killer” there was a part of her that knew it was true. She had only seen one body, but something about it was practiced. She could remember the feeling of fascination and lust that had swirled through her – him – in the dream. She was certain there were others.

          She decided to do some searching online first, checking to see if anyone had ever been linked to a serial killer. One of the first things she learned was that serial killers never had soulmates. In fact, most governments kept a watchlist on people that hadn’t been paired. Agatha quickly cleared her browser history, as well as digging deep into the settings to remove the most recent searches saved on her profile’s history. She wasn’t sure if it was enough, and she wondered vaguely if she had triggered her name on someone’s watchlist.

          I’m going to have to download a VPN or dark web browser, she realized. It made her feel deeply unsettled. She reassured herself with the fact that the same website said that men were often more heavily scrutinized for their lack of attachments. Still, she waited a few weeks before researching the best way to remain truly anonymous in her online activities. During that time, more symptoms of the Calling began to exhibit. One morning, she closed her bathroom cabinet to come face to face with the reflection of a man.

          He was, strangely, almost her type. He had smoothed back black hair – it looked slick, as though he had just showered or applied some sort of product. Although he had a healthy looking face, his cheeks were slightly gaunt, giving him a shadowy look. His brows were heavy and low, almost frowning, but the upward quirk of his lips and the crinkle at the corner of his eyes balanced it enough to make him look almost friendly. His steely grey eyes were wide with shock – he had seen her too in that instant. She could feel a thrill of surprise and a skip of a heartbeat that didn’t belong to her.

          It was almost exhilarating, except it was followed by the immediate thought that now he knew her face. He knew what she looked like. And he had certainly felt the terror that had palpated her heart in that glimpse.

          She wondered if he would realize she knew about his darker proclivities. She wondered what dreams he had of her, and what visions of her life had exposed her to him. She swallowed hard as she wiped off the mirror, no longer comfortable looking at her own reflection now that the vision had passed.