Your attention is drawn to the faint sound of singing. As you slowly gain consciousness it becomes louder and louder. It sounds like church hymns. That doesn’t make any sense. You haven’t been to church since you were a kid.

You open your eyes and stare straight ahead. Your vision is out of focus, but you can make out the colors of white and brown. You slowly start to realize that you are on your back and are staring upwards, at a vaulted ceiling. You recognize this ceiling. You are in your childhood church. You try to sit up but your muscles will not engage.

You are groggy and are struggling to remember how you got here. In fact, you realize that you can not remember anything that happened before this moment. You don't even know your name.

It’s been 6 days since you discovered your best friend's body. It was a Sunday night and you found him in his condo. You knew the second you saw him that someone else did this, but it’s hard to explain how it could have happened.

It’s Sunday night at 11 pm. It’s 4 weeks before the murder. You are staring at your phone. She is late again. She’s not your girlfriend, at least not in public. You pace around the small room. There’s not much here, except for a large bed, which sits in the middle of the room. It’s layered with crisp white sheets. The room is a little cramped, but it smells fresh and new, like a large open field. You think about your own home, it feels constrained, musty, diluted.

You live in one of those small towns where everyone knows everyone, you have to be discrete.