alcohol was an all too familiar stench, and the house must have been soaked in it by the way it reeked. the woman passed out on the couch, bottle still hand, had to be mrs. berman ( or was it ms. now? who knew. not her business ). it explained why the door was cracked open and liv could just waltz right inside. you would think with a psycho killer out there somewhere and a daughter who just survived said psycho killer’s attack, she would’ve kept their doors locked. the absence of one daughter must have been too much to notice her surviving one was also a ghost.
knuckles rap on ziggy’s bedroom door, bags rustling underneath her arm. “ zig? you up? i brought your pain meds and, uh ” eyes glance down, as if she forgot what she had picked up, “ some burgers, if you’re hungry. ” judging by the dishes piled up in the sink, she doubted there were any home-cooked meals being provided. scraping together the last of her paycheck, she managed get two meals for them: burgers, fries, even splurging on milkshakes and a cool little toy. maybe she did have caretaker instincts after all. “ and if you don’t open the door, i’m gonna have to break it down and god, i’m tired and i really don’t wanna do that. ”