Tol-in-Gaurhoth LXIII: The Cottage of Lost Play

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Glancing around, I notice you all staring fixedly at your feet, at the walls, at the bloody scratches on the doorway, at thin air... Nobody will meet anybody else's eyes, and though you snatch hesitant glances toward the body, there is an incredibly awkward silence.

I can no longer take it. Knowing I'll have nightmares from this later, knowing I should probably be in therapy already, knowing I never should have went along with a crackpot Facebook invitation to an internet stranger's abode (my parents spent how many years warning me about this?), I feel myself slip into a state of almost zen-like calm, as I always do at times like this.

"It's too late to call a doctor. And we're trapped, so she said." I watch you all look up, seeing varying states of fear, nausea, and helplessness in your eyes. "We need volunteers to search the house for exits. Nobody should go anywhere alone. She said we would be safe during the Day... it should be okay to look around together. Also... We need volunteers to put the body in the freezer. I know you're not supposed to touch a crime scene, but I don't know how long we're going to be here, and in this case, it might be more important to preserve the body than to leave it to rot and bloat on the floor. Then..." I look around at the incredulous faces. "I need somebody to help me clean up the blood. It's a biohazard."

I know that the secret to leadership is to behave like it's natural for everyone to listen to you, so instead of waiting for responses, or begging for acquiescence, I begin to walk to where I think the kitchens are, hoping to find ammonia and towels, hoping someone will help me with the grisly mess on the floor, resigned to the fact that I might well be the only person in the room who can see something traumatizing and be sensible instead of melodramatic about it.