[ WP ] When someone is murdered , their name appears on the skin of the killer . You wake up with a name on your arm and no knowledge of how it got there .

Carlisle groaned as his phone blared, swiping at his nightstand and hitting the snooze button. The alarm went off again five minutes later. He tried to ignore it, as well as the headache that had started to build when it went off, but it was too late, he was up. 
 
 Taking a peek out the window next to his bed, he started pressing the snooze button again when something caught his eye. A name on his arm. He frowned, slowly processing the information as the alarm continued to blare. There was a name on his arm. It had n't been there last night, had it? He shook his head, rubbing his eyes as he tried to focus, tried to remember, through the fog of morning exhaustion, what had happened last night. It was n't coming to him. 
 
 `` Christ, I need some water'' he sighed, turning off his alarm as he got up and made his way to the kitchen. He passed through the living room and groaned again. It was a mess: dirty clothes were scattered everywhere, left over take out boxes sat on the table, cans of beer stacked a foot high over the edge of the recycling bin next to the door. 
 
 `` Ugh, should probably get around to cleaning all of this up today...'' he yawned before pulling open the fridge. He opened a bottle of water and started downing it, the cool liquid pulling him toward wakefulness as his head stopped pounding. 
 
 `` Man that's good, now what was I doing again? Oh shit!'' Carlisle glanced down at his arm again, the name still written there in neat script:'Sally Burshaw'. 
 
 `` Oh shit. Oh shit! Oh SHIT! No, this ca n't be happening. This is some sick joke right?!'' He looked around franticly, trying to find something - anything - to snap himself out of whatever nightmare he'd fallen into. `` Nonononono, there's no way!'' 
 
 He rubbed at his arm, trying to get the name off of him with raw strength, but it remained. Bold and big like a road sign off the freeway. He slammed the fridge door closed and splashed the rest of the water bottle on his face, rubbing the cold water into his eyes as panic settled in. He ran his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth in his living room. This could n't be happening. 
 
 He'd been so careful his whole life, who could he have possibly killed? Sally Burshaw was just a name, he did n't even know her! There was no way he was responsible for her death, he could n't even remember where he might have met her. Was she a coworker? No, he knew all of them by name. Where?! 
 
 He fell back against his front door, sliding down onto the floor as he fought through his memories, looking for where he might have met her or what he'd done to her. There was a crunching sound from outside his door as footsteps approached, stopping for a moment before knocking, `` Excuse me, Mr. John Carlisle? Mr. Carlisle are you there?'' 
 
 Carlisle jumped up, knocking over the recycling bin as he grabbed the sweater and sweatpants off the floor beside him. 
 
 `` I'm getting dressed!'' 
 
 Shit what do I do, he thought as he pulled on the sweater and sweatpants, keeping the sleeves rolled down. 
 
 `` Mr. Carlisle, we just need to speak to you about an incident that occured last night that we believe you might be able to help us with.'' 
 
 `` O-okay, I'm coming right now!'' 
 
 Carlisle opened the door, more out of shock than anything else, to two police officers. They tensed as he opened the door, but relaxed when they saw him. 
 
 `` Hello Mr. Carlisle, we're sorry for bothering you so early in the morning. Could we come inside?'' 
 
 `` O-Of course, uh, officers. It's not problem, what can I, uh, help you with this fine morning?'' Carlisle tried to smile, keeping his arm behind the door as he let the officers inside. 
 
 `` Thank you. Well, you see Mr. Carlisle, we're investigating a hit and run that happened in your neighbourhood last night around 3 in the morning. We were wondering if you noticed any noise around that time or anything like that.'' the officer smiled warily, scanning his face. 
 
 `` I d-do n't think so? I was, um, out last night until pretty late and I do n't really remember anything like that on my way home...'' he said, closing the door. 
 
 The officers looked at him, waiting for more, before giving each other a look. 
 
 `` Well, Mr. Carlisle, the thing is, we already have several witnesses placing you as the driver of the hit and run last night.'' one of them said, almost apologetic, `` We just want to check your arm for the name so we can clear you as a suspect or...'' 
 
 Carlisle did n't need to hear the rest, the assurance that everything would be fine if they did n't find the victim's name - Sally's name - on him. He started crying, falling against the door again as guilt and the tears overwhelmed him. 
 
 `` I did n't know! I did n't know her, I would n't have killed her, oh God! Just, it was just one drink and I did n't think it would- That I would-'' he started, choking out the words between sobs. 
 
 The two officers knelt down beside him. They both looked at him with a mix of pity and disappointment as they picked him up, `` Mr. John Carlisle, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to a lawyer during any questioning. If you can not afford a lawyer, one will be appointed to you if you so desire.'' 
 
 Carlisle was n't listening. He kept crying as they half dragged, half carried him out his front door, glass crunching under their feet, `` Oh god oh god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry oh god''. 
 
 They walked past his car, still parked too far up the driveway from last night, the front bumper bent at an odd angle and the windshield cracked and broken, pieces of glass strewn across the hood, driveway and all the way up to his door. 
 
 `` P-please, I did n't mean to, I really did n't, please...''
