She'd expected the question, of course. In a strange way, Beverly is almost a little relieved for it. She can't claim that it's something she really wants to talk about, and she doesn't think he would push her to do so any more than she's comfortable with, but it's strangely validating. The others had seen it — not just other kids, but the staff, too, even if they hadn't been able to explain it. No one looked at her like she was crazy. What was happening back home was real, too, and at least her friends had seen the state her bathroom was in there, but she doesn't have to try to justify herself now. It's just a simple fact, albeit one that doesn't make sense.

Blood isn't supposed to come out of pipes like that, just like it wasn't supposed to come up from her sink. Things haven't been right at the Home for weeks. There's something deeply, deeply wrong there, but she wouldn't know where to start to look, and she's certainly in no state to right now anyway, far too shaken for that.

"It came out of the shower," she says after a long moment, her throat still feeling tight around the words, as if something is trying to hold them back. "I just turned it on, and it... That was all there was. Just blood. It was everywhere."