In the End

Pocket Full of Palsy

He has never felt so numb.

Anger - it is a constant. Jealousy, red hot hunger, a drive for vengeance, a tense growth of lust - all of these he has felt. Moments of intense joy, of swelling pride, of accomplishment, the adrenaline of the night, meticulous frustration and triumphant victory - these he has felt. Immense power and invincibility at his fingertips, strong and buzzing. The cold heat of a grudge, the itching call to spill blood, the panic of evading guilt and blame. Vivid and sudden feelings. He has felt them. Even fear and hurt - although he would not be quick to confess to it.

But he has never felt nothing at all before. Not like this.

He wonders, briefly, if this is what it would be like if he were dead. This empty nothingness. There is no cold, nor hot, creeping up his fingers, no shivers or aches. The nausea is gone, the dizziness, the fever. Nothing exists for him. The noise of the streets nearby sound far away, like an echo. Faded.

Unfortunately, his heart still beats. It should make him angry, but he cannot muster it up. He cannot give anything at all.

He is still standing where Andy had been, merely a few feet away. Only minutes after Andy had run away from him, left him with his heart on the ground. In any other situation, he would have run after him, would have found a way to hold him prisoner, because no one ever leaves him, not without his consent. But the last time he had followed his selfish obscenities, he had lost a wife and two children - and despite his stubborn nature, would like to think that this time, he is learning. It does not change the fact that he is hollow.

This had always been a game for him, this cat and mouse tag he played with Andy. But the game has ended now, and he has lost, and now he is in reality, discombobulated. It is something he does not understand, and he would say he is tired of finding things he cannot comprehend, but even that tiredness he cannot feel. There is only one thing he knows, and it is that Andy left him there, and took everything as he did it.

It is so hard to move.

He has to get everything back. But he has never been more faced with the realization that Andy does not want the game anymore, and he does not care for the reality either. That, or he does not need him the way he needs Andy. Either way, he is left empty handed. And he must retrieve what was taken from him.

Still, he does not run after Andy Barclay.

Instead, he finds himself curled against the wall, seated. Watching. Waiting, perhaps. He does not know what for, but he sits, and he waits, the cold of the concrete base seeping in. He does not feel it. He does not feel the hours slip by, does not see the setting sun, giving into the night. His mind is wrapped up in one moment, in one plan that did not go as it had been planned. He runs it over and over in his mind, from the moment he screamed Andy's name, to the moment that Andy runs away, slamming the door behind him.

Presently, he hears a sound, stepping shoes. Someone running. He looks up from his shroud, temporarily drawn out of his blank mind-made room to see a woman with a sloppily tied up ponytail opening the door he could not open, entering the building he could not enter. Something about her is slightly familiar, and he cannot place why, but she has caught his interest. The numbness is thawing away, just enough for a small but bright curiosity.

He waits now, but with a purpose. He waits, and even though he now feels the bite of cold, he ignores it. He clenches and relaxes his fists, and moves away the numbness in his feet, and he waits. He waits, but she does not reappear, and his eyes are heavy. He rests against the wall again, telling himself that he just needs to settle in comfortable, and lie patiently until she opens the door again. He decides that he will busy himself with creating a plan, and an entirely new one this time. He falls asleep instead.