The Secrets We Keep In The Dark (The Grabber fan-fiction)

Chapter 22

Albert stepped into the shower. Blood, and dirt dripped off him and circled the drain. The water was so hot that steam smoked off of it. The steam burned his face, but it felt good. He could feel his pores open, and the metaphorical poison seep out of them.

The water hit the crown of his head, and poured down his spine. It was a temporary fix, but as soon as the water trickled down the pain came back. Albert could feel his body aging. The way he could feel time move. His back ached, and his arms were sore from lugging bodies into graves. Or in Victor's case hacking them to bits with his axe.

It would be a lie to say he wasn't tired of it all; of the chase, of the lies. This would be the last, and it would all be behind him. No, behind them.

'Just...one...more,' he thought to himself.

Albert turned off the water, and reached out for the towel he left hanging just outside of the tub. He grabbed it, and wrapped it around his waist. Then he stepped out, and stood on the mat letting the water drip down his legs. He grabbed a small towel and covered his face. Albert shut his eyes tightly, but his memory was cruel. Abigail's tear filled eyes haunted his memories. Though that image of her seemed foreign to him. Like it was a glimpse of his future rather than a memory.

Whatever it was he couldn't bare to see her with tears in her eyes. He hated it. Made him feel an awful feeling in his gut. Worse than guilt, or was this what guilt felt like?

Albert leaned over the sink . He looked at himself in the mirror, and questioned when did it happen? When did he get this old? His hair was shaggy, and more gray than brown at this point. His blueish green eyes were hidden, and sunken down behind purple bags. The lack of sleep was catching up to him. Albert even forgot to shave this week, and the workings of a five o'clock shadow already spread across the lower half of his face.

Albert shut his eyes tightly. There was no stopping it when it started. It started low, and faint and it grew and grew in volume. That fucking ringing; it didn't stop, and when it started he could swear it never went away.

Albert got dressed, and headed to his room. He slammed the door and hoped that it would cease the ringing, it didn't. The only thing that helped was more killing. Washing it away with blood, drowning it out with screaming.

Albert unlatched the lock on his wooden dresser. Inside were about seven newspapers from each child that had gone missing. Their story was the headline of the month and in the article included all the details he could ever want. Abigail's late brother Georgie's Boy Scout hat was tucked into the back of the cabinet. Along with a red bandanna, and a few other nicknacks he collected from the dead boys.

Then on the top shelf of the wardrobe were his masks displayed like a hunter displays deer heads on a mantle. He stared at each one. There were about six pieces all together. He used to marvel at them, but now they didn't hold much merit.

Albert hid behind the mask for years. He didn't know how to display his emotion without them. They truly were a second layer of skin to him. He picked up the frowning one which was pretty fitting for how he felt right now. Albert, hardly felt happiness, except for when he was with her.

Not that Albert thought he was hiding it well, but he wondered if Abigail really knew how fucked up he was. How messy his life was. Would she still want him? Of course not.

When Abigail was a little girl, she ran from him. The mask in her eyes was a nightmare that had come to fruition. if she knew how much they really meant to him, could she ever accept it? Could she even accept him every part of him the good, and the bad.

Her timing was impeccable. A soft knock sounded at his bedroom door. Followed by her small voice, "Albert?" she whispered, and it was so soothing after so much the silence.