The Man With A Child In His Eyes
You can use a spear as a walking stick, but?
I wrap a towel over my damp body as I step out of the shower. Swiping away the fog from the mirror, my eyes meet the mirror. Me. Or something reminiscent of me. I look, for lack of better words, gone. My blonde hair is frizzy and dark, my lips are dry and cracked, my skin is pale and coarse... God, I look and feel a mess. I have to stare for a long moment to realise it is me and not some new picture something racked into my brain. I still have my freckles, the scar on my lips, and though drooping and tired, my blue eyes. I remind myself of my father— the way he slowly faded more and more; he too lost his spark, just in a different way. (It's slowly becoming less and less different as the days go on.)
I turn away from the mirror with a huff and reach for the doorknob with one hand clutching the towel to my body. Cold air hits me, and I shiver in distaste. I swiftly usher myself to my room a few doors down, craving the warmth of sweats and a sweater. I shut the door behind me and creep over to my wardrobe. To my cold dismay, I don't find any sweatpants or sweaters. I decide to make due with some trousers and a suspiciously Kenny-sized t-shirt. After I change, I make my way to the kitchen. Kenny is leaning on the counter over a bowl, staring out into the stormy weather through the window. Relatable, honestly, but it's unusual to catch him in such a calm moment. It makes him look more like a shell than a person. He is just.. standing there. Just plain. Not like he is happy with himself, just calm. Kind of like how I feel.
I bet if I were to knock on his head, it would sound hollow.
"Kenny?" I call out, pulling him out of his thoughts.
He turns to me and pauses as if saying 'how long were you there?' Of course, I won't answer.
My eyes fall to the bowl on the counter, I must look like I'm ravenous with how my eyelids widen. "What did you make? I'm starving."
"Oatmeal. Didn't have much else, hope s'alright." Kenny replies, grabbing the bowl and setting it down at my usual sitting place.
"I don't care. I'm just hungry." I give a soft smile as I sit down.
Kenny sits down next to me, staring at me as I taste the food he made. I can sense he is content with my reaction, as he keeps watching me, just with a more loose demeanor.
Ignoring his gaze, I think to myself for a moment.
Why does he look at me like that? It's like he's never seen a girl in his life. I don't think I'm far off— in reality, he probably hasn't interacted properly with one in years. Not since his sisters 'left', no.
That mask... What is the purpose of it anyway? I mean I understand why he would wear it when he's doing his, um, stuff, but why around me? It's not like I'd scream at the very sight of him— hell, I've seen enough that his face would probably be the last thing I'd scream at.
"Kenny," I start, "Why do you wear that mask?"
He seethes air in through his teeth. It seems that he hadn't expected me to ever revisit that question, which is surprising with him and all the thinking he does.
"You know what happened to me when I was younger." Kenny answers my question simply.
Jeez, it goes all the way to his face? Is he spared anything at all?
"I'm sure it's not that bad. I have a scar too." I avert my gaze back at him as I point at the mark on my lip, "I was insecure about this. Just takes some real people to condition you to them," I trail my index finger softly over the bottom of the scar, "And trust me, these look cool."
If 'cool' is an okay enough word for you.
A slow beat. "You're not scared of me, why?" Kenny asks. I almost choke.
Oh, I am. I just know you won't kill me; that's enough for now.
"You're not going to kill me." I reply, then place my spoon down.
Kenny nods as he turns to look back out the window.
I click my tongue, "Were you ever? Be honest."
His eyes draw back, staring down at me with a glint of curiosity. Something demanding, much less friendly.
"Were you ever going to kill me?" I reiterate. I hope my bouncing leg doesn't suggest anything.
He lightly shakes his head, now fully facing me.
I release the inside of my lip from my teeth. "Okay." I clasp my hands in my lap.
Kenny stares into my clasped hands; his eyes look a million miles away.
"What?" I mutter. Whether it is out of discomfort or genuine curiosity, I don't know.
When he looks up at me, it's like an intent sheet is drawn over his hazel eyes, "Did you ever play games as a kid?" He utters, almost like he is too embarrassed to ask.
My head bobs in a subtle nod, "I did. Why, what's up?"
"What were they like? What games did you play?" Kenny inquires. He perks up a little... it's almost silly. Almost.
I give a prolonged and thoughtful blink as I force my brain to choke up a memory. "I loved playing hide and seek, it's really fun. I liked hiding and scaring the seeker, then running away. They always ended up terrified, no matter how stupid it was." I chuckle at the memory, "Sometimes they'd even spot me running around hiding spots. I still got them."
Kenny nods, maintaining his silence as if it were a vow.
He's being painfully obvious. He wants to try.
Is it really that bad? If it keeps him civil, then I guess I can try it out for him.
"Kenny." I say, standing up, "Count to fifteen, then come find me. If you catch me, you win. If I can manage to stay away from you for fifteen minutes, I win." My soft smile turns into a mischievous grin.
"What do I get out of it?" If Kenny were an animal, he'd be a racoon.
"I don't know." I reply while readying my feet, "Just start counting." I finish, dashing away from him.
Kenny begins counting out loud as I run into a random room upstairs. I hear his voice echo through the hollow walls. "8... 9... 10..." Kenny shouts. I stifle a laugh as the numbers climb.
"11... 12... 13... 14... 15!" I hear some loud creaks come from the main floor, and I can only gasp at the sheer speed he searches the place.
As he ascends the stairs, I creep over to a closet in the room I'm in, shutting it softly behind me. I step backwards until my back thumps against something. With furrowed brows, I feel around in the dark and touch the panel. It pushes it open to reveal the dimly-lit narrow pathway.
Oh yeah. Nice.
I grin, more nervously than anything, and dart into the narrow wall, letting it guide me. A low thud rumbles beside me, so I halt in my tracks. I pause and look around as I hold my breath. A small peephole pokes through the wall, barely letting in some light; I peek through and see Kenny searching my room.
I let out a hysterical breath at his efforts and gasp as his head snaps in my direction. Holy shit! How the fuck did he hear that? I let out nervous giggles and run away as a few creaks sound beside me, followed by the sound of a door opening.
"Get over here." My mother shouts, banging on the walls with that old beer bottle in hand.
I run to the nearest opening and push myself into it, closing the door swiftly behind me.
"The second I find you, you're fucking DEAD!" She calls out as she stomps louder and louder. Nearing.
I hold my breath and crouch in the dark. I don't know where I am, probably in a closet in some random room, but it's pitch black.
"Quinn." Kenny calls out.
"Quinn!" My mother calls out.
"I heard you." His voice wavers as it bounces off the walls.
"Don't you dare hide from me." Her voice wavers as she smashes the glass bottle onto the ground.
I cover my mouth, trembling in anxiety as his voice grows near.
His footsteps suddenly stop, leaving me in eerie silence. My hand raises over and behind my head, tracing the wood until I feel the bump of a doorknob. I twist the metal and run out of the closet in a master bedroom. I hear Kenny's footsteps thump, thump, thump under his weight as he races after me.
I let out a terrified shriek as I feel his hand struggle to barely tap my shoulder— he is right on my heels! I push myself, and with my efforts I am able to make it to my bedroom. I shove the rocking chair beneath the doorknob, but it looks like it will collapse any second.
"Jesus Kenny..." I laugh as my back slumps against the door.
Kenny's footsteps subdue and my heart rate begins to jump; I am smart enough to piece together that he is finding a way through the walls. It only takes a small amount of thumping near my closet for me to get the hint to get out.
I rush down the stairs and into the library, then hide myself under a desk.
God, I'm out of breath. I struggle to keep my heaving silent. My stomach begins to cramp, causing a scowl to grow on my face.
Not but a moment later, Kenny rounds the corner, then peers into the library. I cover my mouth and watch him as he cautiously steps in, scanning the room side-to-side with the eyes of a predator. Malicious, relentless, and more than anything, dark. Maybe this is too much for him...
To my delight, his light search is fruitless. He begins his more thorough look on the opposite side of the library. As he draws nearer and nearer, searching behind tables and chairs, I take the chance and dart out of my hiding place.
Before I can even cross the doorframe to get into the hallway, Kenny's arms catch my shoulders and pull me into a tight hold.
"Kenny!" I yelp. I struggle in his arms as he pulls me out of the room. My legs get swept out from under me as I kick, and I skid on the wooden floors— I'm sure I have gotten at least a dozen splinters stuck in my pants. Suddenly, he drops me, so I try to get up and run again. An arm wraps around my neck, to which I wince at. I slowly get brought to the ground, all while I am struggling. I am placed on my front, and once the arm leaves, I start to crawl. Immediately, I am flipped over, and a large hand is placed on my collarbone to hold me down.
It's always scary when you realise how powerless you really are compared to people like him.
"I'm down! I'm down. FUCK, my stomach!" One of my hands wraps around his upper arm, and the other is firmly placed on his shoulder. I see that smug look in Kenny's eyes, and give a firm hit to his collarbone. I start to move again, and that's when he lifts me back up into that same around-the-shoulder hold. He starts dragging me again, but this time I don't fight back.
He stops just inside my room, opening his arms to let me free. I stumble away from him, landing on my bed to regain my breath. He just can't run out of stamina, can he? Unstoppable. Unstoppable.. is that a bad or good thing?
Kenny must be out of breath, right? "Thank you." He sounds relatively normal. I silently hope the mask is just distorting his breaths. "Um- are you okay?"
It baffles me how a man so bloodthirsty and cruel could be thankful about some stupid kiddie game. Kenny Mitchell loves kiddie games and murder. Fucker.
"You just keep going—..." I take a large breath, "I'm... I'm okay.." Am I fully composed? No. Am I pretending to be? Yes.
Kenny nods and sits in the rocking chair at the end of the bed, slowly swaying himself.
"How come you wanted to try?" I ask, swinging my legs onto the plush mattress with the rest of me.
"I wanted to know how it felt." His voice falls low, almost to a whisper.
Does he know how to feel at all? My bets are on that he hardly does. No room for anything happy in that head of his.
"I have a personal question. You don't have to answer if you want, but it's something I'm really curious about." I mumble. Part of me wonders if he actually heard with the long pause he gives.
A soft sigh draws from his lips like it is a burden to speak, "Course, Valentine."
"Do you feel?" I ask, furrowing my brows in curiosity.
An eerie silence fills the room with my words; everything seems to slow. A part of me regrets asking, but I know I had to find an answer at some point. I mean, am I wrong to wonder? I'm allowed to be curious. With what he's putting me through, the least he owes me are some answers to my questions.
"Feel what?" Kenny asks tentatively, though without hostility.
I shrug. "Emotions." I say simply.
"Don't know." Kenny finally replies, giving another sigh, "I've never really tried to keep myself in check like that."
I sit up, and look to the side to eye him. "Well, do you ever feel happy? Like, genuine happiness." His answer simply isn't enough for what I am asking, so I decide to press. My head bobs with each syllable of my words like I am subtly acting them out.
I can see the gears turn in his head. Mechanical, that's what he is. A robot placed in the wrong body. "Since you came along, I feel that I've been happier." His tone is matter-of-factly, high and welcoming, "I can say that I like the conversations we have." Can. Are you scared to admit it, or do you not know how?
I furrow my brows awkwardly at his words. I got what I asked for, but a part of me didn't really expect him to indulge. It is nice that he appreciates the conversations that I have with him, but what if that gets to too much? I purse my lips. When I first met him, he'd never have spoken to me like this. Advancements have been made. But what if he's just showing me what I want to see?
Goddamnit, Kenny.
"Oh," I give a curt nod, "You should talk more, then." My eyes draw back up to his. I only pray my genuinity would sway him at least a little.
Kenny mirrors my nod, "If that's what you want." It is as if he is reading from a script.
"It's not about what I want, it's about what you're comfortable with," God, I feel like I am speaking to a kid about boundaries, "Talk if you want. I'm only suggesting that you do." My encouragement is light; in actuality, I don't know how sensitive Kenny really is, and I honestly don't feel like finding out at this very moment.
"No," Kenny shakes his head, tilting it slightly as if he is confused at my words, "I trust you."
YOU ARE READING
What Remains
Terror(Originally optimized for Google Docs, apologies for any mistakes.) When exploring any abandoned building, make sure you take into account both what is there, and what isn't! There SHOULD be: -You, AND a friend or two! Never go alone when exploring...
